Between Frost and Fury

by Chani Lynn Feener

  Dom had moved back around one of the larger snow mounds, peeking over the side to toss a snowball, only to pop back behind the mound a second later. He didn’t bother taking the time to aim.

  Trystan was good with kids.

  Compared to all the other crazy, impossible things she’d learned over the past six months, that was definitely the most insane.

  A snowball slapped against her shoulder, hard enough that it jostled her. Surprised, she stared at Trystan, who’d thrown it.

  He laughed at her expression, motioning with his chin to the snow in his hands in a clear warning. It was already a well-formed ball, yet he kept working it, giving her time to make a move.

  Delaney shot toward a nearby snow mound, which was almost tall enough to completely block her. She let out a startled yelp when she felt the snowball smack against the center of her back, dropping around the mound a second too late. From her spot, she could see Dom hiding behind his.

  He was smiling at her and silently pointing in Trystan’s direction. It was obvious what he was getting at, and his smile broadened when she vigorously nodded.

  She quickly scooped up some snow, forming snowballs until she had a nice little pile before her. Then she signaled Dom, who mirrored her when she slowly got to her feet. She took a breath, and they both darted around their mounds, tossing snowballs toward where Trystan had last been standing.

  But of course he was no longer there.

  Delaney started backing up, scanning around for him. She let out another yelp when she bumped into something, and before she could process it was Trystan, his arm banded around her waist and he was lifting and spinning her in a circle.

  She sucked in a breath, about to scream, then inhaled again when she felt herself falling backward. Her body landed in the cushiony snow, and a second later he was falling over her.

  He was careful not to crush her, holding out his arms at the last second so he could brace himself and keep most of his weight off her body. There was snow caked in his hair, and his cheeks were bright red from the cold. He was still laughing, causing warm puffs of air to fan across her cheeks.

  She’d lifted her hands to his chest instinctually but didn’t push him away. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Dom taking advantage of Trystan’s momentary distraction, creating a stockpile of ammunition.

  He worked fast, and it felt like only a few heartbeats had passed before another snowball was soaring straight for Trystan’s head, slamming against his neck. Some of it clearly went down the collar of his jacket.

  Trystan quickly rolled off of her to the side, taking up a handful of snow and tossing it at Dom all in one motion.

  Delaney was already scrambling back toward where Dom was, taking up her own snowball so the two of them could gang up on Trystan as originally planned. Her gloves were starting to get damp, and the cold had seeped through her clothing. But she didn’t care.

  It wasn’t until much later, when her teeth were visibly chattering and she could no longer feel her fingers, that she even thought about ending their fun and going back inside.

  CHAPTER 18

  Trystan was relieved the two of them had cleared the air, only now, when he should have been focused, he was too busy picturing the way her cold-kissed cheeks had looked. The way she’d stared at him. For the first time there hadn’t been so much as a hint of distaste in her green eyes.

  He would much rather be with her than here, outside Interrogation, with the Rue his father had sent to spy on him. Definitely not the time to be distracted.

  The small room attached to the larger interrogation chamber exposed a view of the Tar his father had sent. They’d gotten his name easily enough, Mickan, but the rest had been harder to obtain. As a result, the man Trystan was looking at was broken, bruised, and in many places, covered in blood.

  What would Delaney think if she saw him? He glanced down at his red-stained fingers, and tightened his hand into a fist to cover them. She wouldn’t continue looking at him the way she had earlier, that was for sure.

  Last week she’d called him a monster. If she knew what he’d just done, she’d tell him he’d proven her right. There was little doubt that she’d yell at him, throw around more insults. Back away, like she had yesterday when he’d reached for her.

  She hadn’t backed away today, though. He wondered over it. Did she regret it? For all he knew, she was sitting in her room right now, hating herself for enjoying time with him. More specifically, enjoying the company of a monster.

  “There’s more he can tell us.” The Rue was glaring through the glass at the Tar.

  Despite him being loyal to his father, there was little to fear from Rue Rantan. Not only could Trystan easily crush him if need be, the man was also too political to ever resort to violence. He preferred not to get his own hands dirty.

  Rantan was one of the few members of the council who hadn’t served in the war, and Trystan held little to no respect for men like that. Men who came out of hiding the moment the fighting was done, insisting to be part of something they had no hand in building. Demanding to be heard over those who actually deserved to speak.

  As soon as he took the throne, Rantan would be out on his ass. It was a day Trystan was greatly looking forward to, yet sadly one that was still a ways off.

  “I’m sure there is,” he responded dryly. “But he won’t spill the rest of his secrets tonight. Tomorrow we’ll try again. Let him rest for now.”

  Rantan turned his gaze his way, but Trystan pretended not to notice.

  “The Rex has asked me to asses you while I’m here, Zane. To ensure that the presence of the human isn’t causing you to grow soft,” he said.

  Trystan gritted his teeth. “If we push him much further, he’ll die, and then we’ll get nothing. Allowing him time to heal also gives him a false sense of security. As soon as we take that away, he’ll crack faster than he did today. It’s a well-known tactic, and one you’d be familiar with if you ever did anything actually useful.”

  “Pardon me, Zane—” he began, clearly affronted, but Trystan swiftly cut him off.

  “You are not excused. I don’t know how my father expects you to behave, but here, I like competency and experience. You do not hold either quality.”

  “I’m useful in other ways,” he said. “I assure you.”

  Trystan waved his hand absently. “Waste your assurances on someone who actually cares.” He pointed to the Tar prisoner. “Did my father already know about the gathering in Kilma?”

  Mickan had been taken from the Kint palace after a slipup had given away his position as a Tar.

  “He was aware they were grouping,” Rantan answered. “He did not know the location. That will be useful.”

  “I’ve already sent him the information.” Trystan crossed his arms, watching a drop of blood slide down from Mickan’s temple all the way to the tip of his chin.

  The Tars were planning a riot, according to the bloodied man in the interrogation chamber. That was bad in a few different ways. Innocent citizens could be hurt, for one. For another, it could have the Tars’ desired effect and start an all-out civil war, with one side against the royal family.

  And Delaney.

  “I can destroy the Tars easily enough,” he said aloud.

  “I’m sure the Rex will be delighted to hear it,” Rantan told him. “He’s found the Tars a nuisance since their forming.”

  “That’s because they rejected his idea of peace,” Trystan pointed out.

  “If you can’t stop them from spreading their hate for the human,” Rantan tentatively began, “continuing on as planned could lead to catastrophe. No one wants a civil war.”

  “The human has a name,” Trystan growled out warningly, “and a title. You’ll refer to her with both, or, better yet, not at all. Hearing you talk about her pisses me off, and you’ve seen what happens when I lose control.”

  “Need I remind you, Zane, that I’m under your father’s protection.” It was snooty, and wholly arro
gant.

  Trystan had punished subordinates for less. Damn Rantan for being right.

  “You’re either very confident, or very stupid.” He knew he should turn their attentions back to the Tar, where it was supposed to be, but he couldn’t help delivering one more jab. “Should my father wish to send a council member to Kilma, I’ll suggest you. You appear to have a particular interest in the Tars.”

  “In stopping them,” Rantan reiterated, though he lost some of his color. “I’d be more useful to you both if I stayed on here.”

  “I have no use for you at all,” Trystan scoffed. “I never have, and I doubt I ever will. You’ll return to Carnage in the morning as planned, and report back to my father that everything is going smoothly here.”

  He moved past him to the exit, not wanting to waste any more time with Rantan.

  Sanzie was waiting for him in the dark hall, and she crossed her arms behind her back in a respectful stance. Which meant she had bad news.

  “Well.” He waved her on when she remained silent. “Get it over with.”

  “Your father has requested that you attend the raid in Kilma,” she said, keeping her chin up as she delivered the message.

  That was fast. He’d only sent news to the Rex a little while ago.

  “If it were truly a request, I could decline.” He ran a hand through his hair, subconsciously smoothing down any strands that had shaken loose during the interrogation. “Judging by your tone, however, that is not an option.”

  “Refusing is a risk,” Sanzie told him, one of the few people bold enough to attempt giving him advice. “Angering him could have dire results.”

  Yet another reminder that while he might be more powerful than practically everyone on the planet, his father still ruled him.

  According to Mickan, the Tars were planning a mass gathering in two weeks. That was when they would organize the riot. Kilma was the second largest city in Kint, right after the capital, Carnage. There was more to the plan, but supposedly Mickan hadn’t been a member long enough to get all the details.

  Perhaps Trystan should go, just to ensure the job was properly done.

  “He doubts my ability to separate duty from emotion toward her,” he mumbled, mostly to himself, though obviously, because she was standing less than five feet away, Sanzie heard.

  “Do you have emotions for the Lissa, Zane?” As soon as she asked, she dropped her gaze. “Apologizes. That’s none of my concern.”

  “Forgiven.” He wouldn’t get mad at a good Teller like her for such a small slip. He understood what it was to be curious; hell, that was how he’d gotten so involved with Delaney in the first place.

  After catching her in the library that first night, there’d been something about her he just had to uncover. Something odd and unique. At the time, he’d been hopeful, wanting a reason, any reason, to change his opinion of Olena. Despite what it seemed like, he preferred peace. He knew firsthand what war did, had lost more friends and colleagues than he could count to it.

  He allowed himself a second to picture Dom’s father. They’d grown up together; he’d been more his family than the Rex could ever be. And Trystan had watched as Vakar zees tore through Ustan like tissue paper. Powerless to do anything. Unable to even retrieve the body until three days later, and by then scavengers had made good work of it.

  Shaking the image away, Tristan refocused on the Teller.

  “Is she still awake?” he asked, knowing Sanzie would understand whom he meant without having to elaborate.

  Sure enough, the Teller nodded. “I brought her a cup of squa fifteen minutes ago.”

  He smiled before he could help himself, taking some twisted pleasure in knowing that she enjoyed his favorite drink. It was oddly endearing. Were these usually the types of things people found cute in others? Was it normal for him to find the way she scrunched her nose after trying something disgusting adorable? Or that he found it sexy that she could throw a punch?

  Exhausted after the interrogation, Trystan knew the responsible thing to do would be to go straight to bed. Instead he had this undeniable urge to see Delaney, to hear her voice, to feel her skin against his own. It wasn’t a new desire—he’d been fighting against it for weeks—but he was tired of the struggle.

  Couldn’t there just be one thing in his life he didn’t have to overthink? Someone, more aptly, he didn’t always need to be so calculated with? With Rantan and his father, caution was imperative. Saying the wrong thing could be cataclysmic. He enjoyed his freedom with Delaney. Didn’t he deserve more of that?

  Without a good-bye, Trystan turned and walked away, his mind already back on Delaney.

  A few minutes later he knocked on her door, but he didn’t wait for a response before letting himself in. He found her tucked into the chair by the fireplace, her head already turned toward him.

  She’d changed out of her clothes from earlier and into a pair of burgundy pants and a black long-sleeved shirt. The dark color made her hair and the green of her eyes pop in the semidarkness of the room, her alluring features almost stopping him in his tracks.

  She didn’t react when he moved toward her, or when he dropped down in the empty seat across from her and leaned as far forward as he could. He needed to be near her in a way he didn’t quite understand. Another time he’d pick that need apart, but for now, for tonight, he’d accept it.

  He was so tired of everything and all the responsibilities. He just wanted to breathe for a moment.

  “Did you just have a talk with your father?” She watched him with a calm interest. “You have that look about you. I used to get it after arguments with my dad.”

  “What look is that?”

  “The ‘woe is me’ look.” She smiled when he frowned, and shook her head. “It’s not an insult. You’re feeling inadequate and you’re struggling against it. That’s all.” She canted her head. “I wasn’t aware you could question your self-worth.”

  “I’m perfectly capable of questioning everything,” he said, clasping his hands before him. “I simply prefer to just know.”

  “Well, sure.” She rolled her eyes, and while it should have been offensive, he took it as endearing. “Who doesn’t? Knowing things is great, but you can’t know everything, Trystan. Not right away.”

  He wondered what she’d been doing in here while he’d been down in the interrogation rooms. Torturing someone.

  It wasn’t the deed itself that made him uncomfortable. Mickan had joined a rebellion; he knew what could happen. It was picturing Delaney walking in on him while he was doing it that made his stomach tighten into knots. The possible look on her face, the things she’d say …

  “I want to know something about you,” he stated, realizing that it was the only topic he was interested in discussing at the moment. He feared she’d ask him about the interrogation—she’d been in the room when his father had mentioned it—and that he’d have to tell her honestly about all the gritty details.

  Because he would be honest. He’d promised that not only to her, but also to himself. If he was able, he would tell her only truths.

  “All right.” She was tentative, suspicious, curling her legs up against her chest in a subconsciously protective move.

  There were so many things he wanted to ask, things that confused him, amazed him. But asking those things might lead to discomfort on her part, and then frustration and disappointment on his, and he wasn’t ready to drop this easy air between them.

  “What was the first gift your father ever gave you?” It was a random question, but he stuck with it once he’d said it.

  She quirked a brow at him, then lifted a single shoulder. “A pink teddy bear when I was born. If you mean the first gift he gave that I can remember, that would be my Power Ranger set. My Barbie dolls would marry them, and the Rangers would teach them how to fight crime so they could help defend the world.”

  She laughed, the sound light, open. As soon as she stopped, he wanted her to do it again.

  “Yo
u have no idea what I’m talking about.” She ran a hand through her hair, sending the thick red strands into disarray. It didn’t seem to bother her, and she left it that way. “They’re action figures. Toys. I’m not sure if you guys have anything like action figures here?”

  He nodded. He understood the term, had owned one or two as a child. As soon as he’d hit seven, of course, those things had been too frivolous and childish for a Zane and they’d been taken away. If he recalled correctly, he’d cried about it in secret that first night, staring at his empty toy shelf.

  “He doesn’t sound that bad,” Trystan said, bringing to mind the single photograph of her father he’d seen. During his research on her, he’d requested one of both of her parents. He’d wanted an idea of what they looked like, of where she’d come from.

  “He isn’t,” she agreed. “He loves me, and I know it. It’s just, he’s always had such high expectations of me, goals that he’s set. A picture of what my future is. That’s when he can find the time to pay attention to me. He and my mom are usually pretty busy with work. I didn’t see them often when I lived at home. It’s why it was so easy to convince them to let me attend boarding school. They wouldn’t have to worry about whether they’d left food in the fridge or enough money for me to at least order out.”

  He grimaced, thinking about how she’d scolded him for not feeding her in a timely fashion. Was she used to that sort of thing? Did it bring up bad memories from living at home? Feeling abandoned? Unwanted?

  “Sometimes I’m certain my father would prefer me to be someone else,” he confessed, expecting to feel embarrassed by it. Surprised when he didn’t. “It isn’t the same as with yours—my future is set and we both know it—but I’ve been forgotten before. Left to my own devices.”

  “It’s lonely.” She nodded. “I remember this one time, when I was really young, maybe five or six, my parents went out and forgot to call a babysitter. I should have been excited having the run of the house, but I wasn’t. I was livid. How dare they forget me, you know? So I went around hiding all the things I thought they’d find the most important. Remotes, takeout menus, my mom’s shoes.”