“I want you to have dinner with me,” Trystan surprised her by saying. “In a dress I picked out for you, eating food I’ve selected. I want to show you a traditional Kint meal. Will you let me?”
He was asking her on a date. They were the only ones who knew it, but that was what it was. They ate together all the time—who else did she know here to have meals with?—but tonight was different. He’d never bothered with semantics, with asking her whether she wanted to do things with him.
She wanted to pretend that it was all for show, to help convince the coordinator that he was romantic, that their relationship was full of racing hearts and little cherubs with bows and arrows. But she knew better.
Something had changed between them when he’d talked about his mother. He’d opened up to her and she’d been there for him. Supporting him. Like a real betrothed would.
If running were an option, that was what she’d be doing right now. Far and fast, and she wouldn’t look back.
“Yes,” she said, hating how smoky her words came out. Hoping it wasn’t as noticeable to him as it was to her. “How could I say no?”
There was a flash of something in his eyes; it might have been hurt, but it was gone before she could really inspect it, replaced with steel.
“Well, then.” Gailie stood, drawing their attentions away from each other. “I’ll be checking back in a few days, sooner than our usual meeting, to ensure that you’ve both followed through on your promises to each other. That’s also when we’ll conduct the compatibility test. Until then, enjoy each other’s company. Zane Trystan. Lissa Delaney.”
Neither of them bothered saying good-bye back to her, too caught up in their own private thoughts to even notice when she packed up and left.
* * *
DELANEY EXPECTED HIM to rush dinner, and was surprised when he didn’t. After they’d left the coordinator meeting, he’d said he needed time to put it together.
That had been three days ago, and neither of them had spoken about it since. She’d mentioned Pettus once, though, and had received the same line. In order to mask the fact that Trystan had the Teller locked up downstairs prior to her asking for him as a guard, he was stalling. Making it seem like they were waiting for Pettus to arrive from somewhere in Vakar.
Fortunately, she had their lessons with Lockan to distract her. He made learning enjoyable, and simple enough for her to grasp alien concepts.
After their third lesson, she could honestly say he was actually one of her favorite aliens ever. Of course, they weren’t real friends—he was her teacher—but he didn’t talk down to her or even treat her like a Lissa. He was always polite, but in the way a decent person would be, and shared stories with her about places and things on Earth they’d both experienced.
It was weird, but it made her feel like she’d regained a connection to home, having someone to talk to about hippopotamuses and the Mona Lisa. It didn’t even bother her when she noticed that Trystan often took notes of their discussions, writing down interesting features and things that he’d like to see himself.
Apparently that list he’d told her about actually existed.
They also continued to visit the training rooms, frequently honing her skills in both hand-to-hand and even shooting. The Kint way of fighting had subtle differences from the Vakar, which Trystan was teaching her. Training provided a good outlet.
Plus, she got to hit him. Or at least she got to try. He was still mostly too fast for her, but every once in a while she’d land a blow she could be proud of.
“Tired, Lissa?” Sanzie asked her on their way back from a particularly grueling training session.
Delaney groaned, not bothering to cover up the fact that she was exhausted and achy. Luckily, the new Sworn took the hint, and didn’t bother her with any other questions.
As they silently made their way to her rooms, all Delaney could think about was the move Trystan had been trying to teach her that day. She kept it on replay in her mind, hoping to figure out how to perfect it herself.
She was so caught up in this, she almost didn’t realize she and Sanzie weren’t alone when they entered the sitting room.
Pettus stood from the couch and smiled at her sheepishly. She was so excited, she forgot all about sleep, rushing to him.
Delaney wrapped her arms around his waist, giving herself a moment to bask in his company before pulling back. The bruises she’d seen on him had all healed, and though he was a bit pale from having been locked in a cell, away from the sun, he didn’t look any worse for wear.
“How did you do it?” he asked, keeping his voice low. He glanced over at Sanzie, who was pretending not to listen. He’d been given a new Vakar uniform, the long forest-green sleeves intact and wrinkle free, black pants pressed.
“Upside to having to jump through binding preparation hoops,” she joked, and when he didn’t so much as crack a smile, she sighed. “How’ve you been since the last time I saw you?”
It’d only been a few days, but a lot could happen in that time, even when confined to a small space. Especially when. Their mental states had seemed fine when she’d spoken to them, though their anger levels hadn’t petered at all, unsurprisingly.
“Not well,” he confided. “Ruckus is going insane down there, between his worry for you and fear for Vakar.”
“Getting you out was the only play I had,” she said. “And even that took coercion and the presence of our coordinator. There’s no way he’s letting Ruckus out anytime soon.”
“I assume”—Pettus took a step closer to the window, tugging her with him to put more space between them and Sanzie—“you have a plan?”
Delaney glanced toward Sanzie, to find the other woman already watching her.
“Unfortunately,” Sanzie said, “I’ve been ordered not to leave the two of you alone. Apologies, Lissa. I would if I could—”
“I don’t want to get you in trouble,” Delaney stopped her.
“I was given strict instruction to tell you to check the bedroom.” Sanzie angled her chin in that direction. “Dinner will be within the hour.”
She somehow wasn’t surprised. Of course he’d schedule it the same night he let Pettus out. Though it wasn’t like it was going to be easy talking to Pettus with the new Sworn around anyway. As nice as Sanzie was being, Delaney wasn’t delusional; obviously Trystan was using her as a spy.
“It’s good to see you.” She rested a hand on Pettus’s arm, staring at him pointedly so that he understood not to argue. “Hopefully we can talk more later. I’ve got to get ready.”
“Delaney.” He grabbed her wrist when she went to pass. After a tense moment he let her go, giving a single nod. There was nothing they could do about their short reunion.
“I’m to brief you, Teller,” Sanzie said to him as Delaney entered her bedroom.
She left the door open, allowing their words to filter into the room as she walked toward the bed. A dress had been laid out for her, a deep red almost the same crimson as Trystan’s eyes. It was long-sleeved, though it only dropped to about her knees, and had two diamond-shaped cutouts at either side, right at the waistline.
“He is way too into fashion,” she mumbled to herself, lifting the dress by the shoulders and holding it up to the light. That was when she noticed the accompanying jewelry that had been set next to it. A thick bronze chain with five dime-sized sapphires, and matching earrings.
Delaney rolled her eyes and stepped back to glance down at the shoes, a pair of brown leather high heels. She’d never wished for a pair of sweatpants more. Why couldn’t the Lissa wear whatever she damn well pleased? Why did it always have to be sparkly and color-coded and high-heeled?
“… hang back. I’ll take lead,” Sanzie was in the middle of a sentence when Delaney tuned back in. “You aren’t allowed to touch her. And make sure to address her properly, not as friends. She’s the Lissa of Vakar now.”
“The Zane needs help convincing the world that Delaney—Sorry,” he corrected himself, “
that Lissa Delaney really wants to be here. With him. Even though we both know that’s a lie, and your leader is insane.”
“Pettus.” Delaney took the dress and moved to the other side of the room, farther from the door. “Don’t antagonize her. I want this to work.”
There was a pause and then he called back, “As do I, Lissa. Apologies.”
Delaney got dressed quickly, slipping out of her clothes and into the new ones with little preamble. She stubbornly ignored the urge to check herself in the mirror.
“Aren’t my legs going to get cold?” she asked, breezing back into the room. They were bare from ankle to mid-thigh, and there was already a slight chill.
“The Zane has taken that into account, Lissa,” Sanzie told her, but didn’t elaborate. Instead she motioned toward the door and bowed. “If you’re ready.”
With a single shoulder shrug, she followed.
CHAPTER 21
She could see candlelight flickering from beyond the glass the moment they turned the corner. She’d begun to recognize their path, and had been about to confirm with Sanzie that they were headed toward the Ice Dome—which was what she called it in her head—but no longer needed to.
The sparks of orange seemed to multiply the closer they got to the transparent doors, so that her eyes were already trailing around the room as the sentry opened it.
Any trace of snow was gone, leaving behind polished white stone. The dome was closed at the top, and from the other side of the walls an inky night surrounded them. Candles had been set everywhere, circling the inner perimeter, trailing in spirals and rows across the floor and over stone benches that had been buried during her first visit. The wax was silver, and the candles had been set in bronze bases, some taller and thinner than others.
The table in the center of the room held only two place settings, a few silver trays, and a pitcher. Weaving through all these, across the expanse of the table, were vines with tiny star-shaped flowers. The glowing bursts of yellow and white trailed all the way to the stone floor.
It’d been a while since Delaney had last seen stellaperier flowers. She paused just inside the doorway, the same wave of awe washing over her as the first time Ruckus had shown them to her.
Trystan was standing across the table, watching her silently. When she was able to snap herself out of it, she headed toward him, noticing the way he swallowed as if nervous.
“I hope it’s warm enough,” he said softly, taking her hand when she was close. “The floors are heated.”
She was tempted to reach down and touch the ground to see for herself. “It’s fine.”
“Sit.” He waved at the chair next to his, which was already pulled out. Once she was in it, he lowered to his own. “Pettus has met your standards, I assume?”
“If by that you mean I’ve noted he hasn’t gotten any more bruises,” she said, watching as he reached for the pitcher, “then yes. That is a thing that I saw. You aren’t getting a thank-you, though, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”
“I’m not naive,” he assured her, filling the glass goblet set in front of her with a familiar light brown liquid. Steam billowed up from the top, the scent of chocolate and cinnamon following.
“Squa.” She was already reaching for it before he’d even begun filling his own, but he playfully brushed her hand aside, taking his traditional first sip.
The heated drink felt wonderful, chasing away any remaining chills she felt. Cupping her hands around it to keep warm, she took in the room a second time.
“Did you do all of this?” she asked. The candles reflected in the glass around them, making it seem like there were twice as many, like the two of them were in a sea of flames.
“You like it.” It wasn’t a question, and he sounded all too pleased with himself.
She should have been annoyed by that, but she wasn’t, because it was true. How could she not be impressed?
“What are we doing here, Trystan?” They were alone in the room, and she doubted anyone was standing outside the dome, observing them. There was no one here to convince.
“We’re having dinner, Delaney,” he said casually, like this wasn’t an insanely romantic setting and she shouldn’t be suspicious.
Yeah, right. She wanted to know his intentions, mostly so she could put a pin in them before this went any further. But he was already lifting the lid off her plate, and the food beneath it effectively distracted her.
It was shaped like an upside-down pie, though with a light green flaky crust and lines of dark purple sauce crisscrossing the top. The smell was interesting, a mixture of butter and unknown spices.
“It’s green.” She wondered if it was similar to green pita bread.
“You have something against the color?” He chuckled. “That would be ironic.”
“Because I’m technically Vakar now.” She waved at him. “Yeah, yeah. But seriously, why is it green? Is it made out of plants?”
“In a sense. They’re an active ingredient while making the dough. They’re broken down beforehand and added to the mixture. You can barely taste it. It’s mostly for aesthetics.”
She quirked a brow. “You mean you purposefully chose something this color?”
“Surprised it’s not blue?” The corner of his mouth turned up in a half smile.
“Shocked.”
“Just wait until you try it.” He took up her knife and fork and cut a small piece off the edge. A gooey mixture oozed out. It looked cheesy, with bits of brown, white, and purple.
Delaney automatically opened her mouth when he brought the fork up, allowing him to gently ease the bite onto her tongue. It tasted a lot like it smelled, with a hint of sweetness and a savory note similar to fried turkey.
Trystan grinned, taking up another forkful, this time feeding himself. Then he placed the utensils down and lifted the covering from his own plate, exposing a different dish.
There were two of them, and they were circular with a browned crust resembling baked cinnamon sugar all around the sides. It was layered, and looked like it’d been cooked in a mug. Something like an egg had been placed on top, though the four yokes were bright red.
“What is that?” she asked as he cut off a small section and raised the fork to her mouth a second time. There was something between the layers, light like a custard.
“Just try it,” he ordered, and without waiting, he pressed it against her lips so that she was forced to open them.
“It’s sweet,” she said as soon as the sugary flavor hit her. The egg-type thing on top tasted nothing like eggs did back home. Instead it was almost like she was eating a muffin with a strange tangy sauce. A weird combination, but not entirely bad. “I should have known.”
“It’s a traditional breakfast dish,” he told her, clearly trying to convince her he hadn’t chosen dessert for their meal.
Done with being hand-fed, she plucked the fork from between his fingers and dug back into the upside-down pie on her plate. That was definitely her preferred dish, and she was ashamed to admit it was probably one of the best things she’d ever tasted.
“You’re very food oriented.” Not that she was currently complaining.
He shrugged and began eating the untouched circular breakfast in front of him.
“Back home we’d call you a foodie.” She angled her head at him, pretending to inspect him from chin to torso.
He used his knife to point at the pie-like thing. “I was worried I’d overcooked the bida, but you seem pleased with it.”
She almost dropped her fork. “You made this?”
“I cooked everything we’ll eat tonight.” He smirked challengingly. “Why? Impressed?”
“That you enjoy cooking”—she looked at the food—“or that you’re good at it?”
“Is the Ander not skilled in this department then?”
She did not want to talk about Ruckus, especially not with him, so she gave a single shake of her head and stuffed her face with another bite.
“Are you
?”
Another shake.
He frowned. “How did you survive on Earth if neither of you can cook?”
“It’s called eating out.” She rolled her eyes for good measure. “Besides, I didn’t say I can’t cook; it’s just that I won’t be winning any awards, is all. I can certainly boil water and fry up a burger.”
“Cooking relaxes me,” he divulged. “It gives me control—”
“Because you need more of that.”
“And time away from responsibility and duty,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “I enjoy it very much. My mother taught me, actually. She was very good. Nothing I make even comes close to hers.”
For a moment she didn’t know what to say. On the one hand, his admission that someone actually did something better than he did was progress. On the other, it was about his mother, an already shaky subject that could only lead down a rocky road.
“My parents have a private chef,” she said. “I don’t think they’ve ever even used the toaster themselves.”
“So this chef made all your meals as well?”
“Yup.” She feigned intense interest in the food in front of her, trying not to notice how cloudy his eyes got when he thought of his mom. How human he began to look.
“I’ll show you a few things in the kitchen,” he decided. “Maybe next time you’ll cook for me instead.”
She couldn’t help it—she laughed.
His gaze darkened. “Don’t ruin the evening, Delaney.”
“You’re the one who brought it up.” She inhaled and tried to think of a safe topic to talk about. “Tell me about your favorite dish. Have I tried it yet?”
“You haven’t, no. It’s a traditional celebratory meal, so one that can’t be served at random. It has to accompany a special occasion. It’s also rather large; there are many portions, as it’s meant to feed a big party.” He took a sip from his cup. “I ordered it for our binding.”
She almost choked on the bite she was chewing, gulping down half the contents of her glass to stop it. Their binding was definitely another topic she did not want to discuss with him. Ever. She’d resigned herself to being here, in this overly romantic setting, sharing food with him. But talk of the future was pushing it too far.
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