Within Ash and Stardust

by Chani Lynn Feener

  Shocker.

  The cell next to the one Ruckus was to enter opened, and she took a deep breath. Apparently, there was a program that enabled the cells to appear empty from the outside, even if there was an occupant. He’d still be able to see her from within his own cell, through the connecting wall. It was new technology, created by the Zane on a whim in case safe houses—like the one she’d hidden inside in Vakar that time the bombs had gone off—were compromised. He didn’t believe his father knew about it yet.

  They had to hope that was the case, or she’d be an easy target, already jailed and everything. The only comfort was the fact that she still wore the fritz bracelet she’d taken from Sanzie the day before.

  “Last chance to change your mind,” Ruckus said as they stood before their cells.

  “Trystan won’t leave us in here,” she assured him. “He needs us. And we need him.”

  It looked like he still wanted to argue that fact, but instead he pulled her close and pressed his lips to hers.

  The spark in the center of her chest was immediate, and she sighed against him, linking her arms around his neck to keep him near when he would have moved away. She didn’t care about Ezran standing less than ten feet from them, no doubt watching.

  Still, the kiss didn’t last long, and eventually she had to release him and step back.

  “I’ve wanted to do that since I saw you standing outside that cave,” he told her, a sad half smile playing at his slightly puffed lips.

  Before she could say anything in response, he stepped away and entered his old cell. He watched as she got into motion, moving into the one next to his, then twirled a finger at Ezran, signaling he should close them up.

  The Teller hesitated, briefly glancing Delaney’s way. It wasn’t until she smiled encouragingly that he followed the command, hitting the button on the wall panel that would seal them in, with no way out until someone hit it again.

  Delaney exhaled a shaky breath, ignoring the tiny inkling of doubt that pooled in her gut. Sanzie had told her she was in charge while Trystan was out of commission, but he was back now. What did that mean for her?

  What if, after handling Rue Rantan, Trystan decided he wanted to try dealing with the rest on his own? She didn’t think he’d leave her locked in here, but she couldn’t say the same about Ruckus. And there was no way she was going to allow him to stay in a cell. Not again.

  She glanced over at the Ander, saw that he was watching her closely, probably following all her thoughts just by reading her expression. He knew her that well. It was why, when she’d agreed to Trystan’s plan, he’d only put up a minimal struggle even though he hated the idea.

  Ruckus was right—this was a risk—and the only reason he was willingly going along with it was because he trusted her. And she was doing it because she trusted Trystan.

  She just hoped her trust wasn’t misplaced.

  CHAPTER 2

  Trystan tried not to wince as he adjusted the buttons on his shirt, held his spine straight and his shoulders back, despite the lingering ache there. He really needed information about what had happened during the time he’d been unconscious, but it would have to wait. Right now they were all in danger if he couldn’t pull this off.

  Not that he doubted his abilities to do so. What he’d said to Delaney back there had been accurate: He’d been manipulating his father’s horde for years.

  He took one glance in the mirror while changing and had to quickly look away. His hair was in disarray, his skin sallow, and it was painfully obvious he needed a long, hot shower. Still, he could work with that.

  Before he left his rooms, he noticed the “gift” from their Unveiling on the side of his dresser. The gold knife was small but sharp, the handle molded into a detailed depiction of a blaxa creature—similar-looking to an Earth lizard. It’d been the only item from the ceremony Trystan hadn’t taken with him, and someone must have delivered it during his absence.

  For no real reason at all, he took the small weapon with him, tucking it into his boot and out of sight. He could feel the press of metal against the side of his leg while he moved, making his way toward where the Rue waited.

  A row of Tellers he didn’t recognize lined the hallway outside his study. He didn’t bother sparing them a glance, though it irked him that they were here. Of course his father would never send the Rue alone, and Trystan had expected him to bring along reinforcements, but … Silently, he counted at least a dozen, grinding his teeth in irritation as he did.

  Trystan’s men, those loyal to him, were stationed around the castle, with orders that should any of these Tellers branch off, they were to follow at a safe distance. Trying to stop them would be the same as admitting there was something to hide. Hopefully, if it came to that, Delaney and the Ander would already be safely confined in the dungeons.

  Trystan paused outside the study doors, letting himself linger on the thought of the two of them down there. Together. Alone. Usually, he’d turn from that line of thinking. Given his current situation, however, an added level of anger was just what he needed.

  He shoved the doors open with enough force that they clattered inward against the walls. He was already walking through as his eyes sought out the Rue, and it turned out he hadn’t needed to bother imagining Delaney in Ruckus’s arms after all. Seeing the smug look on Rantan’s face was more than enough to get his blood boiling.

  Because this was a show, and he had to cover the fact that his body felt like a lead weight trying to pull him down to the floor, he walked right up to the Rue and did the one thing he’d always wanted to do. He grabbed him by the throat and hoisted him up off the ground.

  Rantan’s eyes bugged out of his head, and he struggled, clawing at Trystan’s wrists. The tips of his military-issue boots—laughable, considering he’d never once served in the army—scraped against the navy-blue carpet.

  It would be so easy not to stop, to squeeze until he crushed the Rue’s windpipe. But, despite the way he currently felt, he had more control over himself than that.

  Unfortunately.

  With one final clench of his fingers, he tossed the Rue against the wall, watching with a sick sense of pleasure as his skull cracked back against the white stone. His body crumpled to the floor, though it wasn’t long before he attempted getting to his feet.

  Trystan casually moved over to one of the chairs positioned at the side of the study, barely paying attention as the Rue tried again and again to regain his footing, only to fall back down in a heap.

  Rantan was trying too hard, moving too quickly, knowledge Trystan now had firsthand experience with.

  Even though it’d been less than an hour ago, it was hard to recall much of waking up. He’d done it, had seen the doctor and the wires hooked up to his body, and he’d panicked. His only thought had been of Delaney, and not even coherently. The most he’d been able to manage was her name, over and over again.

  That moment he’d seen her standing there, whole, alive, that was the best second of his entire life. He didn’t want to dwell on that. Especially not here, in front of his father’s puppet. He focused instead on the fact that he was alive as well, that they’d both made it out of that cave to see another day.

  That his father was the reason they had been there at all.

  That this man currently crawling around on all fours was in league with him.

  Trystan’s gaze darkened, and then, amazingly enough, the Rue’s survival instincts must have finally kicked in, for he stilled, the fear in his eyes apparent.

  “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, Rantan”—even Trystan was surprised by how casual his voice sounded—“but I’m in a mood today. You see,” he said as he uncurled his hand on one of the armrests, tapped his fingers against the smooth white leather, “I lost something really important to me.”

  There was tension from the doorway, where he’d spotted two Tellers loyal to his father, but he wasn’t worried about them. Sanzie was there as well, and he trusted her to keep his
back safe.

  “I wonder…” Trystan leaned forward, not much, certainly not enough to matter, what with the Rue all the way across the room, but still he flinched. “Do you know about that? Hmm? Do you know what my father has taken from me, Rantan?”

  “I…”

  Trystan clucked his tongue and sat back. “That’s not a good response, certainly not one appropriate for your Zane.”

  Mention of his title had the opposite of his desired effect. Suddenly Rantan seemed to recall himself, and whose orders had brought him here. He pushed back onto his knees, though he didn’t try to stand again. His glare was haughty, though it didn’t do a decent job of masking his lingering fear.

  “I’ve come under the order and protection of Rex Hortan,” he said, his voice only wavering slightly at the end. “I am to report back that—”

  “My betrothed is dead?” Trystan cut him off, and the other man blanched. “So you’re admitting you came in here knowing what I’d lost? Knowing who was responsible?” He tsked. “I knew you were a fool, Rantan, but this is another level entirely.”

  “The Rex—”

  “Isn’t here,” Trystan stated. “Which is a shame, though I imagine that was on purpose. You see, unlike you, my father doesn’t have a death wish.”

  The Rue pulled back. “Threatening the Rex is treason!”

  “So is threatening the Zane.”

  “I never—”

  “Didn’t you?”

  Every time Trystan interrupted, the Rue’s cheeks grew a little pinker. For a man who loved the sound of his own voice, not having an audience was probably excruciating. And humiliating. Trystan didn’t care which he felt more, so long as he felt them both.

  “You threaten me every time you’re in my presence, Rantan,” Trystan continued. “Every time you come around, breathing my air, huffing about my father. Telling me how badly you want to run off and inform him about my behavior. I’ve had enough. And not just of your veiled threats. Of you entirely.”

  “These guards are under strict orders to protect me,” the Rue said, lifting his chin toward where the Tellers still stood sentry by the doors. “And they’re bearing witness right now. Making note of everything you say to me, Zane. Kill me, and—”

  “Kill you?” Trystan chuckled darkly. “Oh no, you misunderstand. I’m not going to murder you, Rantan. If I were, I wouldn’t have dropped you like the pile of trash you are. At least”—he lifted a single shoulder in a bored half shrug—“not before I’d wrung the last breath out of you.”

  The Rue was clearly confused, on edge, and he waited, but when it became apparent Trystan wasn’t going to say anything else, he frowned.

  “Where is Lissa Olena? I’ve been ordered to return with visual confirmation that both you and she are well.”

  “Well is a fickle term,” Trystan pointed out. “Do I look well to you, Rue?”

  He stuck his chin in the air and huffed out, “You do not.”

  “Take my word for it: Olena doesn’t look much better.”

  “Where is she, Zane?”

  “Alive,” he bit out, “but injured. My father grossly underestimated Delaney, and vastly overestimated Olena. She may have killed my Lissa, but Olena didn’t make it out unscathed. I’ll have you brought to her, if you insist, though I should mention she’s currently undergoing surgery, and any interruption could result in her untimely demise.”

  Trystan had already ordered a surgical room set up, just in case. There was even a team of doctors within it, making as much noise as possible, so that it would be believable that an intense surgery was being done should anyone happen by the sealed doors.

  “Actually”—he stood with a flourish—“now that I’m thinking about it, you’re right: You should see her.”

  Rantan eyed him suspiciously, and for a moment Trystan feared he was about to call his bluff.

  “My men should already be searching the castle,” the Rue ended up saying. “They’ll know if there’s a medical team working. If this is a poorly veiled lie, they’ll find out, Zane.”

  “With any luck,” Trystan said, and retook his seat, “they’ll be as incompetent as you and open the door themselves.”

  “The Rex wants Lissa Olena alive.”

  “So I gathered.”

  The Rue ran his gaze over Trystan, not bothering to cover his distaste now that he’d been told his life wasn’t in danger. “You look this bad over one human? She was a means to an end. Now that she’s gone—”

  “My father has nothing with which to control me,” Trystan declared. He stood a second time, adjusting his jacket in a clear show that he was done with this conversation. “Tell him he can expect me when I’m good and ready.”

  “You’ve been ordered to return with me,” the Rue said. “Tonight.”

  “And I’m defying that order.” He angled his head at Sanzie. “My Sworn will stay with you until your men return, confirming what I’ve told you about Olena. There are things I need to clear up here, before I even consider going to Carnage, least of which is ensuring his Lissa is in well enough condition to travel.”

  “We aren’t finished here, Zane,” Rantan called when he gripped the door handle, but Trystan merely grunted.

  “Let my father know not to worry; I haven’t forgotten where my loyalties lie.” He turned and caught the Rue’s gaze one last time. “I’ll see him soon. Just not tonight.”

  Not wanting to give the other man even a second to argue further, Trystan yanked the door open.

  Just as a Teller on the outside was moving to knock. The Teller stumbled a bit on his feet, straightening and composing himself as quickly as possible. Without sparing Trystan so much as a glance, he lifted his gaze to the Rue.

  “There’s a problem in the dungeons,” he stated.

  Trystan could practically feel the gloating look Rantan aimed at his back. He shared a brief knowing exchange with Sanzie and let out a heavy sigh. “Damn.”

  He swung at the unsuspecting Teller, rendering him unconscious with a single punch. Before the Rue could activate the fritz on his wrist, Trystan had his open and aimed at the center of his chest.

  “I blame the Ander,” he said to Sanzie with a shake of his head. Whatever had happened to tip them off, surely it hadn’t been Delaney’s fault.

  Then he fired his weapon.

  * * *

  “I HATE THAT we’re back here.” Ruckus drew Delaney’s attention from the doorway, where she’d been staring for the past ten minutes. He didn’t like the way she was worrying her bottom lip, or how she stiffened every time a noise echoed down the stone hall.

  Didn’t like the thought that her reactions had less to do with fear of them getting caught, and more to do with worry for the Zane.

  Not for the first time, he found himself wondering what had happened between the two of them this past month. The words were on the tip of his tongue before he thought better of asking and contained himself, and his misplaced jealousies. In reality, it didn’t matter. Whatever had taken place between her and Trystan, whatever he’d said or done to earn her trust, it was set.

  The only thing Ruckus could control—and therefore the only thing he should be focusing on—was where he and Delaney went from here. Which, if he had his way, would be off this planet and back to Earth.

  A thread of guilt wormed its way through his gut, and he tried to quell it. Yes, this was his planet, and he didn’t want to see it destroyed by the greedy Kint. But he also didn’t want to see Delaney hurt by it, and staying.… No good could come of that.

  Already she was changed. He saw it in the way she stood, noted it in the way she glanced at Sanzie and Trystan. At all the Kint Tellers they’d passed since yesterday morning when they’d found her half frozen in the snow. The cilla suit had kept her alive, but there’d still been damage. She’d hardly noticed, too caught up in her fear for the Zane to see how stiffly she moved, how often she shivered.

  “We won’t be in these cells for long,” she said then, misinterpre
ting his statement.

  “No…” He waited for her to finally turn away from the door and look at him. “I meant here. You and me, so close to each other and yet…”

  “How are your hands?” she asked after a moment.

  He glanced down at them absently. He’d damaged them banging on the electric wall of this very cell when the Rex had ordered for Delaney to be taken away. They’d healed enough over the past few days that he could hold her hand with his own, but there were still raw patches along his fingers and the bases of his palms.

  The initial pain had been nothing at the time, easily ignored. It was the panic that had overridden him, debilitated him. The thought that she was going to be killed, and that there was nothing he could do about it.

  That he was trapped. Useless.

  That he’d failed her.

  “It should have been me,” he whispered, needing to look away as soon as he spoke. “Instead it was the Zane. He was there for you when I couldn’t be.”

  “Ruckus.” She moved closer to the wall that separated their cells.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” he went on, “I’m grateful that he was. He’s the reason you’re here, after all. But that doesn’t change the fact that I wish it’d been me. What if it happens again? What if next time he’s just as unable to help you as I am? What then, Delaney?”

  “Then I figure out a way to help myself,” she said confidently.

  “What if you can’t?” Now that they were on the subject, there was no point in backtracking. “This, what you’re suggesting we attempt to do, is dangerous. In all likelihood, the kind of danger we can’t get away from.”

  She inspected him. “You’re angry with me.”

  “No.” He shook his head, then closed his eyes and took a breath. “Yes. In a way I guess I am.”

  “Because I want to do this?”

  “Because you’re so willing to put yourself at risk,” he clarified. “Delaney, Olena was going to kill you. I thought for sure when they dragged you from this room that it was going to be the last time I ever saw you.”