Between Frost and Fury

by Chani Lynn Feener

  He wasn’t away nearly long enough, coming back a second later holding three pieces of gold jewelry. A golden band was attached to her left bicep, a twist of three different circles crisscrossing together. The second piece was similar, though smaller, this one covering her right wrist.

  The last was a necklace, and she watched as he secured it around her neck. There were three Xs—one gold, one silver, and one bronze—two side by side, and the third directly below them in a weird upside-down pyramid shape. At the center of each X was a small gem the size of a water droplet. The one in the center was bloodred, with a sapphire to its right and an emerald to its left.

  He ran the pad of his finger over the red gem, staring at it in the mirror before raising his eyes to meet hers.

  “Don’t screw this up, Delaney,” he said by her ear. “People will get hurt if you do.”

  She didn’t know how to respond to that, so she kept her mouth shut. He seemed satisfied to take her silence as agreement, and moved away again.

  “The ruby signifies Earth,” he said. “Red and bronze. Those are your colors. You may be taking the Vakar throne, but you’re still an Earthling. You have a claim on that planet.”

  She did not like the sound of that, but in typical fashion, he changed the subject before she could dive deeper.

  “You’ll go through a similar process to the one you did when you received this.” He lightly cupped her elbow, turning it so that the glittering V tattoo was staring up at her.

  Then he presented her with his opposite arm, where there was a glittering capital K imprinted into his skin, an X just beneath that. Between the left arm and leg of the last letter there was a small blue gem, similar to the one on the necklace.

  “It might sting a little,” he confessed. “I suggest you don’t let that show. We value strength.”

  She nodded, and he dropped their arms.

  Getting the first tattoo hadn’t been so bad; she could certainly stand up there unflinching and do it again. Part of her felt sickened by the idea that she’d be even more tied to this place, but if everything he’d told her was true, so long as she had the original mark, getting more wouldn’t matter.

  He was standing by the edge of the bed now, and waved a hand at it. “Sit down. The shoes are on the side.”

  The second she got her hand on a fritz, she was really going to enjoy shooting his bossy self.

  Delaney sat and reached over the edge, frowning as she picked up one of the shoes. It was a high heel with at least eight long straps attached to the top. She picked at one, tried to figure out what to do with it, and then shook her head.

  “Yeah”—she waved it at him—“I’m thinking not. How does this thing even work?” Why did all their fashion have to be so overly complex?

  Trystan caught her eye and hesitated. When she tilted her head in silent question, he seemed to resolve himself of something.

  She sucked in a breath when he dropped to his knees in front of her, and was even more shocked when he plucked the shoe from her hand.

  He avoided eye contact as he slipped her foot into it and began adjusting the straps with immense concentration.

  Her foot now resting on his thigh, she watched as he twisted the alternating straps of navy and forest green all the way up to the bottom of her knee. The base of the shoe was the same shade of gold as her dress. The second shoe went on the same way.

  Once finished, Trystan moved, grabbing a shirt from another drawer. His pants were a blinding white tucked into shiny black boots. The shirt was similar in style to the traditional one he’d been wearing before, only now the front was navy blue and the back was green. Gold trim crossed over the tops of his shoulders, separating the two colors, and in the front where it zipped, another gold stripe folded over to conceal the metal.

  A pair of black fingerless gloves were the final touch, and after he had the straps secured, he paused before her.

  She was grateful for the silence during that time. Her heart was racing and her skin felt too tight. The nervousness she was feeling had escalated to the point of near terror. The only other alien ceremony she’d had to do she’d had days to prepare for.

  This time? She didn’t even know what the hell it was for.

  She watched him, fear getting the best of her, blocking out anything clever she may have otherwise been able to pull off. The fact that they’d just changed in the same room together had her skin buzzing uncomfortably. It was too intimate, too familiar.

  “Would you like an atteta to help with your makeup?” he asked her softly. “I have one waiting in the hall.”

  Her previous experience with maids hadn’t gone all that well, a fact he was aware of. Was he asking her in an attempt to be … thoughtful? Somehow that made all of this worse.

  “Trystan, this ceremony … It’s not…” Crap. Now she was turning into a blubbering idiot. She took a deep breath and was about to try again, but he stopped her.

  “It’s not our binding ceremony,” he said. “No. It’s a Positioning.”

  “A what now?” She frowned.

  “It is when a person in a position of high authority publicly backs a legitimate successor. Tilda already announced that you’ll be taking her position weeks ago. Tonight is about you officially agreeing to do so, in front of the people.”

  It really was a lot like last time. All she had to do was stand up there and make promises to them she had no intention of keeping. Awesome.

  “Afterward,” he continued, “we can go over the steps that need to be taken before our binding ceremony. That process takes two months.”

  “So, two months from today…”

  The corner of his mouth turned up. “Will be our binding ceremony. Yes. Which you will not be wearing gold to, I can assure you.”

  He spoke about it like it was set in stone. Like he didn’t expect her to fight it. Or maybe he just didn’t expect her fighting to make a difference. And, really, why should he? She was a lone human on a planet surrounded by odd customs and strange languages and people.

  “I can handle my makeup on my own,” she finally answered. “The color scheme seems obvious.” She stood and went to the bathroom door, pausing with her hand on the silver handle.

  Delaney left and was relieved to find that the bathroom did have a lock. She clicked it and turned to the sink. It was a single marble slab set against the wall, with a mirror on top. Just like in Olena’s room, when she waved her hand underneath the lip, a drawer sprang open. She stepped back to give it space to slide all the way out, exposing rows of different-colored products.

  The rebellious part of her wanted to select some of the pinks or purples just to spite him, but she refrained. She’d been here long enough the first time to know the basics, and was able to apply the Vakar equivalent of gold eye shadow. She lined her bottom lid with a deep blue liner, and dabbed a bit of emerald green at the outer and inner corners of her top eyelids.

  She took a moment to inspect herself, weirdly pleased with what she saw. Her red hair really popped against the metallic color, the hints of blue and green making her eyes appear larger. Hopefully looking like she belonged would help her sell it.

  Aside from the passing comment he’d made about her hair, Trystan had yet to say anything about her outer appearance. In fact, it was a bit weird how easily he seemed to fall back into their banter, one moment insulting her, the next being sweet. Or, at least as sweet as she suspected he was capable of being.

  A light rap on the door told her she’d been in there too long, and she gave herself one last long look, not really seeing herself. She could do this.

  Trystan was standing directly outside, arms crossed over his broad chest. He took in her makeup and nodded. As if she needed his approval before he’d allow anyone else to see her.

  She rolled her eyes and pushed past him. “I should have punched that bitch Olena when I had the chance.”

  CHAPTER 4

  There were so many people, way more than she’d expected. More than ha
d been at Olena’s—aka her—Uprising. It made sense when she took the time to think about it, with both Vakar and Kint now in attendance.

  She could tell them apart in the crowd now, the missing Vakar Tellers from before mingling with the Kints, their green uniforms singling them out among what had once been their enemy.

  The room was the same massive ballroom, large enough to fit two football fields at least, with a golden balcony stretched against three of the walls. The final wall held floor-to-ceiling windows.

  Tilda was already standing on the stage, looking out over the masses. When Delaney and Trystan appeared at the back of the dais, Tilda met his gaze with a hard one of her own.

  Delaney wasn’t quite sure what to do; she remained still until Trystan motioned her forward. He stepped down to join the Tellers at the front, leaving Delaney and the Basilissa together for the crowd to see. Trystan remained close enough that he could react if she tried anything, but far enough to make an obvious statement.

  An older man moved before her, the same one who’d conducted her Uprising. His hair was short and chestnut brown. A few gray hairs could be made out, but he didn’t appear much older than forty. There were crinkles at the corners of his hazel-and-green-rimmed eyes, and a distinct look of pity on his face.

  “Lissa Delaney Grace”—the older man indicated she should step forward—“during your Uprising you swore an oath to accept the responsibilities and sacrifices that come with being Vakar royalty. Do you recall such an oath?”

  The crowd’s eyes were like lasers burrowing into her, making a thin sheen of sweat break out over her skin. She was completely unprepared for this, had no clue what she was doing, and they were all watching like she did.

  In her panic she turned to the only person she could, given her horrible circumstances, catching Trystan’s gaze pleadingly. He bobbed his head once.

  “Yes,” she stated in a firm voice, hoping that was what he’d meant. He’d told her to agree to whatever the Illust said, and this man conducting the ceremony must be him.

  The older guy—who she really needed to learn the name of—nodded at her approvingly.

  Then she spotted a familiar face in the crowd and almost ran off the stage.

  Pettus pressed a finger frantically to his lips. He was dressed in his Teller uniform, blending in with the rest of the crowd. It was good knowing he was safe; he’d helped her get off Xenith the last time. Seeing him was a lot like seeing an old childhood friend you thought you never would again.

  Had Ruckus sent him? Ruckus wasn’t there; if he had been, he would have contacted her through her fitting so … just Pettus, then.

  She tried not to stare at him, afraid she’d tip Trystan off if she did.

  “And are you now prepared to uphold your vow”—the Illust drew her attention back his way—“to protect and defend your people, no matter the cost? To rule them with honor, respect, and their best interests in mind?”

  “Yes.” If that was all she had to say, this might not be as bad as she’d feared.

  He held up his right hand for hers, the familiar metal device clutched in his left.

  She placed her right arm in the Illust’s grasp, the device positioned at the tip of her green V tattoo, and then he pressed down. The burning sensation it brought wasn’t so bad, and she barely had to clench her jaw to fight back the pain. It was quick, and the cool air stung when the device was removed, exposing the now raw flesh beneath.

  Below the V was another brand, this one of an X about the same size. Before she could be glad it was over, he brought the device back, angling it slightly. This time there was a slight prick, and she bit her tongue to keep from outwardly flinching. A small green gem was added between the right arms of the letter. He pressed it again lower, inserting a small red gem between the bottom legs.

  She braced for a fourth time, momentarily caught off guard when he turned to hand the device off to a nearby Teller. It was easy enough to guess that the final mark, the blue circle that would symbolize Kint, would be added after or during her binding ceremony to Trystan.

  The one she never intended to happen.

  “It is done,” the man’s voice boomed out once more, and he bowed to her. “Allow me to present Delaney Grace of Earth, the Lissa of Vakar and heir to the throne.”

  The crowd burst into cheers. She stared out at them, shocked by their reaction and more confused than she’d ever been. Back home, no way would an alien swooping in and claiming their crown be considered a good thing. She could see it now, a Kint soldier showing up at the White House, saying they were taking over.

  Yeah. Right.

  She searched for Pettus, but the mass had shifted, and try as she might, she couldn’t spot him anywhere. She doubted he was here on anything other than reconnaissance, as badly as she wished otherwise. But she had to trust there was a plan. Her friends wouldn’t just leave her here like this.

  Ruckus wouldn’t leave her.

  The feeling of being alone returned, and her chest ached right along with the fresh marks on her arm.

  Then Trystan was there, easing her toward the single golden throne positioned at the stage’s center. She sat without fuss, still too dazed to consider fighting him. He stood tall at her side, more like a sentry than her betrothed. Tilda stepped up to Delaney’s other side, resting a hand firmly on her shoulder.

  “They’re going to greet you,” Tilda informed her from the corner of her mouth. “All you have to do is nod and smile. All right?”

  Delaney gritted her teeth and nodded.

  Tilda motioned for the first line to move forward, keeping her hand on Delaney the entire time. Every once in a while, a person would step forward and her grip would tighten. There were a few faces that contained curiosity, but they moved on quickly, probably not wanting to risk the Zane’s wrath.

  After a while reality started weighing on her. Holding herself together earlier had been easier due to adrenaline, which she could feel seeping out of her with every passing second. Curling into a ball and sleeping for a week was starting to sound like the best plan ever.

  She was about to lean over and demand Trystan put an end to this—or rather, ask him politely considering all the people currently eyeing her every move—when a commotion in line disrupted her train of thought.

  A large Teller was shoving his way unapologetically through. He was burly, with sandy hair, and twice the height of most of those around him. His uniform was distinctly Vakar, the forest-green jacket decorated in numerous gold pieces shaped like octagons. Delaney assumed that, like on Earth, the medals signified station, but she’d never bothered to ask before.

  It took her a moment to recognize him as the general she’d met in Tilda’s hospital room after the shooting at the Uprising. If she recalled correctly, at the time he’d been polite, cordial even. That was not the vibe he was currently giving off.

  “Fendus,” Tilda said. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “Forgive me, Basilissa.” Fendus stopped at the foot of the dais. His eyes were hard, and Delaney noted that his right hand was twitching. “But this is a travesty.”

  “Excuse me?” Tilda’s mouth thinned.

  “You are making a mockery of our laws and traditions by announcing this human as our next ruler.” He jabbed a stubby thumb toward Delaney.

  Part of her was actually a bit relieved by his statement. For one, his anger made a hell of a lot more sense than the acceptance the rest of the room had shown thus far. For two, it stirred back that dying ember of hope. Maybe this wasn’t set in stone after all.

  Both Vakar and Kint began to whisper among themselves. A few took steps back; others began nodding in agreement.

  “It is exactly because of tradition that I’m doing so. She was the one Uprisen; she is the new heir. That’s been our way for centuries,” Tilda announced, addressing the entire room with how she threw her voice, despite the fact that she kept her gaze locked on Fendus. “My decision was final when I gave it two weeks ago. If you’d
had a problem with it then—”

  “You refused to hear me out,” he interrupted with a growl. “You’ve refused to hear any of us! This is a disgrace! Not just to Vakar, but to Kint as well! To all the people of Xenith!”

  The sounds of agreement increased, voices rising in the crowd. Bodies shifted closer, at first moving slowly, then with more determination, forcing themselves forward so that they swarmed the edge of the dais.

  “He’s right!” one of the Vakar Tellers cried out, with others quickly joining in.

  The mass surged closer, a ring of loyal Tellers, surprisingly a mix of Kint and Vakar, keeping them at bay. They held the crowd off, aiming their weapons at the most vocal of the bunch.

  It wasn’t everyone; a good many people hung back, shaking their heads. Delaney searched for Pettus again but still couldn’t find him.

  One of the angry Vakar leaped forward, almost making it through the barrier of Tellers. Acting on instinct, Delaney’s hand shot out, grabbing Trystan’s arm tightly. She felt him shifting closer, his hand settling down over hers, but she didn’t risk tearing her gaze away from the swarming threat.

  Fendus was still at the forefront, but he seemed just as caught off guard as Delaney. Before she could read too much into that, he looked to Tilda. A second later his expression firmed, and his voice rose over the rest once more.

  “We will not let this stand! To place a human child on one of our thrones—”

  A loud popping sound went off, silencing the room. No one moved. A slightly salty smell filled the air, mixed with a hint of burnt rubber.

  Delaney didn’t immediately understand what had happened. She was about to seek out Trystan’s gaze when a small trickle of red coming from Fendus’s mouth caught her eye.

  It was so subtle at first, she thought she might be seeing things, but then the trail of blood dripped lower. He coughed, the sudden movement breaking the spell over the room as everyone turned to stare at him in shock. Fendus lifted a fist to his chest, and Delaney realized there was a fresh wound there.