“I don’t buy it,” Ruckus insisted, unaware of how close he was to getting shot in the head by pushing the issue. “I remember the look on your face when you took the zee for her during her Uprising. How quickly you threw yourself in front of it, no hesitation. You were falling for her then and didn’t even know it. How does it feel, Zane? To be oblivious? To not have control over something?”
“You are still Vakar,” Trystan stated. “And I am still Zane of Kint. I hold all the cards here, Ander.”
Ruckus grunted a second time and crossed his arms. “No, Delaney does. You’re too stubborn to see it, that’s all. She’s the only reason I’m alive.” He motioned to the cell across from him. “Why we’re alive. Admit it: I’d be dead by now if you didn’t think you could somehow use me to bend her to your will.”
Trystan didn’t bother responding to that. He didn’t have to explain himself. The things he did and the reasoning behind them were his and his alone.
Ruckus lowered his voice. “Think about this.”
Trystan was curious enough about where this was going to allow the Ander to continue.
“It isn’t any better than being with Olena if you have to manipulate Delaney. The Basilissa had already agreed to tie the two royal houses; you’re going to get the crown either way. You don’t need Delaney to do it.”
Trystan rolled his eyes, glad that he didn’t have to fake his amusement this time. “You should have taken more lessons. That was hardly convincing, and now I’m bored.”
The guards had moved to the far end of the hall, out of earshot, and he motioned them back with a few curls of his fingers. He’d come to confront the Ander, and he had.
“She has nothing to do with this,” Ruckus said, trying one last time, a hint of desperation slipping through. “She doesn’t belong here!”
Trystan headed away without bothering to glance over at him. He didn’t need to see the Ander’s face to know that he was losing his cool. Disappointing, to say the least. “She has nothing to do with this!” Ruckus yelled a second time.
Trystan held up a hand and couldn’t resist throwing over his shoulder, “You’re the one who got her involved, Ander. And thank you for that.”
* * *
THE END OF their conversation had returned him to his good mood, but it hadn’t lasted long. Now that Trystan was standing outside Delaney’s door, he found himself hesitating, the Ander’s accusations playing on a loop.
Love? It was a ridiculous notion, and obviously a ploy to disarm him somehow. The only thing was, he couldn’t figure out the how. What could Ruckus hope to gain by making such an accusation?
Annoyed that he’d allowed the Ander to get to him for even a second, he forwent knocking and threw the door open.
He’d placed her in a series of rooms, with the main door opening to a sitting area complete with a fireplace, glass table, and two large plush chairs. Two doors on opposite sides of this room led to the bathroom and bedroom, respectfully, and he’d already turned to the right, expecting to find her in the last, when he realized with a start that she was actually in the room with him.
She was sitting in one of the chairs in front of the fire, which was lit and flickering, casting in a golden light from behind and a bright one from the sun filtering through the windows. Her body was angled so that she was facing him, and she was watching unblinkingly, with a stillness that masked what she was thinking.
Which he hated.
It shouldn’t matter to him what was going on in her head, yet it did. Even so, seeing her, knowing she was near, instantly eased the tension he’d carried with him from the dungeon.
With that hesitation he’d felt outside her door a vague memory, he made his way over, ignoring the urge to touch to her. Instead he took the seat opposite, perching on the edge so that he could lean forward with his arms rested on his knees. It wasn’t as close as he wanted to get, but it would do for now.
Delaney surprised him by breaking the silence: “What are you thinking about?” She was still watching him, a mixture of curiosity and caution in her eyes. If she was worried—and he was positive she was—she hid it well. Very well.
She should have taught the Ander how to better mask his emotions. He almost wondered aloud how the man had ever gotten such a high position with such poor acting skills, but caught himself. The longer he could put off talking about Ruckus, the better. He was smart enough to know that.
So he answered, shocking them both a little when he did so honestly.
“My father.”
Her brow furrowed slightly, but that was the only indicator of her interest. “What about him?”
“It took a while for me to get him to see things my way,” he said carefully.
“You mean”—she pointed to herself—“to agree to me.”
“Yes.” He sighed and ran a hand through his blond hair, careful not to leave any strands permanently disrupted, then settled back more comfortably in his chair. He wanted to be able to see all of her when they had this discussion, and the closer he was, the more distracted by her face he became. “Back on the ship, I mentioned the Tars.”
After a brief hesitation, she mirrored his move, and even went so far as to tuck her feet beneath her. “I was told Brightan was the leader.”
Was she avoiding speaking of Ruckus as well? Why else wouldn’t she say his name when they both knew that he was the only one who would have kept her informed?
“He was.”
“And you expect me to believe you had no idea?” Delaney gave him that look, the one he’d so often pictured while he was waiting for his father’s permission to retrieve her. Her dark pink lips pursed and slightly pouty, thin left brow arched and held aloft.
He’d had to imagine what it would look like on her face instead of Olena’s. It was a challenging look, and one he always felt obligated to respond to. There were a few occasions where he’d thought about it, and concluded she might be able to get him to tell her just about anything with that look alone. So soon after his unsettling conversation with the Ander, however, the possibility didn’t leave him intrigued like it once had.
Now he just wanted to make the look go away before he foolishly tested his theory.
“I was aware of the identities of a few members of the group,” he admitted, feeling a twinge of satisfaction when the admission had the desired effect and she scowled. “I’d met with some, in fact, to orchestrate that bombing on the tandem field.”
“When you tried to lead me to my death,” she added.
“We both know I could have, and chose not to. We’ve discussed it before—don’t backtrack, Delaney.” He ran his hands across the smooth leather of the armrests to give himself a moment to re-collect his thoughts, and then: “Afterward I called it off. I was told my orders had been met, so you can imagine my surprise when a few days later bombs were going off outside the palace.”
He hadn’t been at his best that night. For no real reason at all, he’d actually been concerned over her safety, and had hastily made his way to the bunkers to confirm that she was all right. Then he’d convinced himself it was merely to ensure that he hadn’t been defied, that the Tars had, in fact, ceased any plans to kill the Lissa.
Here, sitting across from her, he could admit that he’d been lying to himself. Especially when he played back the way he’d reacted when he’d spotted her with the Ander. He’d attempted to mask his actions with superiority and protocol, but the Ander had clearly seen right through him.
And he’d just been thinking about how poor the man was at hiding his own feelings?
“How did you discover it was Brightan?” Delaney asked, forcing his thoughts back to the now.
“It was simple once he was dead. The Tars’ main goal has always been aligned with mine, so I’d never had true cause to expose them before. They fought to keep Olena off the throne because they believed, as I do, she would be a terrible ruler. Given they were mostly made of Kint, they didn’t want that tied to us. To them, war was a
better option. Brightan was always very vocal that he agreed with this logic. It should have been a major clue that he was involved. It was childish of me not to see it sooner.”
“You trusted someone you thought was a friend,” she corrected. “There’s nothing childish about that.” She glanced away and then quickly back, having settled on something. “I know I said before that I wouldn’t say I’m sorry he’s dead, and I’m not, but it does suck that you had to kill a friend. It’s not something anyone should have to do.”
He stared at her a lengthy moment and then rushed out the first thing that came to mind. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Because it makes me sound weak?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Because it makes me like you more.”
She frowned and leaned forward. “You’d rather hate me?”
“It would be simpler.”
“Because it worked out so well for you and Olena?”
“Touché.” He cleared his throat, wondering how he’d allowed them to get so off topic. “How much did they teach you about our geography?”
“Nothing, really.” She slumped back and he immediately regretted the renewed distance.
To prove to himself he was being ridiculous, he got up and moved across the room, putting even more space between them. When there were no annoying tugs or strange sensations, he smiled smugly to himself and opened one of the drawers to the desk. After removing a pad of paper and a pen, he returned to his seat.
“Here.” He twisted so that he could rest the pad on his thigh and she could get a good look. “Let’s say this sheet of paper is Xenith. This”—he drew a misshapen box on the left side that took over more than half the page—“is Kint territory. And this”—he made a similar shape on the other side, noticeably smaller than the first—“is Vakar.”
“Your landmass is bigger.” She shrugged, but he caught the worry finally flickering behind her gaze as she watched him make more marks.
“This is the current population of Kint, roughly, of course.”
“Of course,” she said breathlessly, but her heart wasn’t in it.
He jotted down thirty-five million, then realized her translator wouldn’t work and said the number aloud for her. He repeated the process for Vakar, in part because he liked the use of the visual, but also because she was eventually going to have to learn to read their language.
“Their numbers don’t even come close to ours,” he said after a moment when all she did was sit there and stare. “Your Ander didn’t tell you any of this, did he?”
She shook her head.
“You didn’t realize how important you were when you were pretending to be Olena,” he guessed. “This merger was literally the only thing keeping us from taking over, and with sheer size alone, we could easily do it. You really did avert a war.”
That snapped her out of it and her eyes narrowed. “You found out Olena wasn’t really there in the end anyway.”
“Timing is important,” he said. “If I’d known it wasn’t her that first day, I would have declared war right then and there. My men were actually on the ground, awaiting my order. We would have attacked before the ship even docked. You prevented that from happening.”
“Is he dead?” She blurted the question so suddenly that it caught him off guard, and at first he didn’t know what to say.
“You’re being nice,” she explained when he still hadn’t spoken. “Well, nice-ish, and the only reason I can think for that is that something happened and Ruckus is dead. Or Pettus. Or Gibus.” Her face fell, and it was an obvious struggle for her to recompose herself. “Or all of them…? Say something. Trystan—”
“He’s not dead.” He hated how relieved she looked then, how she closed her eyes and exhaled. “All three of them are fine.” His usual for now almost passed his lips, but he caught it at the last second.
She let out another breath, and when she reopened her eyes, determination was burning brightly behind them.
“There’s a reason you brought up the Tars,” she said, “why you’re explaining to me the differences between Kint and Vakar. What is it?”
Before launching into an explanation, he allowed himself a moment to be impressed with how quickly she bounced back.
“The Tars didn’t disband. Olena might no longer be an issue, but you’re an unknown factor. They have no proof you’ll be a better ruler than she would have. I’m telling you this so that you have a clear picture of what you and I are up against. Vakar will follow tradition, but they won’t like it, and already there are factions forming in secret that hope to discover a way around the law. We’re taking care of them. You’ll be safe.”
“You said that about the Uprising,” she reminded him, and he was forced to see her point.
“That was different,” he told her, even though it hadn’t been and they both knew it. “I didn’t let anything happen to you then; I won’t let anything happen to you now. It’s why I’m showing you the numbers. Even if all of Vakar rose up against us, there’s nothing they could do.”
“And tradition is keeping Vakar at bay for now,” she said, nodding. “Without Vakar members, the Tars won’t be able to pose any true threat. But what about Kint? Tar members were originally Kint; you made it sound like your people would accept that I was Uprisen as well.”
“They will, as long as we keep my father happy. Because,” he said, though he hated to admit it, “my father is still Rex, meaning his word is law above my own. I told him that you developed feelings for me and would therefore be more easy to control than Olena. He believes you want this. Tell me you understand, Delaney.”
She licked her lips and he followed the motion despite the fact that this was a serious conversation they were in the midst of.
“Now that we’re in Kint,” she began, not leaving him any time to ask how it was she knew that, “you want me to try harder. It’s not just the coordinator I need to convince; it’s everyone here. If I don’t”—she met his gaze head-on—“you’re going to hurt Ruckus and my friends. And”—she looked down—“others are going to hurt them as well.”
Was it wrong of him to feel good that there was someone else for her to blame now?
“Yes,” he said, “they will. If we don’t convince my father that we can do this, he’ll let them. I know it. If we get through this,” he said, making a split-second decision, “after our binding, I’ll let your friends go. Including the Ander. Agreed?”
Not having to worry about how close Ruckus was would probably be a blessing. Sending him away, far away, sounded good.
When she lifted her gaze to his, she was smiling, but there wasn’t any humor in the look. “I’ve pretended on this planet before,” she said. “Why not go again?”
“Before”—he knew he shouldn’t say it even as he did—“you were playing for weeks, a handful of months at most. Now you’re playing for life. Life, Delaney,” he reminded her. “Because as much as you believe I’m not in this for the long game, I am.”
She paled, but that was the only indicator his words had any kind of effect on her.
“You did say I was going to pay with my life,” she said, feeding him back the threat he’d made on the ship.
Finally giving in to the need, he reached over to run the tips of his fingers through a few strands of her red hair. It was such a fascinating color, like melted copper and liquid fire mixed.
He was still smoothing it between his fingers when he murmured, “I did.”
CHAPTER 11
She was having a minor panic attack.
It didn’t help the room also made it painfully obvious she was in Kint. There were tones of blue from the pale color of the sky back home to the deep navy of the ocean, with bright bursts of silver and grays scattered about. The floor was made of some material similar to marble, and warm to the touch. Everything was clean and pristine, more like the room at a fancy five-star hotel than a place that was actually meant for living in.
At least Tryst
an had left her alone after the big reveal about his dad. He’d given her the rest of the day and an entire night, in fact. She already knew the Rex wasn’t someone she wanted to deal with, but now she was being told she’d have to lie to him?
She shuddered, clenching and unclenching her fists in a poor attempt to calm down. Freaking out wasn’t going to help anyone, especially not Ruckus. He deserved better after everything he’d done for her. The risks he’d taken simply by showing up in Vakar while it was under Trystan’s control.
The sudden knock on the door had her jumping and then cursing herself. Sunlight shown through the thin curtains she’d pulled over the floor-to-ceiling wall of windows. How had morning crept up on her so quickly?
Without waiting for a response, Trystan entered confidently. He glanced at her before moving toward the bedroom, leaving her to either stand there or follow.
Deciding on the latter, she went after him, pausing by the bed to watch him enter the walk-in closet. He started shifting through different outfits hung neatly on silver racks.
“I could probably start dressing myself,” she called to him. When he didn’t so much as glance in her direction, she frowned. “Trystan?”
“Hmm?” He lifted a skirt from the rack and then replaced it.
“Is it really that big of a deal?” she tried, hoping to spur him into a dialogue. Quiet Trystan was always the most unsettling. “What I wear, I mean?”
Still no reaction.
Fighting against her better instincts, Delaney moved closer until she was only a few feet away from the closet door. He was so focused on selecting things—spending more time than she ever had on picking an outfit—it didn’t seem like he even noticed.
“I’m pretty sure after our conversation last night,” she drawled, “I’m the one who’s supposed to be giving you the cold shoulder, not the other way around, Trystan.”
Finally he angled his head toward her, frowning while he tried to decipher her words. Once he had, he grunted and returned to what he was doing, which, oddly, made her feel slighted.
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