Between Frost and Fury

by Chani Lynn Feener

  Her expression grew momentarily distant, a sadness entering her glazed eyes, slipping past her defenses. Was she letting him see, or had she simply become too distracted by the memory to keep her guard up?

  “When they got home the next morning, they found me asleep in the upstairs hallway, still clutching a pair of my dad’s solid-gold cufflinks.” She pursed her lips, inhaled, and then shook herself out of it. She shed the recollection like a too-tight coat, dropping it and coming back to herself with ease.

  It was impressive, her ability to accept things. He didn’t have that skill; maybe growing up would have been a little easier if he did.

  “My mother died when I was eleven.” He paused. That was definitely a subject he hadn’t expected to bring up.

  There wasn’t a hint of pity in her gaze, and she didn’t make a face or lean toward him and rest her hand over his. Didn’t give him a false sense of comfort, which he appreciated.

  He’d decided to only give her truths. It’d be nice if she only gave them to him as well.

  “There isn’t really much to say.” And there wasn’t. He only vaguely remembered her, mostly her smell, a mixture of sharp chocolate and hazelnut. Some of the things they’d done together often enough had made an impression. “A year later I was sent away. Training. All the royal children have to at that age.”

  “Trystan”—she waited for him to look at her—“you wouldn’t have brought it up if you didn’t want to talk about it. It’s okay. I won’t tease or judge you for anything you have to say about your mom. I know there are limits to us, lines that even we shouldn’t cross.”

  Had they silently agreed upon these lines, or did she just know about them? It was nice that she had boundaries, personal or otherwise. That there were things she wasn’t willing to do, no matter who she was arguing with.

  Would she torture someone for information, like he’d just done?

  Probably, he realized, searching her features for the answer. Sure, she was kind, and thoughtful, but she wasn’t soft or meek. She had no qualms about standing up for herself or the people she loved. There was little doubt that if she had to, she would do anything to keep them protected. Even if it meant crossing some of those lines she’d drawn herself.

  Did that mean, if pushed far enough, she’d take it back and use his mother against him after all? He wished he knew, but he didn’t. His gut told him she wouldn’t, that while she wasn’t weak, she also wasn’t cruel. But how well did he know her, really? How well did anyone know anyone else? He was well respected in Kint, but Brightan had been the closest thing he’d had to a friend since Ustan.

  Everyone who’d ever known him, the real him, was dead.

  “My mother and I were very close,” he told her, suddenly needing her to know this part of him. “I don’t remember much, don’t have many actual memories, but I never forgot that. She would read to me, not just before bedtime, but all the time. At random intervals throughout the day she’d appear in the doorway of whatever room I was in, a book in hand, and start reading. Books, all kinds, excited her. I think they made up for the lack of attention given to her by my father.”

  Both of her parents were busy with work, but when he’d been younger, only his father had been. His mother, while highborn, was only royalty by marriage and therefore didn’t know all the ins and outs of their political system. Not enough to be of legitimate use, and Trystan got the sense that his father liked it that way.

  “I’m hiring you a tutor.” He would not be his father, and what was more, he didn’t want Delaney to be sad like his mother. She’d already expressed feeling lonely and swept aside by her family. As her new family—or at least, he was going to be after the binding—it was his responsibility to make sure she never felt that way again.

  “One who can teach you the politics of both Kint and Vakar,” he went on. “Perhaps one who can also refresh you on the politics of your own people as well. That will be important in the coming years, I’m sure. You’ll have to know how to properly govern them, after all.”

  “What do you mean?” She’d gone a bit stiff, but he continued anyway, too caught up in his thoughts to really notice.

  “You’re their Lissa now,” he said. “It’s important that you stay involved, even if we don’t visit Earth often. You’ll be the bridge between our two worlds, the one who keeps the peace. Dropping their need to invade won’t come easy for the Kints. There’ll be demands, compromises with Earth’s governments. You understand.”

  “No.” She tightened her arms around her knees. “I’m not following. I thought you already said you’d protect Earth? That my binding to you automatically ensured that?”

  “It automatically ensures that your people are kept safe because they’ll technically be my people,” he corrected. “That doesn’t mean they won’t be punished for rebelling, the same way the Tars are being. Our laws and Earth laws are very different; the original plan was to start phasing out yours for ours. It would certainly be simpler ruling both planets if they had the same set of rules to follow.”

  Delaney was still for a long moment in which he wasn’t even sure she was breathing, then she slowly unfolded from the chair and stood before him. It wasn’t until she spoke that he noted the heat in her eyes, the way the green of her irises had sharpened.

  “You’re talking about invading,” she said, deadly calm. “About killing off our cultures, our traditions, and replacing them with your own. Are you completely insane, or just delusional? Did you honestly think I’d stand by and let that happen? That I was going to twiddle my thumbs on the sidelines while you took over my planet?”

  “Honestly”—it took all his willpower not to stand himself, to not use his height and stature against her—“I hadn’t thought about it. But this was all before, Delaney,” he rushed on, wanting to reassure her before her anger got too far. “I’m telling you now that it’s no longer the plan. Hence, the tutors. They can teach you everything you need to know about my people, and they can also teach us everything we need to know about yours. We can do this. Nothing has to change for anyone.”

  He wasn’t sure she believed him; maybe she wasn’t sure, either. The look she gave him was indecipherable, which was unsettling because he could usually read her so well.

  In retrospect, he shouldn’t have mentioned the original invasion plan, but he’d grown up with the idea that Earth would one day belong to Xenith. It was natural to him to discuss it and its inevitability. She, obviously, wouldn’t see it as casually as he did.

  These thoughts had also entered his head completely unannounced. Up until he’d spoken them aloud, he’d had no idea he’d changed his stance on taking over Earth. It was his father’s goal, in truth, and that would have to somehow be dealt with as well. But Trystan was sure he could come up with some plan to stay the Rex’s hand, at least long enough for Delaney and him to put together a presentation that got all three of them what they wanted.

  She was still staring down at him, and there may or may not have been a sliver of fear in her eyes, gone before he could be certain. Was she thinking about their agreement instead? The one where he’d sworn to bring her home as soon as he’d gotten what he wanted?

  The agreement he’d carefully worded to ensure he got to keep what he wanted? He’d be true to his word, would bring her back to her planet, as promised. But there was no way in hell he’d be leaving her there.

  “You still want Earth,” she stated, drawing him from his darkening thoughts. “You still think we’re beneath you. Admit it. You told me back on the ship. You said you wanted me because I was better than Olena and I’d be able to get you not only Vakar but also Earth. You were honest about it. I guess I just thought … I don’t know. I don’t know what I thought. I was stupid. The fact that this caught me off guard is stupid.

  “But”—she took a threatening step closer, bringing them almost to eye level with him still seated—“let me be crystal clear about one thing, Trystan. I will not help you enslave my planet. Ever. I
’d take myself out of the equation long before I ever let that happen.”

  He was up so fast that she stumbled back, forcing him to catch her around the waist to stop her from completely falling. His arm banded around her slim form, tightened to hold her close, as if that would keep her words from coming true. Fear, real fear, slithered up his spine, chilling his insides. He wasn’t used to feeling panic, especially not the kind he couldn’t control, so this sensation was new.

  He didn’t like it.

  “You will never say something like that again,” he found himself telling her through the buzzing in his brain. His free hand reached up to cup the base of her skull, forcing her even closer to him. “I mean it, Delaney. Threats like that…” He swallowed the lump in his throat.

  “Trystan—” She was pale and frowning again, but he didn’t process that, either.

  “If you—” He couldn’t even say the word. His throat closed up and his world narrowed, becoming very small so that there was only her.

  “Trystan,” she said, softer this time, and when he didn’t respond, she lifted a hand to his face.

  Her fingers were a tad cold, but they felt good against his overheated flesh. They were soft as well, her skin smooth against his as she trailed them over his cheek and down his jaw. Then she ran them through the hair at the side of his head gently, carefully.

  “I shouldn’t have said that. I wasn’t thinking,” she told him afterward, her tone soothing. “I’m sorry.”

  “I threatened your people.” He closed his eyes, tilting his head slightly into her touch as she brought her fingers back to his forehead so she could repeat the motion through his hair. “You’d do anything to protect them. I admire that.”

  “Because you would do the same,” she guessed. Only, it came out like a certainty.

  Still, he replied, “Yes.”

  He hadn’t realized she was slowly urging him back until she’d turned them and pressed against the tops of his shoulders. He allowed her to maneuver him down, easing into the large chair she’d exited only minutes prior. A wave of disappointment washed over him when she took her hand away, but he didn’t feel it long.

  She perched on the left arm of the chair, swiveling so that she could place her feet on the cushion between his legs. Her right hand reached for him, starting up the same slow, hypnotic motions through his hair on the other side of his head.

  They stayed like that for a moment, and it became clear she was giving him time to settle his nerves before asking what she wanted to ask.

  “Trystan,” she said, “how did your mother die?”

  He stilled, hating himself for the reaction almost as quickly as it came. His muscles bunched in preparation as he readied to stand, but she must have predicted this, turning her knees inward so that they lightly pressed against his chest, blocking him.

  He could easily move her, of course. But he didn’t.

  “She killed herself, didn’t she?”

  There was a spot right between her neck and her breasts, and he kept his gaze locked there. This was not a subject he spoke about with anyone, not even his father. In fact, they’d never discussed it, not once in all the years since it’d happened. He couldn’t even recall the last time he’d heard his father say her name.

  “We don’t need to talk about it,” Delaney added. “I’m sorry I brought it up.”

  Except she hadn’t—he had, and she was right. He wouldn’t have done so if some part of him hadn’t wanted them to end up exactly where they were now.

  “I was the one who found her,” he whispered, barely recognizing the wispy sound of his own voice. “She hadn’t meant for me to; she wasn’t cruel. It was in their bedroom, and I wasn’t allowed in there. She must have thought it the perfect place. I’m pretty sure she wanted it to be my father.”

  He never broke the rules; he’d respected her too much for that. That day had been different, though he could never remember why. He’d seen the door; it’d been closed like always, but something inside of him had insisted he open it. And he’d listened.

  “I still don’t know why she did it,” he continued, trying not to allow the last images of his mother into his mind. “There wasn’t a note, and my father would never tell me. My only guess is that she was very unhappy. That he made her that way, and she felt like there was nothing else she could do. She was the Regina. There was no out for her.”

  Realizing the way that must sound, he lifted his eyes to hers, silently pleading with her to understand. “I know this isn’t what you wanted, but I swear, Delaney, I will never be my father. I won’t lock you away like he did her. You’ll have real power, a real say on how things are governed. On how your people are treated.”

  He didn’t give her time to respond, was too afraid of what she might say. He couldn’t even continue looking at her, not wanting to see her expression, and he pressed his lips to the spot between her neck and left shoulder.

  “You won’t be unhappy with me,” he promised, dropping his forehead to that same spot he’d just kissed.

  Trystan knew she might not believe him right now, but he believed it. He wouldn’t have said it if he hadn’t thought it was true. He had far more to give than any Ander ever could. He could make her happy.

  He’d prove it.

  CHAPTER 19

  “How are you, Lissa?”

  Delaney glanced over to find Sanzie staring straight ahead. Her gaze, as per usual, was impassive, so it was impossible to know what the other girl was thinking. Or getting at.

  “Fine,” Delaney replied tentatively. “And you?”

  “It’s been a stressful past few days,” she shocked her by admitting, though there was hardly any inflection in her tone.

  “Let me guess,” Delaney said. “Nothing I need concern myself with?”

  Sanzie gave her a quick look. “You can concern yourself with whatever you’d like. You’re the Lissa.”

  Which was probably how Delaney had managed to convince the Teller to take her where they were currently headed. Earlier, Sanzie had stopped by to announce that Trystan would be occupied the entire day.

  Delaney had mumbled something about wanting to see Ruckus, already positive that it wouldn’t be allowed. But Sanzie had merely nodded, said okay, and began leading the way to the dungeons.

  “I’m simply not allowed to bring certain things up with you myself,” Sanzie added then, catching Delaney’s interest.

  “Meaning if I asked you a question about something specific—”

  “I would be forced to answer it,” she agreed before she could finish. “Correct.”

  That could be useful.

  “What are Trystan’s secrets?” she blurted, unable to help herself.

  “I can only confirm that he has them,” Sanzie told her. “I can’t elaborate.”

  “Right.” That made more sense. “Which is why he’s comfortable with you having to answer any of my questions: because I need the right question in order to receive anything important. Great.”

  It was impossible to ask someone about something she didn’t know. Clever of him, really.

  She switched gears. “All right, tell me about you, then. Why did you leave Vakar?”

  They were getting close to the stairwell to the dungeons, and she needed a distraction. The thought of seeing Ruckus made her heart soar and her stomach plummet at the same time. A very unsettling feeling. Without Trystan around, she hoped she’d be able to tell Ruckus about the agreement the two of them had made.

  The one she wasn’t so sure they’d actually agreed on anymore. The way he’d spoken last night hadn’t been the way one would talk about someone they’d eventually part from. He’d made it sound like they were going to have a long future together, the exact opposite of what he’d promised her.

  Wasn’t it?

  She’d spent the entire night trying to ignore the sharp twist of dread in her gut, knowing that if she dwelled on it now, if she looked too closely and found something she didn’t like, she’d cra
ck. And none of them, not Ruckus or Pettus or Gibus or even Trystan, could afford that.

  So she focused on the Teller at her side, and on the cold chill to the air as they began making their way down the winding staircase. The way the soles of her shoes made a light tapping sound against the stone, how the sharp bite of ice and cleaning solution made her nose twitch.

  “My father died…,” Sanzie began. “He was Vakar, but my mother was Kint. After his death, there was nothing to keep her and she moved back to the kingdom she was born to. She took my younger sister with her, while I stayed behind because I’d already worked hard for my position in the Vakar army. I’d spent my childhood traveling back and forth between Vakar and Kint; I held no loyalty to one or the other, and because of my heritage, I was a citizen of both.”

  Delaney had never heard her say anywhere near this many words before, and was too afraid she’d stop if she asked any questions, so she kept her mouth shut.

  “During the war, I was fighting in a battle, helping to shoot down enemy ships. I knew the risks, so when my craft was hit and I started to go down, I thought I was okay with it. But then I survived the crash, and I waited for my squad to come and find me.” Her expression tightened, almost imperceptibly, because she’d been keeping a straight face anyway. “They never did.”

  Now the reason Delaney didn’t say anything was because she didn’t know what to say. Not that it mattered; Sanzie only paused for a split second before continuing.

  “I was left there, literally freezing to death, standing by the massive, smoking remains of my craft, when I realized I was going to die for people I didn’t care about. As I mentioned, I felt no true loyalty to either Vakar or Kint. No ties to anyone in particular. I loved my mother, but I’d also loved my father. The only reason I was even fighting for Vakar in the first place was because that’s where I’d been when I’d decided this career path.”

  “They left you there to die,” Delaney said.