Between Frost and Fury

by Chani Lynn Feener

  “Show this picture around,” he ordered, hitting a few buttons to send the image to everyone there. “Anyone recognizes this man, bring them to me immediately.”

  “Yes, Zane.” Both Tellers rushed out of the room, leaving him alone with Henran.

  “Here.” Trystan activated a lock on the rest of his shing so no other files could be accessed and then handed the device over to the Tar. “Type down everything you know about these secure call lines. And the locations of the lockboxes. I’m going to confirm your story.”

  Not that he thought it was necessary. He believed him. Which meant someone else was lying. But to what end?

  If someone had gone out of their way to set the Tars up, it had to have been a person who was in the know. Henran insisted the call they’d gotten was legitimate, and considering it’d worked and the Tars had gathered here, there was no reason to believe otherwise.

  It was safe to assume, then, that the same person had fed the information to Mickan about a fake riot. Thinking back on it, the circumstances of his outing as a Tar were suspicious. Hadn’t Trystan been told it’d been sudden? An unfortunate slip for Mickan that had exposed him.

  Only, what if it hadn’t been a slip at all?

  If Mickan was planted, if he’d been meant to mislead them by crying riot, what was the end game? They hadn’t captured enough Tars here to make any real dent in the organization, so that couldn’t be it. Was there maybe someone specifically here the caller had wanted captured? Because they had to have known Trystan would be ordered to take a team and—

  He came to an abrupt stop.

  It was common knowledge the Zane took point in these types of missions. Always, without fail. The only reason he’d even debated not doing so this time was Delaney. In fact, being that they were in the middle of their bonding exercises, this was probably the only thing that could draw him away from her.

  Before his mind could come up with all the logical reasons he was being ridiculous, Trystan found himself exiting the room. He ran through the building, ignoring all the confused calls from the Tellers he passed. He didn’t have time to explain he was leaving.

  He had to get to a ship.

  * * *

  ALL HE WANTED to do was see Delaney. The entire trip back to Inkwell was pure, undiluted torture. He’d only felt this way once before, when he’d watched her board that ship, looking like Olena. Back then, it’d been a duller sensation, more frustration and doubt than what he was feeling now. He kept telling himself to calm down, that he was more than likely overreacting. That there were a million reasons other than getting him away from here to explain Mickan’s false confession.

  Except that was unlikely and he knew it.

  The second his ship touched down, he was out, already reaching for Delaney through their fittings as he moved. When he got no response, his fear turned to full-blown panic.

  He was jumping to conclusions. Maybe she was ignoring him; that wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility. Perhaps she was with the Ander right now. Another thought hit him, that maybe this had been Ruckus’s plan. It was complex, and Trystan wasn’t sure how he’d manage to pull it off, but it was something to consider. Wasn’t it?

  Who else would need Trystan away? Would go through that much trouble to ensure he left Inkwell? Having to travel back and forth from Kilma meant Trystan would be gone for a few days. If the Ander had somehow found a way to get loose, he and Delaney might be long gone by now.

  Part of him didn’t want to believe it, but she’d done it before. She’d gotten on that ship, looked him straight in the eye, and left.

  Things had been different then, however. Now there was something between them, something real.

  Or had he imagined their connection? Had he been so caught up in these new emotions, he’d only seen what he wanted to see?

  Trystan ran around the next corner, and almost smacked right into his father. He was so distracted by the racing of his heart, it took him a moment to process who it was.

  “Son.” The Rex clapped him on the shoulder. “I heard you were back earlier than—”

  “Where is she?” No matter what the truth was, whether she was simply ignoring him or she’d left with Ruckus, his father would know about it.

  “I’m not sure—”

  “Tell me where she is,” Trystan growled low. It took all his strength not to slam him up against the wall and beat the truth out of him. Something wasn’t right. He could feel it.

  There was a look in his father’s eyes that he recognized. It was the same sparkle he got whenever he talked about war. More aptly, winning one.

  “Where she belongs.” The Rex finally dropped the fake cordial act, twisting his thin lips into a sneer. “Are those emotions coming off of you? I raised you better than that. She’s a human, Trystan, honestly.”

  He stilled. “You agreed.”

  “I agreed she was useful,” he corrected. “And now her use has run its course.”

  “What are you talking about?” He couldn’t let his imagination continue to get away from him, already too close to the edge as it was. Conversations with his father took presence and calculation, neither of which he was currently capable of.

  “The world already expects her to be the next Regina,” Trystan tried, a lifetime of knowing his father telling him it was futile. “They’ve accepted. The Tars have been dealt with. They hadn’t been planning a riot at all.”

  “I know that,” the Rex said, making him freeze all over again.

  “It was you.” Suddenly all the pieces clicked into place. Of course it was him. He’d been the one who’d delivered Mickan, the one who’d insisted that Trystan go to Kilma. If he hadn’t been so caught up in getting back to Delaney, he would have seen it sooner. “Why?”

  How deeply involved had his father been? He’d known how to contact the Tars, how to call a meeting.… Even they’d been confused by it. How long had this been in the works? Silently, he cursed himself for being so blind. He’d always known what his father was capable of, had always kept his guard up, but this had been different. He’d wanted Delaney so badly, wanted everything to work in his favor. He hadn’t paid attention.

  And now it was costing him. What if it cost him everything?

  “Because the world needed to think there was a legitimate force against this union,” the Rex told him matter-of-factly. “As a bonus, we announced the results of the Unveiling to the public this morning. They already believe the Tars oppose this, and those who’ve agreed to it do so only because Tilda has claimed Miss Grace as her successor. Imagine how happy they’ll all be now to have Olena? At least the girl is one of them.”

  Trystan had been distracted when he’d opened that last gift, both annoyed and then relieved when he’d realized she’d chosen it for Ruckus. He hadn’t paid attention to Co Gailie. Yet now that he was thinking back on it, she’d seemed upset, and she’d been there in the hall when he’d left, waiting to talk with the Rex.

  “You planted the item, didn’t you?” It wasn’t a question; the second he thought of it, he knew it was what had happened. “That’s why the coordinator wanted to speak with you afterward.”

  She was the one who would have wrapped all the items. She would have known the second it was opened that it wasn’t the right thing inside. Whatever had actually been in that yellow box Delaney had selected, it hadn’t been a bad omen.

  “Is she all right?” he asked. If she knew his father’s secret, she was a liability.

  “Now you care about the coordinator as well?” The Rex shook his head. “Really, Trystan, this has gone far enough. I realize the old Olena wasn’t exactly to your tastes—and who could blame you?—but she’s new and improved. Willing to behave and do exactly what we tell her. We can still have everything we planned.”

  “And Earth?” He needed to find out where Delaney was, and fast. He couldn’t even consider that it might be too late.

  “We’ll take it,” he said. “We still have all the necessary we
aponry to do so. As soon as you and Olena are bound, we’ll do away with Tilda. You’ll be the Basileus of Vakar, and together, you and I will invade Earth.”

  “Where is she?” Standing here arguing about this wasn’t going to get him anywhere, and frankly, right now none of it mattered. He didn’t give a damn about the future. All he cared about was getting to Delaney.

  He needed her to be okay.

  “Son—”

  “Tell me where she is,” he ordered coldly.

  “You’ll never make it in time anyway,” his father reasoned. “I’m on my way to a meeting with the high council in Carnage. Come with me. We can discuss things on our way there.”

  The last thread of Trystan’s control snapped. He didn’t register moving, but the next instant he’d shoved his father against the wall.

  “Stand down,” the Rex told the smattering of Tellers at his back who made moves closer toward them.

  In his fear-induced state, Trystan hadn’t even noticed they were there.

  “I’m not leaving here without her.”

  “Stubborn to the last.” His father heaved a sigh and waved at the nearest window. “She’s out there. Somewhere in or past the east forest. Olena—”

  He didn’t stay to hear the rest, bolting past them and down the hall. The ship’s heating system ensured wearing a cilla suit wasn’t necessary, but he and his men all carried them anyway whenever they went on mission. After his crash during the war, he’d made it a rule, which was good now, because there wasn’t time for him to stop for one.

  Still, he contemplated it for half a second before rejecting the idea. By now, Delaney would be in dire need of a suit, but Trystan would have to go the opposite direction to get to where they were stored.

  His father had mentioned Olena was out there. She definitely wouldn’t have gone outside without one.

  He could always take hers and give it to Delaney.

  Trystan snapped the cilla suit onto his chest and hit the release button. The material unspooled and stretched around him protectively just as he reached the doors, and he rushed out into the harsh weather.

  Their initial tracks were hard to find, the wind having mostly swept them away, but once he was past the tree line he found them. Their trail led deep into the forest, and he practically ran after it, the suit making it easier for him to do so.

  He didn’t know the exact time frame of their departure, and without a suit, Delaney’s body would have already begun to shut down. It might be too late.

  It couldn’t be too late.

  His breath fogged the plastic over his face faster than it could dissipate, and he struggled to even out his breathing. Losing his head here wasn’t an option; he’d been trained for situations like this. He couldn’t let his emotions cloud his judgment, even if Delaney was the reason behind them.

  Especially because she was.

  He tracked them to the center of the forest, momentarily losing them a second time before noticing a large dip in the snow to the left. Someone had clearly fallen and been dragged to their feet. A growl escaped from the back of his throat as he pictured Delaney on the ground, frozen and in pain.

  Another ten minutes passed before he shot to the rise of a small hill, heart skipping a beat when he finally spotted them at the bottom, off to the right. The wind had picked up again, tossing snow and ice into the air, and the sky had darkened, making it harder to see anything other than shadowy figures in the distance. If not for the lights on their suits, he would have overlooked them.

  Turning off the lights on his own suit, Trystan hunkered lower and quickly shuffled toward the other side of the hill so he could get the drop on them. He scanned the area, counting the Tellers he could see.

  One in particular stood a few feet ahead of the rest, her form slightly smaller and lithe. She held a fritz out in front of her, the flickering blue on the side showing that the weapon was at its highest setting.

  Olena.

  There were two people who weren’t wearing suits standing a bit away from her. If that wasn’t indicator enough, he caught a flash of red hair.

  Delaney.

  Easing himself over the side of the hill, his right hand pressed against the ground to help keep low. The second they realized he was there, they’d kill Delaney.

  The closer he got, the more apparent it became that Olena was talking, though he couldn’t make out any of the words over the roaring winds. Another thing he could use to his advantage.

  After what felt like an eternity, he finally reached the bottom, sidling up behind two of the nearest Tellers. There were only six of them, easy pickings so long as he took them out before Olena turned around and realized what was happening.

  It was difficult not to look at Delaney, not to waste time trying to see if she was all right. If he didn’t hurry, she wouldn’t be. Banking down all those fears and protective urges was probably the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. He inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled out his nose, feeling that familiar calm wash over him.

  He hadn’t stopped to think about his fritz, which was now encased within the suit, but he didn’t need it. It was easy enough for him to kill without it.

  The Teller on the left, standing only a few inches ahead of him, finally seemed to notice there was someone there. He angled his head, and was in the process of turning when Trystan struck.

  He had one hand under his chin, the other at the top of his head in less than a second. The Teller’s neck snapped like a twig, clean and easy. He was dead before his body hit the ground, and Trystan was already in the midst of killing someone else.

  The second Teller went down just as quickly, and Trystan dropped behind another, swiping his legs out from under him. His fist collided with the center of the cilla suit, smashing the device. The material of the suit began to unravel, and he took one of the long strands, wrapping it three times around the Teller’s neck.

  A fourth man noticed while he was strangling the third, so Trystan dropped to the ground and hooked his legs around one of this Teller’s ankles. He tugged, already moving for him before his back slammed into the snow.

  The Teller lifted his fritz, slipping in the snow when he attempted to right himself. The blue lights at the side of the weapon brightened, signaling a shot was about to go off.

  Trystan grabbed his wrist and twisted, hard. He couldn’t hear it, even as close as he was, but he felt the snapping of bone. Needing him alive for the time being, he ignored the chorusing scream, angling the fritz so that it was aimed at the back of another Teller. Slamming his finger against the man’s finger, he fired.

  The Teller dropped, and the last turned to find Trystan had already set the weapon on him. He didn’t even have time to contemplate raising his own fritz.

  That was when Olena finally noticed them. She spun quickly, clearly taking in that she was about to be the last one standing, and then swung back around to Delaney. She pulled the trigger the same instant Trystan did, but he already knew he hadn’t gotten in a good shot.

  His heart stopped.

  CHAPTER 29

  The person standing at Delaney’s side grabbed her, flinging her around to shield her with his body. The zee hit right between his shoulder blades, jolting him. For a frozen moment, nothing happened, but then he wavered on his feet.

  Delaney screamed something, frantically trying to catch the man as he toppled.

  Trystan turned the fritz on the Teller it belonged to, shooting him once in the head. Then he dropped the now useless weapon and bounded toward Delaney.

  Olena stepped in his way at the last second, momentarily catching him off guard, and aimed her fritz at his head. Blood was seeping through her left shoulder, which hung lower than her other. The zee he’d fired had gone clean through, but it wasn’t a killing blow. Not if she made it out of here and back to the castle.

  Which wasn’t even a remote possibility.

  He went to move forward, and her hand tightened on the weapon pointedly.

  “You are
n’t going to shoot me, Olena,” he growled. “No matter what kind of deal you struck with him, my father would never forgive you for killing me.”

  “Just let her go,” she urged frantically. “Let’s just leave her here, let the cold do the rest. We don’t need her! She’s nothing!”

  “I need her.” Too late, he realized how true that was.

  Her eyes narrowed into thin slits. “What is it about her that has you all losing your minds?! I’ll tell him it was one of them,” she said, clearly to herself. “Say they killed you accidentally. He won’t blame me. I’ll convince him.”

  “You’re hardly a good actress on the best of days,” he reminded her. She couldn’t seriously be crazy enough to shoot him, could she?

  “I can do it,” she insisted. “I can be free.”

  A figure loomed at her back suddenly, and hands clasped Olena’s skull. In one swift move, he twisted it to the right.

  Olena’s mouth parted and her wide eyes stared at Trystan for half a second before her body collapsed in a heap.

  Trystan blinked and looked up to find the Ander’s favorite Teller, Pettus, standing there, a hand pressed tightly to his chest. Blood was seeping quickly through his fingers.

  “You’re not the only one who knows that move,” the Teller volunteered before he lost his footing and dropped a second time.

  Then Delaney was there, cradling his head in her lap, the tears tracking down her bright red cheeks, already starting to freeze. The wind whipped her hair around her face, making it hard to see her eyes, but she was too busy curling her body around the Teller in a poor attempt to protect him to notice she needed protection more.

  “Go,” Pettus heaved, drawing Trystan’s attention. The Teller was staring at him. “Get her out of here. There’s not much time.”

  The sun had practically set in the sky. He was right. As soon as darkness fully took over, the temperatures would drop to such dangerous levels that even the suits wouldn’t protect them.

  “No.” Delaney shook her head vehemently. “No. You’re going to be fine. We’re getting out of here together.”