Amid Stars and Darkness

by Chani Lynn Feener

  “It’s not. Trystan saw me.” She toed the book she’d taken. She didn’t know why she’d even bothered; from the little she’d gleaned, it wasn’t going to be very helpful. Taking the time to replace it though, with the Zane standing right there, hadn’t seemed like a good idea. “He talked to me.”

  “Did he suspect something?” Her earlier question repeated back at her was somewhat ironic.

  “I don’t think so,” she parroted in turn. “He noticed there were differences—the me-being-in-a-library thing wasn’t lost on him, either—but aside from that … he was the same arrogant asshole I met on the ship.”

  Ruckus pressed his knuckles at the space between his eyes as if he had a headache. “This is exactly why I don’t want you going off alone. I understand you’re used to doing things on your own terms, but this isn’t Earth.”

  “Gee,” she drawled, “thanks for the reminder.”

  “I already apologized for taking you,” he grated. “Do you need me to say it again?”

  Childishly, she shrugged a single shoulder, but managed to keep from actually saying yes. It wouldn’t hurt hearing him grovel, but unfortunately it wouldn’t help, either.

  He let out a heavy sigh. “All right, let’s try this again. You should really get some rest. The Basileus isn’t exactly known for his patience, so when you meet him for breakfast tomorrow, you’re going to want to be at your best. Tonight I’m going to be right outside. Me. Not Pettus. Also me? Not getting any sleep now. I’d sarcastically thank you for that, but I fear you’d just—”

  “You’re welcome.” She couldn’t help the grin.

  “Do that.” He dropped his hand against his thigh and then made his way over to the door. It shut quietly behind him.

  Once he’d left, she found her body going lax, and she climbed back into the bed like a zombie. Earlier it might not have been possible, but this time, she was out the second her head hit the pillow.

  CHAPTER 8

  It was a struggle, and she had to force herself to do it, but once Delaney glanced in the mirror in the bathroom, she couldn’t look away. She’d hoped that since she was prepared to see Olena looking back at her this time, it wouldn’t be as startling. Nope, that was definitely not the case. Though their hair was basically the same length, the slick black strands were incredibly foreign, and the gold-and-violet eyes peering back creeped her out.

  Of course, even with a different face, the effects of yesterday were visible.

  There were bags under her eyes from lack of sleep, not to mention puffy red marks, proof that she’d been crying before last night’s library excursion. If only she’d thought to have her purse on her instead of leaving it in the car that night at the club, then she’d be fine. Half of her makeup was in there; she didn’t use much.

  Dipping her hands into the water basin she’d already filled with cold water, she waited for her fingers to chill and then pressed them beneath her eyes. A few more times, and at least some of the swelling had gone down.

  A knock on the bathroom door startled her, and she silently cursed her jumpiness. How was she supposed to convince an entire castle full of people she was a princess if she couldn’t even get ahold of herself while alone? Expecting Ruckus, she didn’t take the time to mask her frustration as she moved over and yanked the door open.

  Only to be met with a petite blond girl in a forest-green dress with buttons all up the front. Her hair was pulled to the side in a single curly ponytail, and she held her hands clasped in front of her. She bowed the second their eyes met. Hers were an emerald with a ring of vibrant orange, and for a second Delaney stood there speechless, staring at her.

  “Good daybreak, Lissa Olena.” The girl bowed again and then glanced over her shoulder into the bathroom. A frown marred her otherwise cherubic face. She had to only be around a year or so younger than Delaney. “I was told by the Teller that you could accommodate yourself.”

  “Pettus?” She cleared her throat, and straightened some in the hopes it would help her appear more regal and less … well, like her. “Teller Pettus was mistaken. I’m afraid my trip to Earth has left me a bit muddled.” Did they say things like muddled on Xenith?

  “Would you like help getting ready, Lissa Olena?”

  “If that wouldn’t be too much trouble.” Crap. “I mean, yes, please.”

  Forget this. Letting out another sigh, she spun on her heel, went to the sink, and threw out her arm toward it. Not knowing how to act—proper, friendly, etc.—was making things worse. She decided to go on instinct from here on out. Hopefully it wouldn’t end up being the worst mistake—or the last, for that matter—she ever made.

  “How the heck am I supposed to get makeup out of this thing?” she asked, exasperated.

  With a slight giggle that she tried to hide, the girl stepped forward and reached beneath the outer lip of the stone counter. She must have pressed a hidden latch there, for a drawer sprung out.

  It was about six feet long and four feet deep, and packed with more products than Delaney could use in her entire lifetime. Some of it looked slightly familiar, but for the most part, the items were foreign. Reaching in, she cautiously lifted a tube of pale pink. It was shaped sort of like lipstick, but when she pulled the top off, a wand with bristles on the end popped out.

  “Did you want to go with pink today, Lissa?” the girl asked, already picking out a few matching items from the drawer to go along with the tube in Delaney’s hand.

  Back home, Delaney didn’t bother much with makeup, but she recalled seeing differently of Olena in the photo Ruckus had shown her. Her eyes wandered back up to the mirror, and this time it was easy to quickly look away. Mariana would know what to do with a face like Olena’s, just what shades to use, how much.

  She gritted her teeth, upset over the fact that on top of everything else, she could also no longer confidently know what makeup to wear or not wear. She didn’t even want to think about clothes.

  “Um…” She squished the top back on the tube and dropped it into the first section she’d pulled it from. “That’s okay.”

  The girl immediately began putting away the items she’d pulled out.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be, Lissa.” She beamed. “What about red? It goes so well with your jet-black hair.”

  “What about gold?” Delaney asked, noticing a shiny tube that very color.

  “Gold?” The girl seemed surprised. “Forgive me, but I was told you hated the color.”

  “Were you?” Who hated gold? She glanced pointedly at the golden buttons on the girl’s dress. There’d been accents of the same on all the other uniforms she’d seen here so far. Perhaps Olena hated it because of that? Was it meant as a tiny rebellion?

  Kind of a pathetic one, if you asked her.

  “I was told by Wilima that silver was your preferred metallic, Lissa.”

  “Wilima?”

  “Your previous atteta.”

  She assumed “atteta” meant “helper.” “Well, I’ve been away a long time, and my tastes have changed over my denzeration”—she was pleased when her voice didn’t stumble over that word—“and now I also love gold.”

  “Very good, Lissa.” The girl didn’t seem the least bit concerned by this change, and began to take out various shades.

  “What’s your name?” Delaney asked, hoping she wasn’t stepping over some line by doing so.

  “I am Lura,” she said with a friendly smile, “your new atteta.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Lura.”

  That gave the girl pause, and she stared at Delaney oddly out of the corner of her eye. After a moment, she continued with what she’d been doing, carefully placing each item on the surface of the counter with little more than a soft click.

  “Thank you, Lissa. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well.”

  Shit, had they met before? If so, why didn’t she just say? Unless she now thought Delaney was a bitch for not remembering. That was a distinct possibility. Just to be sure, she
asked, and when the other girl laughed, she pulled back slightly, even more confused.

  “Oh no,” Lura told her. “I’m new to the castle. I wasn’t working here when you left for your denzeration.” In the large bathroom, the girl looked even smaller than she had in the doorway. Her eyes were lined in black, and it became clear there was something on her mind when she found sudden interest in comparing two tiny cases with practically the exact same shade.

  “You have a question,” Delaney prodded. “Ask.”

  “I couldn’t.”

  “It’s all right. What is it?”

  “Was Earth…” She cleared her throat. “What’s it like?”

  Delaney’s tears threatened to spill all over again, so she forced herself to concentrate on the makeover. Tapping her finger against the small square case in Lura’s left hand, she shrugged a shoulder.

  “It’s great. I’ll tell you all about it sometime.”

  “Will you really?” Lura’s excitement filled the room, and she clutched the tiny makeup case against her chest. “That would be amazing. Thank you, Lissa Olena!”

  “No problem. Can we, uh”—Delaney motioned to her face—“do something about this now?”

  “Oh!” She leaped into action. “Of course! Breakfast is in less than an hour now!”

  Less than an hour before she’d have to face the alien regents who were holding her captive? Great.

  Her last remaining shred of hope was that at least Trystan would not be there.

  * * *

  THE BASILEUS WAS seated at the head of the table to her right, the Basilissa at the other end. There were a few empty seats, including the entire row across from her, and it somehow managed to make the room both smaller and larger at the same time.

  At least Ruckus had been allowed to join them, and was sitting at her left. There was about three feet of space between them, this table having been made to seat eight at the very least, but having a familiar face was a major relief.

  He’d already been there when Pettus had led her to the dining room. Apparently, she was the last to arrive and everyone had been waiting. They stood in a flourish upon her entrance, but it was obvious Ruckus was the only one who wasn’t annoyed with how long she’d taken to get there.

  “We understand that this situation is less than ideal for you.” Magnus lifted a glass similar to a coffee mug filled with dark black liquid to his lips. “For us as well. Our daughter has always been an independent spirit—”

  At her side, Ruckus practically choked on his own drink, barely catching himself at the last minute. It didn’t seem like anyone else noticed but Delaney. She had to agree that “independent spirit” was putting it lightly.

  “But none of us would ever have expected anything like this. However, it is imperative that you play the hand you were dealt, and play it well. That means showing up where you are supposed to. On time.”

  She bit her tongue but outwardly nodded.

  “Good.” He motioned toward Ruckus. “The Ander here will be with you throughout this process. He knows my daughter better than anyone. If you have any questions, he should be able to answer them for you. Still, is there anything immediate you think you should know?”

  Somehow, gaping at a king seemed like a bad idea, so she ended up biting her tongue even harder.

  “There’s a lot, actually,” she ended up saying, unable to condense it like he clearly wanted her to do. How was she supposed to take everything she needed to know and shove it into one or two questions? Besides that, it wasn’t like she could point out that everything she had heard so far about his daughter painted her more as spoiled than independent.

  “Yes, well.” He cleared his throat. “That’s to be expected. We want you to succeed here, Delaney. It’s important to all of us that you do. To make it easier, we’ve pushed all of Olena’s planned appearances off, except for one, but there’s no speaking involved, so you should be fine.”

  “The people need to see that our daughter has returned to fulfill her duty,” Tilda added from her side of the table.

  “If for any reason there’s something that the Ander can’t answer,” Magnus said, making it very clear by his tone he doubted there was such a thing, “he’s under orders to contact me.”

  “It’s amazing how much you look like her.” Tilda leaned forward. “Not even I would know.” Her smile was forced, and tinged with a heavy sadness. “You’ll do just fine, Miss Grace, so long as you follow the set of rules we’ve laid out for you.”

  “Which are?” She’d always rebelled against the mere concept of rules, but now part of her had to admit having them wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing. She didn’t know this world or its people; anything they could tell her to do, or not to do, as the case may be, would be helpful. Her thoughts turned back to last night, and she was reminded how well going off script had gone for her.

  If following their guidelines—as she was going to call them in her head—would keep her from any more scary run-ins with the Zane, then that was reason enough to do so.

  “No traveling the castle without an escort…,” Magnus began. He straightened in his seat, shoulders broad and pulled back as if it were necessary for him to intimidate her now when he’d been trying so hard not to up until this point. “And absolutely no leaving the castle grounds. We’re currently removing any political personnel who don’t need to be here, making sure that there is less opportunity for you to fail.”

  She took offense to that, but he was already continuing.

  “It is our hope that Olena will be found in a timely fashion, but until then you must limit the number of people you interact with. Fortunately, our daughter is … somewhat of a loner, so no one will expect you to make small talk with them.”

  Joy. Of course, parts of that statement matched up with the things Pettus and Gibus had told her last night, while others … Was one considered a loner when they were such a raging bitch that no one wanted to be around them? Or did that just make them a pariah? Not to mention the fact that everyone else seemed to think that Olena liked to party, whereas her father was painting her as a recluse.

  “Now”—he folded his hands before him—“to get down to some of the basics. Our daughter is not fond—”

  The double doors behind the Basilissa burst open then, cutting off anything the Basileus might have been about to divulge. Trystan appeared with two sentries at his back, their eyes sheepish and downcast. Clearly, he’d forced his way in despite their efforts to stop him.

  He grabbed the edges of the doors before they could slam against the walls, standing there for a moment, eyeing them all. It was a bold move, being that he was in Vakar territory, but he didn’t seem the least bit concerned by his show of rudeness. In the extremely green room, his blue uniform stood out like a beacon.

  Green walls, table, chairs. Gold accents. Yup, definitely a pattern. She was actually slightly relieved she’d gone with gold; it helped her to blend in a bit more. Absently, she reached under the table and tugged at the strange shirt Lura had given her. It was tight, almost too much so, and pressed against her chest in a way that made her look like she had a lot more going on upstairs than she really did.

  It was shorter in front, exposing an inch of bare skin at her stomach, and long at the back, reminding her a bit of the penguin suits with the tails that men used to have to wear. It was a dull gold, not too shiny but not bland enough to be considered brown, either. Her skirt, which she didn’t really even consider a skirt so much as a dinky piece of cloth, barely covered her thighs, and even sitting, she tugged at the hem, desperate to lower it at least a centimeter.

  Lura had insisted that both items of clothing matched and had to be worn together. The only thing Delaney actually liked about the outfit was the boots, which were a soft buttery brown that stretched a good three inches above her knees. They had a slight heel to them as well, which was great, because around these people she was beginning to feel short.

  “Zane Trystan.” Magnus didn’t bo
ther hiding his displeasure. “I trust you slept well.”

  “The room is to my liking,” he agreed with a single nod. Stepping in the rest of the way, he finally let the doors swing shut, and moved over to the unoccupied side of the table. He chose the seat directly across from Delaney, though he didn’t spare her so much as a glance. “You’ll forgive my intrusion; I was told this was where breakfast was being served.”

  He was tiptoeing a fine line, balancing in that space between polite and rude. They had a treaty, but that didn’t mean any of the royals currently in the room had to like it.

  It became even more apparent in that moment how badly the Vakar needed this merger to work. If they didn’t, there was no way Magnus would allow Trystan to speak to him like that or barge in the way he had, especially because he was a prince, where Magnus was a king.

  “Of course.” Tilda was the one to reply, that small smile returning, though it didn’t fool anyone. She tapped her hand against the tabletop, just a light rapping of her knuckles, but almost immediately the doors on either side of the room reopened.

  Delaney inspected the staff as they whirled by, providing golden platters for each guest. They’d let them go in the air about three feet up, and the tray would then float at an angle downward, landing perfectly centered before each of them. It took all of her willpower not to gape stupidly at it.

  The last golden tray floated down to land in front of Trystan, and then all at once the lids that covered them rose up into the air at the same slow pace. They twisted, doing a circle, and then eased backward. Once they were a foot behind each of them, the servers reached up and plucked them out of the air, turning and exiting through the four doors that led in and out of the green room.

  The second her plate became fully visible, she blinked.

  There were three different foods on it: One looked to be a vegetable of some kind, stringy and a vibrant green. Maybe sort of like green beans if they’d been pulled apart at the seams. Another was flat and solid, reminding her of very burned toast, and then what she figured had to be the main course, a chunky bright neon-pink piece of meat that smelled a lot like bologna.