“Just because he wants peace doesn’t mean the rest of your people do,” she pointed out. There was definitely a line, and she was close to crossing it, but she needed some time to think over the upcoming ceremony, and distracting them seemed to be the best way to get it.
She’d thought she’d have the morning to mentally prepare, to steady her racing heart and figure out how she was going to get through this without completely losing it. It wasn’t a big deal, she kept trying to convince herself. Again, there were only those two lines. The real issue was standing up there in front of all those people, pretending to be someone else.
A lot could give her away: body language, the way she greeted people, and apparently her damn eyes, if anyone was as observant as Trystan apparently was.
“Is this assumption based on the knowledge that we would win in a war?” Trystan asked, the corner of his mouth turning up. It was a trick, however, an attempt to mask his residual anger. He did not like her accusations, apparently.
Ironic.
“I am not going to stand here and listen to this,” Ruckus stated.
“That’s because you know I’m right,” Trystan said, goading him. “Face it, Ander. You need me to bind myself to the Lissa every bit as much as the rest of the Vakar. It’s true, many of the Kints don’t agree with peace, but most do. We might have a better chance of winning, but the losses on both sides would be astronomical. This may surprise you,” he said, and glanced at her, “both of you, but I don’t want to throw my people’s lives away any more than my father does.”
Ruckus held up a hand when Delaney went to speak, stilling her. After a moment he nodded and addressed the Zane.
“Pettus just told me the Barer is prepared,” he informed them. Telepathic communication sure made gaining information a lot easier. It may even be faster than the cell phones she was used to.
Though she still did miss her phone.
“We should get ready for the ceremony.” Trystan moved to gently touch the curve of Delaney’s elbow. As he glanced at the atteta, his gaze hardened. “Get her to the prison. We both should have time to witness her interrogation before the start of the Uprising.”
Clearly annoyed that he was forced to take orders from the Zane, Ruckus took his time lifting Lura out of the chair. He was in the process of bringing her toward the doors when the girl burst out of his arms in a shocking display of speed and strength. Caught off guard, he didn’t have a chance to grab her.
She was on her way toward Delaney, swiping her hand across the puddle on the table as she went. The smell of burning flesh instantly permeated the air, and she let out a cry of pain. It didn’t slow her, however. She continued forward, now holding her blackening fingers extended, her intent obvious.
She was going to rub whatever hadn’t already eaten through her onto Delaney.
Lura still didn’t pause when Trystan stepped in her way, clearly not caring at this point which of them she hurt. She let out a scream, vicious-sounding and full of agony, but with her hand only a few inches away from Trystan’s throat, her body jerked.
For a frozen moment everyone was still, and then her body slumped to the side, slowly, toppling like a marionette whose strings had just been cut. Once she was sprawled facedown on the ground, the gaping hole at the center of her back became visible.
Brightan held a fritz out in front of him.
“You just—” Delaney was having trouble processing.
“Protected my Zane,” he interrupted. Finally Brightan lowered his arm back to his side, and the gun re-formed so that only the metal band around his wrist remained.
“Come away.” Ruckus was there suddenly, urging her past Trystan’s large form and toward the door. He had her inside and sitting on her bed again in a matter of seconds. “Damn it, you shouldn’t have seen that.”
Trystan had followed them and was casually leaning, a shoulder propped against the doorframe. He watched her curiously over the top of the Ander’s head, not the least bit affected by what had just happened.
“Brightan was doing his job,” he said with a shrug, having obviously seen something on her face he felt the need to address. “It happens.”
“Get out.” She gripped Ruckus’s hand where he’d placed it on her thigh, and glared over at the Zane. She’d had enough, and if he stayed there one more moment, she was going to lose it. A girl had just died, and his response was that “it happens”?
His entire body tensed, but he didn’t straighten right away. With those narrowed blue-and-crimson eyes he watched her closely, as if silently daring her to order him to go again. Considering who he was, he wasn’t used to being told what to do, and seeing as how he looked like that, she was certain he also wasn’t used to women kicking him out of their bedrooms.
“Careful, Lissa,” he drawled.
“She said get out,” Ruckus said over his shoulder. He’d been kneeling in front of her but now stood, keeping close. His move exposed their still held hands, and he realized his mistake too late.
Trystan’s gaze homed in on their intertwined fingers, and his jaw clenched so tightly, she thought he’d pop it. He did pull back from the frame now, holding himself steady for a few breaths as if needing to regain his composure. When he raised his eyes to hers a final time, there was so much fury there, her heart stopped.
That, and the promise of retaliation. The kind she was most certain she would not like coming from him.
“I’ll be back in five hours to escort you to the ceremony,” he said in a clear warning. “Be ready when I do.”
Brightan had already lifted Lura’s body, and now carried it across the room without so much as glancing in either her or Ruckus’s direction. Without a sound, he left, waiting in the hall for the Zane to follow.
For the second time that day, Trystan slammed the door behind him.
“You’ve got to get me out of here,” she whispered to Ruckus once they were alone. She wasn’t afraid of anyone magically overhearing; it was just the loudest she could manage to get her voice.
“Delaney.” He sat down next to her, pulling her close so that his arms were wrapped securely around her body and she was cradled in his lap. “You know I want to.”
“I’m not safe here,” she insisted. “Everyone keeps trying to kill me. And now … I’m not Olena. I shouldn’t have to go through with this, take this stupid oath. I’m not her. This isn’t my life or my destiny or whatever you guys call fate here.”
“It’s just this one more thing,” he assured her.
“Is it?” She pulled back so that she could look up at him. “Have they found Olena yet?” His glance away was answer enough. “Then you don’t know that. What do they expect? For me to marry Trystan as their daughter as well?”
“Absolutely not,” he growled, arms tightening. “I’d never let that happen.”
“You wouldn’t really have much of a say though, would you?” she stated. He was bound by their laws, by the Basileus’s will.
Though, she figured, right now she was in the same boat, whether or not she was a real citizen of Xenith. She couldn’t get home until Magnus gave his permission, after all.
“We’d leave,” he told her firmly. It’d only taken him a second to come to that decision. “If Olena’s not found by then and they try to make you do that, I’ll take you and my ship and we’ll go.”
“And risk war?” She didn’t want to nurture that spark of hope igniting in her chest at his words.
“Like you said”—he brushed a strand of hair off her face and cupped her cheek, dropping his forehead to hers—“you are not Olena. This isn’t your responsibility; it’s hers. If there is a war, it’ll be because of her cowardice, not yours. You can’t be expected to marry someone you don’t want to, Delaney.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat, wishing that they could remain here like this. Everything else in the world was harsh and unknown, but there between them something was forming, something that was starting to become familiar.
&n
bsp; “Why not?” She met his yellow-green gaze, feeling the tears finally beat her and slip past her defenses to roll down her cheeks. “It’s what they were going to make Olena do.”
He didn’t have a response to that.
CHAPTER 20
“You can do this,” Ruckus told her. He adjusted his military jacket, the one with the long sleeves, eyes scanning each and every soldier they passed.
Within the next ten minutes, she’d be Uprisen and the Tars would lose their prime window. Because of this, he’d refused to leave her side, even when the Zane—the still sulky, broody Zane, who was currently on her right side—had made his stance on the matter perfectly clear.
Together they flanked her as they moved down the hall toward the large ballroom where the ceremony would take place. Like the Ander, the Zane was dressed to impress, though his outfit was navy blue and he’d chosen to go with the sleeveless version of the jacket.
“The Ander’s right,” Trystan reluctantly agreed. “You’ll do fine.” His gaze also roamed over the guards they passed, though not a single one of them returned his look.
They came to the end of the hall, where a set of double doors stood before them. They were wide enough that the three of them could fit through shoulder to shoulder with ease; however, protocol stated that she and the Zane needed to enter alone. It made a statement to the higher-ups on the other side.
Ruckus hesitated, holding out a hand so that the two sentries at either door paused, already in the process of reaching for the handles.
“I’m going to be right behind you,” he promised her, running a finger down her forearm. It was clear he wanted to do more, touch her more, but he couldn’t risk it.
“She’ll be fine,” Trystan bit out, this time glaring Ruckus’s way. He motioned to the guards. “Let’s go already.” He looped her arm through his and waited for his order to be followed.
Delaney took a deep breath and held it as the doors slowly slid open before her. Within, the ballroom was packed with people dressed in bold greens and golds. There were a few Kint blues, but she didn’t focus on anybody. She was too busy concentrating on placing one foot in front of the other.
She’d dressed in a skintight gown that trailed some three feet behind her on the ground. Fortunately, putting it on hadn’t been complicated, and she’d managed to do it on her own. It was a weave of both Vakar colors, shots of deep green and flashy gold sparkling on her body. It tied around the neck and left little to the imagination as far as her chest size was concerned, and while the back was superlong, the front stopped above her thighs. She really wanted to know what was up with the Vakar and their issues with covering their knees.
The heels she’d been given were a high four inches, and she’d wobbled when she’d first put them on. She’d never had a problem walking in stilettos before, so luckily it’d only taken her a couple of paces before she’d gotten the hang of them. Still, she was a bit concerned about tripping in front of the thousand or so aliens all staring at her.
From the door a gold carpet stretched forward twenty or so feet before veering off to a sharp right. The crowd stayed on either side of it, and once they’d turned, she saw it led to a dais where both the Basileus and Basilissa were currently sitting.
They were in chairs—thrones, really—a little ways back from another set, which took up the center. A man stood next to one of the empty seats, holding a metallic device she didn’t recognize. He was older, with gray hairs mixed in with his chestnut-brown ones, and wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.
“Breathe, Lissa,” Trystan whispered down at her as he began leading them toward the dais.
“Distract me,” she pleaded before she could think better of it. She’d done a few pageants as a kid, thanks to her mom’s insistence, but there had never been this many people watching her before in her life.
The corner of his mouth turned up, but he didn’t laugh. “You look very lovely.”
No, Olena looked very lovely. She was sure if he could see her, red hair and all, he’d say she looked like a Christmas tree threw up on her. But she took it anyway.
“Thank you.”
He waited a moment and then, “This is the part where you return the compliment.”
She snorted under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear but no one else. “I’ve been under the impression since we met that you know exactly how attractive you are. My telling you won’t do anything but boost your already massive ego.”
This time he grinned. “You think I’m attractive, huh?” Canting his head, he pretended to think. “What was that old nickname you used to have for me? Tryst, was it?”
Her eyes widened a fraction before she could get her reaction under control. Poor Olena. He’d known about her crush, and he still treated her like this? For what seemed like the millionth time since her arrival to Xenith, Delaney felt a pang of sympathy for the alien princess.
“Remind me, what does tryst mean on Earth, again?” he teased, tugging her a little closer to him by the arm she still had linked through his.
She gritted her teeth. “Pretty sure you know.”
“I’d never contemplated having one with you before,” he continued. “A tryst, that is. But now … I’m considering it.”
“Seeing as how we’re already betrothed,” she stated sarcastically, “I’m honored.”
The dais was fast approaching now, despite the fact that he’d been leisurely leading her. Her heart pounded away in her chest, and she actually found that this time her arm was the one clenching tighter around his.
“I’m thinking of having your head of guard replaced,” he said then, successfully dashing away some of her trepidation about the ceremony.
“What?” She whipped her head toward him, almost stopping in the process. If not for the fact that he had a hold on her, she probably would have. “Why?”
“He’s become a bit too close to you.” He shrugged, not bothering to spare her a glance.
“Why do you care?” He couldn’t be serious, could he? She’d assume her spending so much time with Ruckus would be a good thing in his mind. It meant less time the two of them had to be together, keeping up appearances—aka trading insults.
Part of her was momentarily worried that he was serious, before she recalled he thought she was someone else. Ruckus knew the truth, though, and there was no way he’d allow Trystan to separate them. Hell, she didn’t think the Basileus would, either, knowing that she was walking a thin line as it was, pretending to be his daughter. He wouldn’t want to risk her slipping up and blowing Olena’s cover.
“I’m not sure,” Trystan surprised her by admitting. “That’s why I said I’m only thinking about it. You’ll know when I decide.”
“You’ll tell me?”
“No.” He looked at her intensely. “Because you’ll never see him again.”
She inhaled sharply at the truth in his eyes. He was serious. Could he actually do that? Did he have enough power here to convince the Basileus to take the risk anyway and fire Ruckus?
A new kind of panic settled in her bones, and she felt sweat trail down her back. Ruckus was the only thing keeping her together on Xenith, the only person she could be herself with. If he got taken away …
They came to a stop at the foot of the two steps that led up the dais, cutting off any response she could have given—not that she had one. The older man stepped toward them, holding out his hands to quiet the surrounding onlookers before motioning for her to move closer.
Trystan helped steady her as she moved up a single step, still one below the man leading the ceremony. Then he let her go and she felt him move a few feet away from her, but she didn’t turn to see exactly how far.
“We come here today to honor the traditions of our Vakar creators,” the man said, voice rising strong over her. “On this day one of our own rises up to take her place among the great rulers, past, present, and of the future. Your hand, if you would.”
She dutifully lifted her arm, settli
ng her palm up in his larger one like Ruckus had instructed. She knew what was coming next, braced herself for the cool touch of metal right below the curve of her right elbow. He’d warned her it would sting a little, but had sworn it wouldn’t be anything like what she’d experienced during her fitting.
Apparently, every ruler of Vakar got signified thus with a tattoo of sorts or, in her mind, a brand. The metal device he was holding to her flesh would deliver the mark by transferring a design straight into the layers of her skin using microscopic lasers.
Ruckus had explained it as sort of a more advanced version of a tattoo gun.
“With the oath given before all, do you hereby accept your fate as Vakar royalty?”
The speech she’d been rehearsing the past few days ran through her mind on repeat, and she struggled to catch up, blurting the words out as quickly as she could to be done with them.
“Of my own volition, yes, and I also hereby accept the responsibilities and the sacrifices that will be expected of me as an Uprisen member of Vakar society, and citizen of Xenith. I vow to always do my best to protect my people, no matter the personal cost to myself, and to always uphold my word given here.”
The metal device was pressed down harder against her, and she bit the inside of her cheek at the burning sensation. It felt like someone was shredding her skin at first, but Ruckus had been right: It wasn’t as bad as the head pain from her fitting had been, and it only lasted a minute at most.
When the device was removed, there was a tiny forest-green V no bigger than a dime at the top center of her forearm. When she moved it under the light, it sparkled like there was glitter in the ink.
She’d been seriously upset about this part, the part where she had to get a tattoo. It looked like Olena’s body on the outside to all of them, but later, once she was home, her friends and family would see the real her. And now the real tattoo that would make no sense to them. She didn’t even know anyone with a name that started with V.
At least it was small. She decided the first thing she’d do when she got back to Maine was hit up a real tattoo parlor and get it covered. She didn’t even really care with what at this point.
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