Amid Stars and Darkness

by Chani Lynn Feener

  Cheers rose up around her, the entire audience roaring their approval with laughs and incessant clapping. She wanted to tell them all to shut up, biting down on her lip to keep from doing so. To her, this whole thing was a major sham, one she’d been dragged and threatened into. To them, they’d just witnessed their Lissa get named the next Basilissa of Vakar.

  In the next moment, Trystan’s hand settled on the curve of her elbow, and he escorted her up the last step and over to the throne on the right. He eased her into it, being more gentle here than he’d ever been with her before, and then took the seat next to hers.

  She couldn’t help the twist to her mouth, and she sent him a sideways glare, which he noted and actually chuckled about.

  They weren’t kidding anybody. The whole planet knew they hated each other.

  Sitting rigidly, she scanned the room, letting out a small sigh when her gaze locked on to Ruckus. He was moving toward them, heading to one side of the dais, where he stopped and stood sentry. His hands were clasped before him, and he held her eyes for a long moment, a comforting half smile on his lips.

  “Why the two of you insist on insulting my intelligence is beyond me,” Trystan said harshly under his breath. Around them the festivities were starting up, people moving around and heading toward the buffet tables that lined the entire left wall.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she snapped back at him, keeping her voice low, same as him.

  “We’ve established that I caught you at the pool the other day.”

  “You didn’t catch me at anything.” They were receiving a lot of stares, but no one had approached them yet, so fortunately no one was close enough to overhear their conversation. She rubbed at her temples, sorely wishing for a hot bath and her bedroom back home.

  “We’re betrothed, Olena,” he sneered, gripping the sides of the chair so tightly, it was a wonder the arms didn’t snap off. “How do you think it looks to others? Your gallivanting around with the Ander?”

  “Um.” She rolled her eyes. “Like we hate each other? Which we do. It’s no big secret.”

  “Do we?” He’d been watching the room up until this point, but now his heated gaze swung her way, settling on her unflinchingly.

  Not wanting to decipher that, she turned her head, feigning fascination with the food on one of the golden trays a waiter was carrying around the room. Oddly, he was dressed the same way the wait staff on Earth would be, only in traditional Vakar colors. And with more poise.

  “I certainly don’t get the warm fuzzies when I’m around you,” she said, managing to keep her tone steady, bored, even. She knew he wouldn’t like that, but she wasn’t too concerned about pissing him off at the moment. They were currently surrounded by thousands of people, after all, and the crowd both terrified and emboldened her.

  “Warm fuzzies isn’t quite the term I think of in your presence, either.” It was the way he said it, voice dropping down to a huskier timber, that got her attention. He’d angled his body closer, leaning on his arm across the rest so that they were mere inches apart. There was a look in his eyes, almost like he was waiting for something, and she wondered if this was just another way of goading her for a response.

  Deciding she preferred self-preservation over her pride, she moved to lean on her right armrest, quickly placing more space between them. It was as far as she could get while remaining in the chair, and something told her she didn’t want to attempt getting up and leaving.

  “Where are you going?” he purred, smirking when she noticeably bristled. “Interesting.”

  “Stop.”

  He canted his head in response.

  “This morning you admitted to trying to kill me, remember?” she snapped. “Guys who’ve attempted murder don’t get to look at me like that.”

  “And how am I looking at you, exactly?” he asked.

  “Delaney,” Ruckus’s voice flowed through her mind, deliberate and strong. “Are you all right? Should I come up there?”

  She appreciated the fact that he was asking, though also noted it meant they were seriously being monitored. If she didn’t want to risk causing a scene, that meant sitting there was still very important, even though the official part of the ceremony had ended.

  “I’m fine,” she sent back, not wanting to get him into trouble. The Basileus and Basilissa were still seated behind them, neither having said a word to her yet. She wanted to keep it that way.

  “He’s dangerous. If he tries anything—”

  “I’ll call you,” she stopped him. “Until then, I’ve got this.”

  Trystan was still waiting on a response, eyeing her curiously. If he guessed she was having a private conversation with Ruckus, he didn’t show it.

  “You’re looking at me like you know something I don’t,” she answered. What she really wanted to say was that he was staring at her like he had the right to it, but she was smart enough to know that would only serve to open another set of doors. She didn’t want to bait him. She just wanted this whole ceremony bullshit to be over.

  “I know lots of things you don’t,” he said. “I guarantee it. Some of them concerning you. Like the date of our binding, for instance.”

  She tried not to let those words get to her, yet her heart tightened and she realized she was inadvertently holding her breath. To give herself a moment, she sought out one of the waiters, motioning him over. She had no idea what was on the tray, but accepted with a polite smile.

  It was circular and a toasted white color that sort of reminded her of custard. There was a small golden fork on the platter already, and she took it up and cut a small edge off what she assumed was a dessert.

  She practically gagged when she placed it on her tongue. The texture was sort of akin to scrambled eggs, but the taste was a mixture of sweet and bitter, emphasis on the latter.

  At her side, Trystan laughed. “I told you to ask for the pumpkin pie. You should have taken my word for it.”

  “Is there a problem, Lissa?” The waiter hadn’t moved away, and now addressed her with a sharp frown. He glanced between her and the plate in her lap. “The Basilissa informed us that gremming was your favorite. If it’s not to your liking, we can have another batch made up right away.”

  “Oh”—she gulped—“no. It’s not that.… My tastes have just changed, I guess. Sorry.” She was painfully aware that Trystan had stiffened and was staring at her differently now. Gone was the teasing glint; it’d been replaced with that calculating look that always sent chills up her spine and sent her into flight mode.

  Self-defense was all well and good, but really what they should have done was teach her about Olena, testing her on the ins and outs of what the Lissa liked and hated. She should have pressed more for it herself, but in the beginning she’d been in denial that this would go on so long. A few weeks could easily turn into a few months.

  What if she really was stuck here forever?

  Her chest pinched painfully, and she lifted a hand to press against it, focusing on keeping her breathing even. Having a mental breakdown here was so not a good plan. She needed to stay vigilant. Fortitude would get her through this. She couldn’t wait for the day when looking back on this would be a laugh.

  Or, at least, a slight chuckle.

  On the upside, how many people got to say they’d been to another planet? Or that they’d made out with an alien? Her gaze wandered over toward Ruckus, and she smiled. A very hot alien, too.

  He stood with his feet apart, shoulders back. His traditional outfit was snug enough that she could see the curve of his spine, wanted to trail her fingers all the way up it and delve them into his dark locks. She’d never really been one for touching, but as she sat there, her mind couldn’t help but wander over all the ways she’d love to feel him up.

  Which was ridiculous.

  But it was certainly more stimulating than trying more of the gremming, that was for sure.

  She was so distracted with her perusal that she almost didn’t
recognize the pinging sound for what it was. It whizzed through the air so fast, she barely even had enough time to pick up on it, the heat searing past her cheek the only initial sign the shot had missed. With a frown, she spun her head in the direction of its origin.

  Everything seemed to still, people moving in slow motion as her breath felt like it eased out of her lungs instead of burst. The shooter was staring right at her, standing clean across the room in front of one of the gaming tables. He was dressed up like everyone else, wouldn’t have stood out in the crowd if not for the weapon in his extended arm.

  The one pointed at her.

  She didn’t recognize it, so it wasn’t a fritz, but that was only a small comfort. His finger moved on the trigger. Considering how time seemed to lapse, she probably could have attempted to move out of the way, but she was frozen to the spot.

  She must have blinked, for the next instant something heavy was pushing her against the back of the throne, cutting off her air supply so that she gulped desperately in a poor attempt to breathe.

  It took her a moment to realize the object was actually Trystan, and that he’d turned himself into a solid shield around her smaller form. His head was up higher, above her own, leaving her face pressed against his steely chest so she couldn’t make out his expression. When he didn’t move, she tried to wiggle her hands free from where they were caught between them. She wasn’t able to get them far, shifting them up only half an inch or so.

  Her fingers instantly touched something wet, and she stilled. She was touching the spot directly below his right pec, the part of him that happened to be positioned right in front of her chest where her heart would be. Where the shooter had been aiming.

  “Oh my god,” she said, the words rushing out of her, and she felt renewed panic. With more force, she tried to shove him away so she could get a look at the wound. Was he dead?! Concentrating proved otherwise, for she was able to separate the pounding of her own heart in her ears from the clear deep gasps coming from him above her.

  Then the surrounding screams reached her. She couldn’t see it, but it was obvious the room had spun into a panic.

  “You’re bleeding out!” she told Trystan as loudly as she could, her face buried the way it was. “You need to get off so we can stop it!”

  He didn’t respond, and there was no way she was strong enough to budge him, so she did the only thing she could. Pressing her palm flat against the wound, she attempted to stanch the blood flow.

  “This was supposed to help,” she rambled through clenched teeth. “That’s what you both said! This was supposed to make things better—not get you shot! What happened to their not risking another assassination attempt? I frickin’ hate this stupid planet and you stupid ali—” She cut herself off abruptly, realizing what she’d been about to do.

  No way would Olena call her own people aliens. She just had to hope that Trystan was too out of it to have really heard anything she’d said. He had yet to acknowledge her at all, so … that was a good sign.

  Right?

  “Olena!” Ruckus was suddenly at her other side, and she could sort of peek out from beneath Trystan’s left arm and see him. “Are you all right?! Are you hurt?!”

  “I’m fine,” she said, voice shaking slightly.

  “Zane,” Ruckus said, directing his comment toward the massive paperweight holding her down, “we’ve got the shooters. It’s all right. You can move now. We need to get that wound of yours treated before it’s too late.”

  Trystan shifted and let out a sharp breath, stilling instantly.

  “Did I crush you?” he asked her, and she could barely make out the words.

  “You are crushing me,” she told him, her tone completely lacking bite. She swallowed and pressed her other hand against his chest more lightly. “Thank you.”

  It didn’t seem like he could attempt talking a second time, and she felt him nod. When he went to lift himself again, she held perfectly still.

  She could practically hear Trystan grinding his teeth, gearing himself up for the clear pain that would come with moving. Sure enough, he let out a low growl as he shifted, attempting to regain his footing but failing at the last second.

  She reached for him as he toppled, unable to hold even part of him up despite clinging to his arm. She watched as Ruckus motioned for the five nearby Tellers to assist him, one of whom was Trystan’s right-hand man, Brightan. They lifted him, and his head lolled. He’d passed out.

  “Delaney.” Ruckus’s hands moved all over her, testing her for breaks. “Tell me again you’re all right. You weren’t hurt?”

  “No,” she said aloud, “Trystan took the bullet.”

  “We don’t have bullets,” he whispered to her, pressing his cheek against hers. His body surrounded her, gentler than the Zane had been. “They’re called zees. They are fire-pressurized rounds, small, no bigger than a pea from your planet. They’re easier to aim, and to pass through a crowd to successfully hit a target. We scanned everyone for weapons at the doors, but three shooters must have slipped through.”

  “Three?” She pulled back to frown at him. When he motioned over her shoulder with his chin, she turned to see the Basileus stooped over his wife.

  There was blood trickling from her leg, but aside from that she seemed okay. She was gritting her teeth, her blond curls somehow still in a perfect array around her oval-shaped face. She caught Delaney’s eye and actually tried to force a comforting smile.

  For some reason, it actually worked. She’d yet to have a real conversation with the Basilissa, but in that moment, it didn’t feel like it. It felt more like they understood each other, that the queen was assuring her of much more than just her own bill of health.

  Or she was reading into it way too much. Which was also a likely possibility.

  “They didn’t just target you,” Ruckus told her when a group of Tellers came to help escort the Basilissa and Basileus away, presumably to get the Basilissa medical attention. “They went after the entire royal family. If you hadn’t reached for me, we probably wouldn’t have noticed in time.”

  “What?” She hadn’t done anything but freeze.

  “You signaled the telepathic connection,” he explained. “I felt the pressure on my neck and turned when you didn’t immediately say anything to me. The shooter aiming for the Basilissa was on the balcony above you, and I spotted him. I was able to contact my men and have them take him out at the last second. The other shooter got spooked and tried to flee without even attempting a shot at the Basileus after that.”

  She’d thought of Ruckus when she’d seen the gun aimed at her, but she hadn’t realized she’d opened a connection. Thank goodness she had.

  “So much for them not risking killing off their leaders, huh?” she griped, feeling sick to her stomach as she began to descend from her adrenaline high.

  “There’s no way these were Vakar,” Ruckus disagreed. “We must have been mistaken. The Tars must not be made up of equal parts Kint and Vakar. If they’ve even really got Vakar involved at all.”

  “What do you mean?” She shook her head. “Lura was definitely one of yours, and she definitely tried to kill me. Plus, her whole spiel about how I’d ruin you guys? She was Tar, without a doubt. Admitted to it, even.”

  “Yes,” he said, and nodded, “but what if she’d been fed that spiel? What if that was something she and a few others were told by the Kints in order to get them to work with them? It wouldn’t be hard. Lura was young, easily manipulated. And those soldiers who you fended off in the bunkers? We checked them; their identities were fake. They joined the Vakar army under false pretenses about a year ago. That’s around the time we discovered the new weapon in the Kints’ arsenal.”

  “You think they were planted?”

  “I know so.”

  She had to admit that sounded pretty legitimate to her. It put the pieces snugly together, that was for sure, and after everything, it was sort of nice to have bits fitting. Except there wasn’t any proof to
back his theory, and she didn’t know how to go about getting any. There was also the issue of the massive assassination attempt that had just taken place.

  Had the Tars gotten sick of always missing her as their mark? Had they decided to cover all their bases and take out the whole family instead? With Magnus, Tilda, and Olena Ond out of the picture, there’d be no one Uprisen to take the crown.

  Who would get control then?

  CHAPTER 21

  “I’ve got to make sure the rest of the castle is secure,” Ruckus told her, hand at the small of her back as he urged her down the hall. “Pettus is going to stay with you.”

  They’d exited the ballroom, but everything after the moment Trystan had passed out and her quick talk with Ruckus about the Tars was one big blur in her mind. She’d thought all those other occasions had been close calls, yet this … If the Zane hadn’t thrown himself into the line of fire, she’d be dead right now. No questions about it.

  His blood was still drying on her dress, a huge burgundy stain at the center of her chest. She needed to change immediately.

  With a sick twist in her gut, she realized where they were headed, and stopped in her tracks. The image of Lura with the hole in her back filled her mind, and bile rose up the back of her throat.

  “I can’t,” she whispered, hating the frantic note in her voice but unable to do anything about it. “I can’t go back to that room. Not after what happened.”

  Ruckus glanced between her and Olena’s bedroom door at the center of the hall. Then he shifted on his feet, bringing his body closer to hers. He reached for her hand, gripping it tightly. “Delaney. Look at me.”

  “I don’t want to go back there.” She met his gaze. “I’m not going back there.”

  “All right.” He smoothed the hair away from her forehead. “I’ll take you to the science wing. Pettus will bring you a change of clothes. And something to eat.”

  “I’m not hungry.”