“It’s a labyrinth,” she said.
“A maze,” he corrected her. “Labyrinths always have a distinct center; this does not. The goal is to keep enemies away from you, not help them get closer.”
She counted another five rooms, passing through silently and following his direction whenever he motioned her one way or the other. Surprisingly, Trystan remained quiet as well, though he kept close. He didn’t touch her again, but his body was always there, at what felt like less than a centimeter from her back whenever they paused and waited for another door.
Finally a door opened, and they were met with a different view. The room inside was three times as big as all the rest, and wasn’t empty. There were piles of packaged foods she didn’t recognize to the left, and a few jugs of water in the far right corner. There were also about a dozen people, including the Basileus and Basilissa.
When she entered, the latter spotted her first and rushed over, taking her up into her arms as if she were really her daughter. No doubt because she’d also seen Trystan over her shoulder.
“Thank the stars you’re all right,” the Basilissa said breathlessly, and pretty convincingly. Her arms tightened around her back, and her chin rested on her shoulder. Her silky blond hair cascaded around her. “I was so worried they’d gotten to you.”
“I’m fine,” she said, caught off guard.
“Are the outer doors secured?” Ruckus was asking a tall willowy soldier with light brown hair.
“Yes, Ander,” the soldier replied before she nodded toward the opening. “Shall I escort you out and check on the other locations?”
“Let’s do that.” He glanced over at Delaney and cleared his throat. “Give me one second, Teller. Wait outside.”
“Yes, Ander.”
He approached her and the Basilissa, who’d let her go but hadn’t moved away. His greeting was brief, and then he turned his attention fully on Delaney.
“You’ll be careful,” she found herself saying before he could get a word out. “Right?”
“Of course.” He took a step closer, then hesitated and clearly thought better of it. Stopping a little over two feet away, he rested his hands on the gold square at his belt. There was a click, and he pulled away a piece of it, handing it over.
She viewed the small golden circle in her palm and winged a brow in question at him.
“It’s a tracking device,” he told her softly, ignoring the Basilissa and Trystan, who hadn’t moved nearly as far off as either of them would have liked. “Keep it on you. Don’t lose it.”
“I won’t,” she promised, slipping the tiny disk, no bigger than a dime, into the curve of her bra. Thankfully she’d been too exhausted to remove it, leaving it on underneath the skimpy nightgown. Now, being in so many people’s company, she was glad for it. It provided at least a bit more cover.
Ruckus’s face scrunched up at the move, and the next thing she knew, he was removing his green jacket.
“What are you—”
He wrapped it around her shoulders, tugging it sharply so that it instantly secured her in its thick warmth. On him, the garment was formfitting; on her, it was about three sizes too big. Popping the collar around her neck, he studied his handiwork, fingers remaining close to her jaw just a little longer than appropriate.
It was the Basilissa clearing her throat that finally snapped him out of it.
He was only wearing a black tank top now, painting him in all dark colors. She was worried that he wouldn’t be recognized, that someone on their side might mistake him for the enemy. He must have seen this written on her face, because he made a shushing sound and smiled softly.
“I’ll be fine,” he reassured her, pulling back. “Promise you will be, too.”
“Yes,” she agreed, hugging his jacket closer to her body in a completely instinctual move. She stood there and watched him leave, flinching a little when the heavy foot-thick metal door shut behind him.
She couldn’t recall ever feeling so alone before.
There were only a few lights in the room, all of them pretty dim. Over by the Basileus in the corner with the water was the brightest one, and Delaney certainly didn’t want to go anywhere near him.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Tilda asked. The way her eyes shone, it looked like she really meant it. “What with what happened the other day, and now this…” She allowed her sentence to trail off pointedly.
And Delaney understood. The Basilissa was trying to confirm that she was still up for the job; she just couldn’t say as much with Trystan hovering over their shoulders like a shadow.
“It’ll take a lot more than a few pesky assassination attempts to jar me,” she told her, trying to make her tone light despite the way her stomach clenched at the notion. She never would have guessed that one day she’d act so flip about someone trying to kill her, even if she was faking it.
Tilda must have bought it, though, because she nodded, glancing back over at Trystan quickly. A slight frown marred her dark skin.
“I need to go back to your father,” she said. There was a look in her eyes, almost like she was sorry for something. Maybe for putting her in this situation. “We’re discussing what’s going on with Trump Haggar. Would you like to join us?”
“No, thank you. I was in the middle of sleeping. I think I’ll just go rest”—she pointed at the opposite corner, where there was a single cot and no one else around—“over there.”
“Sure, darling.” She placed a hand on her cheek momentarily, then moved away. It was dark enough that for a few seconds she was no longer visible, until she stepped into the circle of light provided by the lantern hung over the Basileus’s dark head.
Delaney was already lowering herself down to the secluded cot when she realized with a sick twist in her gut that Trystan had followed her. When he eased down next to her, she squished over as far as space would allow, pressing her shoulder up against the freezing wall. It was cold down here, even with Ruckus’s uniform jacket.
The room smelled of frost. That bitter, biting kind that only came around sunrise, while most people were still sleeping.
In the distance, she could hear the blasts of more explosions, and fear at the thought of Ruckus out in that gripped her. She should have tried harder to make him stay, have thrown a Lissa-sized fit, the kind that these people would believe. They all thought Olena was a spoiled brat anyway. This was one time she really should have owned up to that image.
How were the Tars managing such a large-scale attack? She couldn’t count further than six without hearing another shaking boom, and if that was possible from where she was tucked away in a metal room …
“You’re putting on a brave front,” Trystan spoke then, eyeing her coyly in the dark. “How unlike you.”
She just had to choose the darker, secluded corner.