“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.
“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.