Page 10 of Death of the Glass Angel (Apotheosis #1)

“Yes, from the bar, pointing at people without actually speaking with them.” Avalon tutted. “Proper socializing is done face to face, with words rather than booze. Now,” She smiled at Des. “Shall we?”

“I’ll follow your lead.” Des stood from her seat and joined the woman’s side.

“Hmph.” Dinu shrugged. “You two have fun.”

“We intend to,” Avalon responded, gently guiding Des from the bar. “My apologies, your first encounter was with that oaf,” She said quietly. “The rest of us have a modicum of decorum.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all,” Des assured her, glancing back.

A glint lit Dinu’s eye as he picked up his drink and skimmed over the dance floor again. Something told Des he was no oaf, and something else informed her Avalon did not mean what she said.

* * *

Had the assassins been utterly unrelated to politics? Talon had circled the dance floor four times and caught no hint of unusual activity. Business deals, marriage proposals, gossip circles. . .

A few whispered about the attack at the inn, but none responded with feigned ignorance.

Talon’s gaze wandered again to Des, watching her effortlessly converse with some lesser Athelstani landowner.

Janus would have been lost amongst this sea, yet her other half seemed right at home. Having fun, even.

Janus had made no mention of another personality, another side. Did she even know?

Finding an empty spot at the bar, Talon bounced a leg as he studied the head table of Altanese chieftains. He’d never understood Altanbern’s ancient ruling system.

Every fifty years, the three clans traded the crown.

Chief Heras of the Gaevral clan wore the tiara today.

A cefran woman, her dark brown skin and large, iron-colored irises set her apart from the two middle-aged human men across from her.

The Kahn chief wore a bright yellow kilt, while the Esseg chief’s barrel chest was wrapped in a dark green tweed, making them easily distinguishable.

Heras continuously tugged at her red tweed wrap or smoothed her white gown. She gazed with intensity at someone across the room.

Des.

Talon tapped his glass, thinking. Some had looked at Des with interest, others with judgment, and more with lust. But this stare was something new.

“I haven’t seen you around here before.” A man spoke in Altanese beside Talon, and he started, turning to face him.

A blind man could have discerned this young man was Heras’ son; their resemblance was striking. Black curls framed his light brown skin, their tips pulled into a ponytail. Brightest of all were his eyes, the shade of golden ingots.

“It’s my first ball.” Talon sat up, giving the man his full attention. “Quite the crowd, eh? I’m overwhelmed.”

“You speak Altanese? I’m surprised. We have to use Imperial for most guests.” His voice shifted, employing Imperial, though, to Talon’s surprise, he spoke without an accent. “I see my mother’s caught your eye.”

“She’s striking,” Talon said with admiration.

“She is.” The man agreed. “Enjoy the festivities. They come only once a decade, after all.

He studied Talon intently before stepping away from the bar and tucking his hands in his pocket. Interesting sense of fashion, this one. His loose shirt had several buttons purposely undone, kept in place only by his red sash.

“I didn’t catch your name. . .?” Talon inquired, though he knew full well who he spoke to.

“Felsin.” The man answered, mouth pulling into a grin. “Nice to meet you, Talon.” Grabbing a mug of ale from the counter, the man sauntered away.

Talon blinked, opening his mouth to respond before snapping it shut. He had not mentioned his name.

* * *

The Kahn Chief grabbed Des’s hand and shook it vigorously. His breath smelled of honeyed ale, and his teeth were crooked, but his grin seemed genuine. “Pleasure to meet you, of course. Welcome to Altanbern.”

“Your country is beautiful. I could gaze over the mountains all day.” Des smiled back at him as he released her hand.

The Kahn Chief gently steered her to the table where the final chief of the three clans waited. Des readied her false sincerity and smiled at the Royal Chief, but hesitated when she examined Heras’s face.

Something hid in those iron eyes, but Des could not quite place it. Was that curiosity? Hatred? An untoward gaze of dismissal? It could have been any of the three or none.

Royal Chief Heras forced a smile. “Pleasure to meet you, Princess Janus. You’re quite young, aren’t you? Much younger than the other noble heirs.”

“I am,” Des confirmed, scanning the woman’s face. “Avalon has been kind enough to show me the ropes.”

“Has she? How fortunate for you.” Heras’ mouth tautened. “Well, I shouldn’t keep you.” She bowed. “I hope you enjoy your first Badulf-Esseg.”

“Thank you,” Des said slowly, curtsying. She walked away, distracted, trying to parse what Heras had been thinking.

A wall of a man blocked her path. “And who might you be? Had you come to Altanbern before, I’m sure I would have remembered.”

Des looked up into the face of a strikingly handsome man, red curls tousled loosely around scarlet eyes. Red tweed wrapped from his shoulder to waist—another of the Gaevral clan.

“Janus.” Des began.

“The little shut-in?” The red-haired man interjected before she could finish. “I imagined something quite different when I heard the princess nobody’s seen before would be attending.”

She ground her teeth together. “And what did you imagine?”

“Something more homely.”

Ignoring the slight, Des hurried to end the conversation. “Pleasure to meet you. I didn’t catch your-”

He grabbed her face, tilting her head. “But you’re quite the looker. So what was the real reason your father kept you locked up, then?”

“What are you implying?” Des said as his hand tightened on her chin.

“Princesses aren’t hidden away without good reason.” His scarlet eyes swept her face. “So if it’s not your face, what is it?”

“Brand.” A golden-eyed cefra grabbed the redhead’s hand and yanked it off Des. “Antagonizing someone again? A lady, at that?”

“I’ve never had a lady refuse my touch,” Brand smirked and pulled his hand away.

Biting back choice words, Des glanced between the two men, finally recognizing them. Brand and Felsin, Heras’ sons. Only the similar structure of their nose and brow revealed their relation. Des often forgot that cefran families could each bear a different element. Fire and earth, in this case.

“My apologies.” Felsin bowed his head. “My brother normally waits to get drunk.”

“You’ve been busy,” Brand stepped closer again. “Already the talk of seven tables.”

“Seven? I’d hoped for more.” Des countered.

“Not until rumors of courtship make the rounds. Choose your dance partner wisely. Everyone will notice.”

“Yes,” Felsin said pointedly. “All the more reason for you to stay away.”

“What man in his right mind wouldn’t ask for her hand?” Brand’s eyes lowered to her breasts before rising to her eyes again.

Des strained to see past the surface. Was he like this with every woman, or did he loathe her specifically?

“Well,” Felsin muttered, “You’re typically not in your right mind.”

“Do you have a problem with me, dear brother?”

Des noted a flare of tension between them. So, there was bad blood in the Gaevral family. Good to know.

“I’ll dance with whomever I like.” Des picked up her skirt to leave. “Perhaps you’ll get a turn.”

“Wait,” Felsin called, following her a step. “I’m curious. Do I speak to the princess or the princess’s shadow tonight?”

Des halted in her tracks. “I’m sorry?”

One end of Felsin’s mouth curled upwards. “The shadow, then.” In the silence of her stupor, he walked away.

What had he meant by that? Shaking off the shock, Des hurried to the bar and sat beside Talon.

“He knows something,” Talon whispered, raising his glass.

“So does the Royal Chief,” Des muttered, eyes flicking to the head table. “Did you see the way she looked at me?”

“Like you were an assassin slipped through her bedroom window,” Talon muttered. “Or a corpse still walking.”

“Think we found our assassin?”

“Hard to say. I can’t think of a single reason she’d be out for your head.”

Talon stood, taking Des’ arm. As she laid her hand on his elbow, Des recalled something Talon had said on their trip. “Back when you were teaching Janus to gossip, you mentioned something about Heras.”

“You mean how she missed the last Thruinc Council?”

“Do you know why?”

“No,” Talon answered. “The Dragosi Duchess made a fuss about it, but Heras claimed a family emergency interrupted her trip. The Kahn Chief might be playing nice up there, but he’s been vocal about Heras hiding things from her fellow chieftains.”

“But Heras is a cefra.” Des pointed out.

Cefra lived a life Des did not envy. Forced to join a clan, their minds would deteriorate unless they added their memories to the clan’s communal pond. There, all memories swirled into one, and their lives would be laid bare.

No secrets. No hiding. Everyone in your clan knew every last detail of your life.

“That’s true.” Talon agreed. “You’d think her sons would have corroborated the story, at least. Or a clansman.”

“Maybe a sense of allegiance stilled their tongues.”

“No. A few looked for the memory of this emergency and found nothing.”

Des released Talon’s arm as they reached their table. “And how does a merchant know all this?”

Talon pulled out his chair and sank into it, neatly crossing one leg over the other as he raised his glass. “Some of us like to be informed.”

“Hm.” Des did not believe him, and he knew it. Instead, she stared at her pushed-in chair. “Talon.” She said pointedly.

“Pull it out yourself.” He said, smiling. “In Clodia, it’s considered impolite to demean a woman by insisting she cannot pull out her own chair.”

“You made that up.”

“How would you know?” Leaning forward, he hushed his voice. “Something Felsin said shook you up. Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Des said shortly.

As soon as her rear touched her seat cushion, Avalon returned, leaning on the back of an empty chair. “Have any plans tonight? The heirs usually gather to get a drink.”

“Who all will be coming?”

Avalon pointed around the room. “Paulus refused, so just me, Dinu, and the Gaevral boys.”

Turning back to Avalon, Des bowed her head. “I’ll have to pass tonight, but I’d love to drink with you another night.”

“Of course,” Avalon said. “How about the night after next? After the hunt.”

“Sounds lovely.”

Bowing her head, Avalon smiled and returned to her seat.

Now alone with Talon, Des twisted in her seat to watch Paulus instead. “Who is that with him? A noblewoman I should know about?”

“Paulus’ date? I have no idea.” Talon answered. “She must be from a lesser family.”

“Hm.” Des sat back and watched the dance floor.” We have time before dinner is served. Care to dance?”

“If you can keep up,” Talon smiled. “I taught you to dance with glittering princes, not a man of the streets.”

“You taught Janus. I know how to dance.”

“Consider me intrigued.” He took her hand and led her to the dance floor.

Lacing his fingers through hers, Talon touched her hip and ran a hand down her upper thigh. He brushed the hidden dagger beneath her gown and hastily returned his hand to her waist.

“Thought so.” He murmured as he led her into a Sigillite waltz. “Planning on knifing someone tonight?”

“Planning on tailing someone.” She corrected, leaning to whisper in his ear. “Why drink with them when I could shadow them instead?”

“And here I thought we’d be shadowing Heras.”

“Oh, no. Her sons are far more suspicious.” Des watched Avalon return to Dinu, gesturing toward Felsin. “They look like they’re planning to leave early together.”

“And the knife?”

“Call it insurance. One can never be too careful.”