Page 14 of Death of the Glass Angel (Apotheosis #1)

An audible gasp escaped Janus when she saw the ruins nestled into the forest. Forgetting herself, she set Sors down and jogged forward, running a hand along the old stone and fishing out her journal.

Judging from the level of erosion, this building was at least a few centuries old, and from the general shape, it appeared to have been a large two-story building with a much broader base than peak.

An old Altanese design, specifically from the Kahn clan, dating back before the three chiefs moved to Weisskopf to form a joint reign.

Flipping open her journal, Janus sketched two images: what stood before her, and what it might have looked like in its prime.

“Something tells me,” Felsin said as he joined her. “I don’t need to share the history.”

Janus gestured at nothing as her quill flew across the page. “If I recall correctly, the ruling chief was dragged out and deposed. This place was abandoned.”

“More or less. Do you know the story?”

“About why the clans joined together?” Janus asked. “Not really.”

He looked like he intended to launch into a detailed account, but chuckled. “I won’t bore you with a history lesson.”

“I’m interested.” Janus insisted, shifting to get a better view of the crumbling roof.

Sitting on a broken pillar, Felsin followed her gaze. “The ancestors willed it.”

“They did?” Janus chortled, and immediately regretted it.

Felsin’s eye twitched. He took their belief in the dead seriously. “Yes. All the clan’s shamans received the same message: the clans were to join hands or perish.”

Choosing her words carefully, Janus paused drawing. “Why? Did some great catastrophe loom on the horizon?”

“Maybe it did. After a few years, the chiefs listened. And the Kahn chief who didn’t was thrown out by his people.

” Felsin eyed the crumbled door frame. “The Empire had been preparing to launch a war of conquest on us. Seeing us unite, they hesitated, and in that hesitance, Thuatia began its resistance.” He smirked. “You know how the rest goes.”

“The Empire split apart, and an Esseg stepped up to create the Alliance.” Janus finished. “Maybe your spirits know something after all.”

“Maybe they do.”

Turning back to the ruins, Janus finished tracing every detail, down to the vines growing thick over the crumbling archways. A shadow stretched over the grass as Felsin looked over her shoulder.

“You’re good at that.” He marveled.

“I had to learn.” Janus tapped her quill on the page. “Part of the fascination is wondering what it looked like in its prime. Only my imagination can give me the answer, so. . .” She gestured to her pictures.

Felsin smiled at her, but Janus couldn’t read his expression.

“What?” She looked down, twirling a strand of her hair.

“You talk about old rocks with such enthusiasm. It’s cute.”

“Old rocks?” Janus’ chin jerked up. “They’re not. . .” She trailed off, noticing people approaching.

Felsin turned around. “Brand? What are you doing here?”

A red-headed cefra with tousled hair and a well-muscled frame stalked toward them, fur cloak billowing behind him. Two Altanese guards trailed the prince, wearing yellow tweed wrapped around leather armor—Khan soldiers.

The cefra’s features matched Felsin’s. They were brothers.

“Checking on you,” Brand said. “Or rather, Princess Janus. A woman in danger should not be out here with so little in the way of protection.”

“She has both her guards and mine,” Felsin assured him, eyeing the two soldiers.

Brand’s scarlet eyes flicked to Janus, but he said nothing.

“Are you insinuating she isn’t safe with me?” Felsin laughed bitterly. “What, do you think I sent the assassins?”

“I think you’re naive, brother,” Brand said. His two guards strode toward Janus. “I think you care more for the dead than the living.”

“What’s-” Janus began.

She didn’t get to finish.

One of the Kahn soldiers grabbed her cloak and yanked her toward him. A glint of steel flashed before her eyes as a knife appeared at her throat and ripped across her jugular.

The blade’s tip drew blood before stone erupted from the steel, encasing the sharpened edge in smooth rock. It hurt like hell as it thudded against Janus’ throat, but it only bruised the skin instead of spilling her lifeblood.

Choking, Janus grabbed at her throat as the assailant released her. Her foot thudded into a root, and she fell, landing on her side. A shadow leaped atop her, dagger raised.

The dagger flew from his hand as a pillar of stone tore up from the mud and pierced his palm. The assassin’s bones crunched, and he grabbed his bloody hand in pain.

Stone had saved her twice from death—an earthborn cefra’s magic. Felsin’s magic. Eyes darting around wildly, Janus searched for the golden-eyed prince.

Another shadow emerged from the trees behind Felsin, driving a dagger through his side, spilling blood across his white tunic. Felsin stumbled forward as his assailant ripped the dagger out and grabbed the prince’s collar, intending to slit his throat.

A memory flashed before Janus’ eyes: Ellaila’s grand statue, from which the nooses of Piona’s gallows were hung. Two identical ropes sprang from the boughs overhead, snaring the two assassins’ necks. The men were lifted off their feet and dangled several paces above the forest floor.

Felsin darted forward, kneeling over Janus to shield her from further assault. Thundering footsteps brought Kalid to her side.

One of the assassins sawed through his noose and fell to the ground, the force of his fall throwing off his helm.

He was young, no older than thirty. Brown eyes, brown hair, no remarkable features. But Janus only needed a glimpse of his face to remember it forever.

Brand darted into view, swinging an axe at the assassin, but he dodged away. “See them to safety!” Brand yelled, before pursuing the fleeing assassin.

Where had Brand been during the scuffle? Janus could not recall seeing him.

High above their heads, the other assassin expired, breath strangled from his lungs. Janus started, losing concentration on her spell. The rope vanished, dropping the body to the forest floor with a crunch.

Kalid grabbed Janus and hauled her up. “He’s injured.” Janus gasped. “Not me.”

Barking an order, Kalid sent one of Thuatia’s men to aid Felsin. Janus watched intently, relieved when she saw Felsin nod, indicating the wound was not life-threatening.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she recalled the guard’s face. Someone wanted her dead—needed her dead. But now she knew they sought more than her head.

They wanted Felsin dead, too. An heir whose title was only a formality. An heir who held no power and would never inherit the throne, much like Janus.

Something beyond the obvious motivated her enemy. And that made them entirely more frightening.