Page 17 of Death of the Glass Angel (Apotheosis #1)

Janus

I gave that hairpin to Gemellus as a joke. But he never allowed himself a spot of silliness. The weight of his burden never left his shoulders, the solemnity of his decision echoed in his eyes. I wish I’d met the man you knew, long ago.

-Private letter from Lady Entia to Sir Penna

Janus sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the far wall. Sweat glistened on the palms of her hands, and she wiped them on her tights. Twice now, someone had tried to kill her.

She hadn’t noticed the first assassins’ faces. Somehow, seeing the second’s face made it all the more real.

Sleep had evaded her last night, and to make matters worse, a dream about Eros had troubled her rest, though it was more a memory than a nightmare.

Evoker’s perfect memories. . . was it a blessing to remember the lost so vividly, or a haunting curse?

A fist slammed into a table in the other room. Janus flinched. The men had been arguing for a while, debating what should be done. Their princess had almost been murdered twice, and they had no idea who was responsible.

Kalid had demanded they take her home, but Janus had refused. Strangely, for as strongly as she had dreaded coming here, now she wanted nothing more than to stay.

To stay and uncover the truth.

A soft knock came at the door, and Janus mumbled for them to come in. Talon quietly slipped inside. Wet spots marked his jacket where snowflakes had recently melted.

“I’m going out if you need anything.” He said. “Assassins and conspiracies aren’t quite my area of expertise, but I can at least see if the local gossips know anything.”

“Do regular people keep secrets like that?”

“You’d be amazed.”

Janus slid off her bed and walked to her trunk, pulling out a cloak to wrap around her shoulders. Her legs wobbled. Pressing her hands against her neck, she closed her eyes, remembering the sharp edge of the dagger.

“Are you okay?” Talon asked quietly.

“No,” Janus answered.

Talon had been by her side for a few weeks, talking with her, listening to her ramble, and teaching her to dance. She felt safe with him. As her knees turned to jelly and she lost her balance, she fell forward and wrapped her arms tightly around him.

Catching her, Talon returned the embrace, running a soothing hand down her back. “It’ll be alright, Janus. I’m not much of a guardian, but I can at least watch your back.”

“I’ve never been good at paying attention,” Janus mumbled into his shirt. “You’ll have to watch every side of me.”

Talon chuckled. “I’ll be sure to pray to the gods for help, then.”

“I don’t believe in the gods,” Janus muttered somberly.

“Well, I. . . " Talon hesitated. “I believe in mine.”

If the gods were real, they were cruel, sitting by while allowing innocents to suffer unimaginable horrors. Janus had not prayed to them in years.

Not since they’d allowed Eros to die.

“My lady?” Raja tapped on the ajar door. “You have a guest.”

* * *

Felsin shuffled a deck of cards, wincing as he leaned back in his seat. His injury hadn’t encouraged him to adopt modesty—Janus could see the bandages around his waist where his shirt lay open.

Talon sat across from him, eyeing the prince disapprovingly, following the movement of the cards as though he expected an assassin to leap from between them.

The pleasant scent of herbs wafted over the couch as Raja returned with a warm mug. “This should help with bruises. Drink it, and the pain will dull.”

“Thanks,” Janus said.

Felsin leaned forward, wincing. “I said we needed to talk, in confidence. Ask your guards to leave.”

Kalid practically rammed into the back of Janus’ seat. “You cannot expect us to-”

“It’s alright,” Janus said. “He saved my life. Stay nearby, just out of earshot.”

She could see a defiant gleam forming in Kalid’s gentle eyes. He wanted to invoke her brother’s or father’s name to overrule her order. Raising his chin, he nodded, waving Raja off as he found a spot to guard in the parlor.

Satisfied, Felsin dropped his stack of cards on the low stone table between them. “I never got a chance to ask you this. In your men’s report, there was mention of a strange evoker interfering.”

Janus nodded.

“Tell me about the assassins. In full.”

Drumming her fingers on her mug, Janus glanced at Talon. Sighing, he told the story for her. “Four men, well armed and concealed. Two ambushed her from the roof, and two more blocked off her escape route. As for the evoker. . .” He glanced at Janus.

A little white cat shoved itself between Felsin’s boots and jumped on the table before leaping to curl up between Janus and Talon. Running a hand over Sors’s back, Janus closed her eyes, trying and failing again to recall the memory.

Of the mirage. Would Gemellus be proud or annoyed that Janus had aptly named it by accident?

“He was like a mirage.” Janus opened her eyes. “Not quite there. Blurry, like a wavering shadow. I could see hints of metal, of white cloth. This odd water appeared on the ground, and. . . and arrows meant for me slammed into the creature and shattered.”

“That’s what I thought.” Felsin folded his arms.

“I take it you’ve seen the same,” Talon said. “Where?”

Felsin hesitated before answering. “I was out for a drink. A few thugs jumped me. During the scuffle, I saw something similar to what you described.”

“Thugs?” Talon pressed.

“Or assassins.” Felsin finished Talon’s thought. “Back then, I wasn’t sure. Now. . .” Felsin shook his head. “I’d never seen anything like this mirage, nor the spells it produced. It’s a miracle I escaped at all.”

Janus stared into her tea. Had the mirage been trying to kill her? Or had it arrived to rescue her?

“But the strangest thing,” Felsin continued, “Was that I checked my maevruthan, hoping to show my brother the memory. And it simply wasn’t there.”

Talon pulled a leg up and bit down on his thumbnail, eyes flying around wildly as though reading a book.

“Maybe we’re all going collectively crazy,” Janus suggested.

“No.” Talon snapped, staring at Felsin accusingly. “You pointedly said my name at the ball, though I hadn’t mentioned it. You know something.”

“About what, exactly?” Felsin’s mouth turned up on one side.

Janus glanced between them. She could barely remember the ball.

“Really? Do you think now is the time to antagonize me?”

“You’re the one who wasn’t watching your charge. She almost died.”

“I was watching her.”

“Not closely enough.”

Talon’s jaw set. “Your brother appeared with the assassins. Have an explanation for that?”

“He thought they were Kahn’s men-”

“And how did you know I was there?”

Janus swallowed too much of her tea. Talon had been following them on the hike?

“We’re getting off topic.” Felsin waved a hand, dismissing him. “There’s more going on than political games. But I don’t know if they’re related. Our only clue is whatever the link between you and me is.”

“Maybe we can find out.” Janus set down her drink. “Tell me about yourself.”

“I’m a fortune teller,” Felsin answered with a wry smile.

“Right, and I study architecture,” Janus said, rubbing her palms on her trousers. “Well, sort of. I mostly just kinda-”

“Fascinating.” Talon interrupted. “One of you’s a full-blooded cefra, the other an evoker. You’ve never met before, and neither will inherit the crown. What similarities are we supposed to be finding, exactly?”

Janus’ gaze drifted back to Talon, who glowered at Felsin so intensely she could swear a charge electrified the air.

“Maybe the stars can answer.” Felsin tapped the cards. “You wanted me to tell your fortune, didn’t you?’

“Yes.” Janus sat forward.

Talon rubbed his eyes and made a sound of disapproval.

Shuffling the deck one last time, Felsin spread them across the table. He moved to take a card.

“That’s it?” Janus interrupted.

Removing the hand from his eyes, Talon glanced over the cards. “Not much of a show.”

Exhaling, Felsin’s shadowed lids lowered. “I’m not doing this for show.”

“Here,” Janus sat forward, evoking candles around the edge of the table and a large crystal ball at its center.

Felsin examined his decorations and shot her an amused smile before sliding his cards into a circle. “Happy?”

“Better,” Talon murmured.

Felsin carefully selected a card and flipped it over, revealing a woman in a white dress standing atop an ocean, the water splashing over her feet.

“The Priestess of Faerdain,” Felsin said.

“What does that mean?” Janus quickly asked.

“Intuition. Inner voice. An alluring woman.” Felsin explained.

Janus chortled. “Not me, then.” She stared at the ceiling, trying to think of anyone she knew who fit the description.

Talon was staring at her intently when she looked back down. His cheeks reddened slightly, and he looked away.

“Cards’ meanings aren’t always apparent,” Felsin warned.

“What else?” Janus asked.

Flipping the second card over revealed an upside-down tower of brass topped with an enormous clock face. “The Clock Tower.” He murmured, grimacing.

“I know that one,” Talon said. “Destruction, or horrible agony, right?”

“Unavoidable catastrophe. “Felsin confirmed.

A rush of fear swept over Janus before dissipating. Horrible agony had already ruined her life. What more could await her?

“Alright.” She said.

Felsin flipped over another card and pushed it forward. A skeletal figure peered out from tattered black robes, a scythe clutched in bony hands. “Death.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I need an explanation for that one,” Janus said.

Brow furrowed, Felsin hesitated before selecting the final card and turning it over. Gasping softly, Janus reached forward to touch it and snatched back her hand.

Emotions caught in her throat. Twisting vines, thorned and flowered, painted an unusual pattern across a glossy black card. The rosebush card—the same Gemellus had used for his odd little test.

“Illusion,” Felsin said softly.

“That’s the rosebush, isn’t it?” Talon asked, crossing his legs. “What’s a playing card doing in a fortune teller’s deck?”