Page 18 of Death of the Glass Angel (Apotheosis #1)

“The illusion card was used for fortunes long before gamblers changed its name.” Felsin corrected.

“Where did you even get that?” Talon marveled. “Do you know how much I’d pay to get my hands on one of those?”

“I didn’t realize you were a gambler.”

“A damn good one, thanks.”

“If you’re good, you don’t need this.”

“Clearly, you’ve never gambled,” Talon said. “The best know to always have a trump card.”

“So, um,” Janus asked. “What does this mean?”

“A fortune describes a singular event.” Felsin ran a finger along his chin. “A death will cause a catastrophic event to pass. Orchestrated by an alluring woman, perhaps? Or is she the one who dies?”

“How does illusion fit into that?”

“Illusions can mean any number of things,” Felsin said. “A lie. A secret, a cover-up.”

Talon narrowed his eyes. “What about a mirage?”

A knock thudded at the door, startling Janus. Kalid emerged from the parlor to answer it, cracking the door open a hair before briefly stepping out. Janus saw nothing of the unexpected visitor, but Kalid returned with a parcel.

“It was a messenger.” He said. “Letter for you, my lady.”

Taking the parcel, Janus unwrapped it to reveal a neatly packed box with a scroll and a small pouch. Breaking the familiar seal of her house, Janus unrolled the letter and held it up.

Janus,

Perhaps I have misjudged your tendency to remain indoors. The first time you step out of our gates, you find assassins lurking in the night.

Your father is beside himself, of course. So is your brother. They wanted to call you home, but I managed to talk them out of it. To shatter the alliance is most likely what the assassins’ master sought.

Guards are a wonderful thing, but crowding you with more men in steel won’t stop a skilled blade. You’ve been my charge for a decade now, and I know better than any how you slip out at night despite our best warnings. Or how a shiny glint can draw you into a trap.

Stay put until I get there. I know you need no particular encouragement to remain in your room and under guard, but do try to control your more adventurous side. Whatever curiosities draw your attention, leave them to the professionals.

Gemellus Instigo

Gemellus was coming here? Janus rolled the letter up and released a heavy exhale. She would feel perfectly safe, knowing he was protecting her.

Grabbing the pouch, Janus untied its strings and dumped out a beautiful hair pendant, its tip vaguely shaped like a lavender rose—A rare flower that bloomed in the Argiris desert. Another note was attached to it, much shorter than the first.

P.S. Evander says you like good luck charms, like that dragon of yours. I imagine you must be scared, so wear this. Someone important to me gave this to me long ago; I called her my glass angel, the same name this flower bears.

Smiling, Janus slipped the letter into her pocket. Kalid shifted impatiently. “What did it say?”

“Father sent Gemellus to protect me.”

Kalid visibly relaxed. “Nothing gets past him. He can’t arrive soon enough.”

“Gemellus?” Felsin asked.

“My evoking mentor. Father’s court mage.” Janus explained

Turning the hair clip over, Janus laughed sadly. Glass Angels were flowers possessed of beauty that dwarfed even the fairest maiden. Only one grew per year, sprouting against all odds in the middle of barren sand.

“Good.” Talon’s voice drew Janus from her thoughts. “Having an evoker to guard you will set my mind at ease.” He gestured dismissively at Felsin. “Well, have you found your connection?”

Lifting the rosebush card, Felsin turned it over. “I’ve never drawn this in a fortune. Not once.” He stared at Janus. “Alfaris said everything would change when I finally did.”

Alfaris. The name was familiar. Memories stirred to life, wanting to be seen.

And as the memory surfaced, Janus found the sole connecting thread between her and Felsin.

* * *

Janus remembered a day six years ago. Gemellus had taken her into the city of Valeria on an impromptu evoking lesson, asking her to remember random, tiny details.

A messenger in an unremarkable tan tunic ran up and bowed hastily before offering a sealed scroll to Gemellus. “There you are, my lord. Letter for you.”

“For me?” Gemellus took the scroll and nodded. “Thank you.” The man rose from his bow and departed. Gemellus felt the scroll’s dimensions before handing it to Janus. “Would you mind reading this for me?”

“Sure.” Janus turned the scroll over, noting the star stamped in wax before breaking its seal and unrolling the parchment.

She cleared her throat before reading the somewhat uneven handwriting.

“Dear Gemellus, I regret to inform you of the recent death of a dear friend. Veren has passed, unexpectedly-”

Gemellus stiffened and snatched the letter from Janus. “I’m sorry. I thought it was going to be another droning request from Lady Hebe.”

“Who’s Veren?” Janus asked, curious.

“The husband of Altanbern’s Royal Chieftess,” Gemellus answered distractedly, tapping the letter against his palm, no doubt agitated he could not read it himself.

“Oh. I’m sorry. He was your friend, right?” Janus attempted to offer sympathies.

“We should get back.” Gemellus marched away.

Worried, Janus followed Gemellus back to the college tower. The lake stirred against the bridge under a growing breeze, and crimson dotted the skies as the tower’s heavy doors opened and beckoned them inside.

“The weather is turning foul,” Gemellus said. “I know it’s your free day, but maybe stay inside.” Nodding, he turned and marched away.

Frowning, Janus loitered in the college’s grand entry hall.

Gemellus had said only a glance was required to recall places and people in perfect clarity. Every detail. Every smudge, every imperfection.

Though Janus had read only the first line, she had glanced over Gemellus’ letter. And only a glance was required.

Closing her eyes, Janus reflected on the trip through the town, and holding the parchment.

The memory surfaced in her mind like viewing a painting of her life.

And though she had been concentrating only on the lines she had been reading aloud back then, in her memories, she could see the neat scrawl filling the remainder of the page.

Dear Gemellus,

I regret to inform you of the recent death of a dear friend. Veren has passed unexpectedly.

His son was by his side and suffered severe injuries. Thankfully, Felsin is expected to make a full recovery. The Esseg’s shaman called it nothing short of a miracle.

News around the city calls it a freak accident. An unfortunate stroke of luck. But I think you and I know better. The clock hands of fate have begun to turn, and none can stop the march of time.

The Priestess. The Tower. Death. Illusion. That was the fortune I pulled today.

What of you? When I was a child, you despised youths. But now you teach them?

A hefty dose of arrogance mixed with a spoonful of insanity—that’s how I’d describe you. Are you sure you’re up to the task?

I feel for Felsin, losing a father who was clearly beloved. He recently expressed interest in my work. I think I might take the boy under my wing. Perhaps I’m getting old, but the thought evokes old memories.

He’s a good kid. Odd, but calm. And he has the most precious cat—one with a lazy eye. Something tells me you would say, ‘It reminds me of you.’ And he’s named it Sors. Now, wherever did he hear that word?

See you soon,

Alfaris

* * *

Janus’ eyes flew open. “Alfaris.” She blurted out. “You know him?”

Felsin gathered his cards together. “He’s my mentor.”

“Of what?”

“Of. . . of this.” He gestured to the fortune-telling setup.

Not an evoker, then. But the link was there. Two mentors who were well acquainted.

Janus pressed her palms on the table. “I need to see him.”

“I can arrange a meeting.” Felsin nodded. “But there’s something more dire we have to do first.”

“What?”

“Attend the next ball.”