Page 2 of Death of the Glass Angel (Apotheosis #1)

Janus

Seven years later. . .

Most walls in the palace carried a slightly golden, orange shade. The sandstone used to build them was sourced from the mountains east of the capital and composed nearly all of the buildings dotting the city, circling the great lake. For five hundred years, the city had stood.

But this wall was different. A slightly red tint colored the sandstone, a shade found only in the northern canyons.

All kings hailed from the east, as did Janus’s father, yet a third-century queen had famously imported culture from the north, including a rumored new wing crafted out of northern stone.

Ah-hah. Janus leaned back, satisfied. This room was newer than the rest of the palace, probably by about three centuries, though the stubborn easterners insisted inept northern hands had never altered the palace.

A man’s voice, tilted with the rich accent of Sigilus, called from the doorway. “Riveting, whatever you’re doing, I’m sure.”

Startled, Janus whipped around and slammed her ankle on the desk chair. Gemellus stood in the door frame, a heavy leather-bound book tucked beneath his elbow as he fussed with his vest. Though a cloth wrapped his blind eyes, he still appeared to be looking directly at her.

“Gem!” Janus exclaimed, both surprised yet relieved to see it was only her instructor. “What do you want?”

“Janus.” He responded dryly. “Your room is a mess.”

“How can you tell?” Janus muttered, scanning the room. Piles of clothing littered the floor, unmentionables amongst them. The bed was unmade, sheets scattered. Even the curtains above the window were inside out. How had that happened?

“How can I tell?” Gemellus repeated. “An aura of destruction surrounds you wherever you go.” He furrowed his brow and stepped forward, lightly kicking the foot of her bed. “Where is your trunk?”

“My trunk. . . ?” Janus repeated, bolting off her desk. She was supposed to be packing for a trip.

“Hm.” Gemellus hummed. He flicked his wrist, fingers lighting a cream color before Janus’ clothes picked themselves up, flying into the laundry basket tucked in the corner.

Janus watched the mess disappear, awed. Her tutor had been blind as long as she’d known him. She couldn’t begin to guess how he possessed a memory of her filled hamper. Every day, he proved his evoking talents far outstripped hers.

“I see you assumed they aren’t clean,” Janus noted.

“Are they?” Gemellus questioned.

“No,” Janus admitted, and Gemellus smiled.

“Your brother wants to see you.” He walked behind her and pushed her toward the door, cutting off her burgeoning excuses for why the meeting needed to wait. “Now.”

“Since when are you the royal messenger?” Janus asked as she was tossed into the hall.

“I’ll become the royal jester if you pay me well enough.” Gemellus teased, shutting the door behind them. He nodded at her and hummed to himself as he walked away.

Loitering in the hall, Janus raked her hands through her thick black hair and smoothed down her simple white tunic. If she walked into Evander’s office looking a mess, he would give her that look. She hated that look—disappointment, and oncoming punishment.

A soft rug trailed the hall, and thin tables lined with copper plates and decorative vases sat beneath portraits of royalty and decorated officers. One door hung open, and Janus squeezed through it, gently pulling it closed behind her.

Evander sat at his neat and orderly desk, quill in hand, as he carefully penned a letter.

He looked so much older than twenty-four.

After observing his darkened eyes and tired countenance, most people who met him placed him in his thirties.

Yet, his hair and clothes were ever neat and tidy, the brunette waves falling to the collar of his kurta.

He sat back with a sigh, eyeing Janus. Seeing she looked orderly for once, he did not chide her appearance. “Are you packed yet?” He did not wait for a response but instead shook his head. “Or have you not even begun?”

“The latter,” Janus admitted, shimmying closer to him. “Are you sure you won’t go?”

“I have too much to do.” Evander denied, tapping his quill on the desk before he rose and walked to the door, pulling it back open. Satisfied, he returned to his chair.

Many years ago, Janus recalled her father telling her about the Badulf-Esseg Ball and Evander promising Eros they would all attend together the next time the event was held.

Now the day had come, and she would be going alone.

Evander read her thoughts. “I’m sorry, Janus. But think of it this way. Without me breathing over your shoulder, you have more opportunities to meet a strapping young lad . . . or lady.”

“This again?” Janus folded her arms. “You’re unwed yourself, but you keep bringing up my lack of a love life?”

“Believe me, Father gets on my case enough as it is.” His eyes shot to the door, and he rose to ensure it was still ajar. Satisfied, he walked away, picking up a stack of books on his desk and sorting them on the bookshelf.

“I couldn’t flirt with a camel.” Janus lamented. “Once I open my mouth, the suitors will run.”

“Mime for them, then,” Evander smirked as he straightened out a row of books. “You are the first princess of Thuatia, a respectable, intelligent, and promising young lady. You drink tea with whoever invites you and smile at everyone. I’m sure they won’t expect anything further.”

“Sounds daunting.”

“You always liked a good challenge.” Evander finished straightening a row and returned to the door to ensure it was still open.

Janus wasn’t sure why he acted like this.

Nor did he seem aware of his odd behavior.

For years, Janus had watched him check his office or room door three times to ensure it was open. Only three.

“Well, I guess I’ll go pack.” Janus swiveled on her heel but moved with unenthusiastic labor.

“How about this?” Evander tapped his fingers on the back of his chair. “Go check on your horse at the stables. It’s her first long ride, after all. Ensure she’s been properly packed and provisioned. More exciting, no?”

“I suppose.”

“And I’ll have a servant pack your trunk so it actually gets done,” Evander added. “Don’t worry. I know what you’ll want to take.”

“You’re a lifesaver.” Janus bounced on her heels before sweeping out the door, emerging halfway into the hallway, grabbing the door frame, and swinging back around. “Don’t forget the books!”

“How could I?” Evander replied with dry humor

Satisfied, Janus departed. A few paces down the hall, she heard Evander gently shut the door behind her to finish penning his letter. As she passed her room, she noticed scattered clothing littering the floor.

Strange. She could have sworn Gemellus had picked them all up.

He must have thrown them all out again, to mess with her. Sighing, she grabbed a cloak from her chambers and hurried to the stables.

Servants and soldiers littered the palace grounds, preparing the caravan. Janus shrank into as small a person as she could feasibly manage, tucking herself into a corner to avoid the crowd swallowing the royal stables.

A pudgy man grunted in effort as he pulled a small wagon from a storage room behind her. “Janus. You’re just in time. How about this?”

Scurrying out of his way, Janus shrugged. “You’d know better than I.”

Stable master Haraj tugged annoyedly on his mustache. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to take a carriage?”

“I’m sure,” Janus assured him.

“But I already had everything set aside for it.”

“I’d rather ride.” She swallowed. “I. . . don’t like carriages.”

Haraj shook his head. “Your horse isn’t a hauler, though; I’ll have to find another to pull this.”

“Great.”

Suppressing a curse, Haraj scowled at her. “Anything for the king’s beloved daughter, I suppose.”

“Listen,” Janus pleaded, “I really am sorry about-”

Turning abruptly away, the stable master returned to the store room and slammed the door. Janus flinched. Three years ago, a slight evoking mishap had destroyed half the stables. A mishap that might have been Janus’ fault. Haraj had never forgiven her.

Knitting her hands together, Janus waited impatiently. She hardly recalled the last Badulf-Esseg ball. Her time had been spent reassuring Eros that Father and Evander would return in a few weeks rather than never.

A losing battle. Eros always assumed he’d been abandoned.

“Does he still hate you?”

Janus jumped out of her skin. “Gem!” She gasped. “Don’t sneak up on me.”

Hands tucked calmly in his pockets, Gemellus glanced at the store room. “Let him handle it. Why don’t we do something more interesting? I have a lesson for you.”

“I graduated two years ago, Gem.”

“And you’re never too old to learn.” He tilted his head. “C’mon.”

Swallowing as she watched Haraj’s angry shadow pass the stables, Janus eagerly followed Gemellus. ”Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

Leading her away from the palace, Gemellus guided her onto the crowded streets of Piona. Under the setting sun, the clusters of sandstone buildings shone golden red. Navigating down a set of broad steps, Gemellus brought them down to the docks and onto a rocky hill overlooking the distant lake.

“Here,” he stated.

“What’s here?” Janus asked, standing on her tiptoes.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Gemellus suggested. “I’ve been observing a sinkhole forming here. I think it’s going to open up soon.”

“Are you sure we’re safe here?”

“Perfectly. I measured it earlier.”

Supposing she trusted him, Janus folded her arms and waited.

Gemellus never felt the need to fill space with idle chatter, unlike Janus.

She opened her mouth to ramble about something, only to recall his lessons in the value of quiet companionship.

Bored, she allowed her shoulders to slump as she watched the ground ahead of her.

The last sunlight faded, bathing the world in purple light. And just as night arrived to take the sun’s place, the sinkhole opened.

Janus started as the ground a few feet away collapsed, revealing a pocket of empty space hiding just below the surface, about three feet wide and several feet deep.

“There it is!” Gemellus declared cheerfully. “I’d wager you’ve never seen anything like that before?”

“I haven’t,” Janus confirmed, locking the memory in her mind.

“Memories are the most precious things we possess. Especially for evokers.” He turned to her, and it felt like his eyes gazed directly into hers, though they hid behind a blindfold. “Every experience is an asset. Even boring ballroom dances.”

“Are you suggesting I open a sinkhole at the ball?”

“There are better ways to escape from boredom,” Gemellus said. “Considering where you’re going, I suggest the sneering gossip the ladies of Sigilus partake in as though it’s their lifeblood.”

“I’m not much for gossip. Or talking.”

“Find someone to teach you, then. Weren’t you staring longingly at the charming young man who cleans the horse’s hooves?”

“I swear you spy on me.”

“You never leave the palace, Janus.” Gemellus tutted. “Spying on you is all too easy.”

“Ugh.” Janus frowned. “Are you sure you’re actually blind?”

Without pause, Gemellus pulled off his blindfold, revealing scratched-up, scarred eyes with milky-white irises. “Yes.”

Janus had probably asked him fifty times, and each question yielded the same response. “I’m jealous. You’re still more perceptive than I’ll ever be.”

“Not necessarily. I’m merely seasoned, like a finely aged wine.” He retied the blindfold, hiding the scars. “When you get to my age, perhaps you will be just as richly flavored. But,” he enunciated. “You’ll have to start leaving your room more often.”

“I’d rather be like aged cheese than wine,” Janus said, glancing back at the sinkhole.

“I. . .” Gemellus shook his head. “You should spend what remains of the night with Evander. He’s been fretting over you like a mother hen.” Gemellus placed a gentle hand on Janus’s back to steer her back toward the palace.

As they walked, Janus couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder repeatedly.

Eros would have gaped in awe had Janus managed to tear a hole in the ground with only her mind.

He might have even liked it as much as the opportunity to wear fanciful clothing and mingle with the continent’s highest of society at the legendary Badulf-Esseg.

Raising an arm, Janus wiped away moisture forming at the edges of her eyes. Everyone had told her years ago that pain would mend with time.

But it never had.

Gemellus dropped her off at the palace doors, and Janus continued alone to the second-story lounge. A fire crackled in the hearth. Giving it a wide berth, Janus poured herself a drink and curled up on the couch, hugging a pillow to her chest.

Her fingers trembled on the glass as she lifted it to drink.

Janus chuckled, despite herself. She was ridiculous.

Every woman her age would dream of attending a ball like this. They’d delight in tailoring a gorgeous gown and dancing with handsome young men. Janus should be excited. Both ideas sounded wonderful.

Fear choked her throat. Fear of eyes landing on her, searching, scouring. Finding the truth she hid inside.

No man should court a woman like her. A murderer.