Page 23 of Death of the Glass Angel (Apotheosis #1)

Janus

I remember the night in the southern mountains, gazing at the stars. You’d already drained the only bottle of whiskey. That was the first time you fed my turtle, wasn’t it? And the first time we truly came to understand one another, I think.

-Private letter from Alfaris to Gemellus Instigo

Yesterday was foggy. Janus’ feet hurt, and she recalled leaving her manor, but little else. Kalid rode ahead of her, escorting her to Weisskopf’s stables.

When they arrived, Janus spotted Felsin waiting for them, several Altanese guards at his back.

“Last chance to back out,” Felsin said as he wandered over. “It’s going to be an all-day affair.”

“I need to meet Alfaris. He’s my only clue.” Janus said. “You’re sure he’ll be willing to see me?”

“Yes.” Felsin cocked his head.

“What?”

“Last time you went out with me, assassins tried to take your head.” He grinned devilishly. “I’m not sure I’d want to risk it again.”

“Why? You were the best part of that day.”

“Was I?” Felsin raised an eyebrow and mounted his dark mare.

Realizing what she’d said, Janus bumped into Taniyn’s side and struggled to climb onto the saddle. Kalid ran over to help her.

So many elegant ladies had glided across the dance floor like water. Janus shared none of their qualities.

“Where’s Sors?” Janus asked, riding alongside Felsin.

“Cats are hardly fit for travels like this,” Felsin said. “Besides, Alfaris is allergic.”

“Why’d you bring him on the hike, then?”

“That’s entirely different.”

“If you say so,” Janus looked away, preferring to stare at the trees rather than the man riding beside her. “If you’re not a fortune teller, what do you do?”

Felsin’s eyes darkened. “The Royal Chief’s children are expected to become delegates when they come of age. The parent looks inward, their child outward.”

“I take it you don’t like your job?”

“My mother has made it very difficult.”

“You two, um, don’t get along, then?”

“We used to.” Felsin sighed. “But we don’t agree on anything anymore.” He leaned forward in the saddle. “I used to lead a small team, overlook border squabbles. You know how Athelstanis are.”

Janus did not know how Athelstanis were, but she nodded nonetheless.

“She pulled us all back without notice and has me sitting idly in the palace. At this rate, I will become a fortune teller for lack of anything better to do.”

“You’d need a wardrobe change.”

Felsin lifted a sleeve. “You’re right. More gold. Maybe a veil.”

Alfaris and Gemellus—a fortune teller and an evoking instructor. How exactly had they met?

As a child, the contents of the letter Alfaris sent Gemellus had been uninteresting. Looking back on it, Janus found the wording odd. Something scratched at her mind, telling her there was a hidden message in the writing, but she could not find it.

Even if Janus’s hunch was wrong, an acquaintance of Gemellus was bound to be interesting. He had to know something of worth; perhaps even who might have sent the assassins.

“And your brother?” Janus asked.

“Brand?” Felsin glanced at her. “What, besides carousing in every tavern with every woman?” His smile slipped. “He’s the clan delegate, settling the disputes between the Kahns and Essegs and all that.”

“Do they fight often?”

“The clans have butt heads every day for the past thousand years. We make our decisions together or not at all.” Felsin sighed. “It takes a long time.”

Janus leaned forward. “You and your brother don’t seem friendly, either.”

“We used to get along famously. He’s been an ass recently. Just changed, almost overnight.” Felsin studied her. “Maybe he thinks you’re fetching. I’ve never seen him stare at a woman the way he stares at you.”

“Oh.” Janus sat back. Someone found her attractive?

“What about you?” Felsin said. “Does anything besides old rocks occupy your mind?”

“I draw sometimes. Most of my books are about magic and history.” She chuckled. “I sit inside and I read. A riveting life, I know.”

“Can I see your drawings?”

Janus flushed. Pulling out her journal, she reluctantly offered it to him.

The forests were light along this mountain road. The path wound through hills and cliffs, leading them to a peak. Felsin flipped through her journal, admiring her sketches of architecture but lingering on the portraits. Talon, Dinu, Avalon. . . Everyone from the ball had at least a rough sketch.

“You always draw them looking so sad.” Felsin pointed out.

“I don’t know any other way to be,” Janus said softly

Felsin’s eyebrows drew together sadly. He lingered on one portrait in particular—a depiction of what Janus imagined Des the Dragon might have looked like, had she been magnificent, rather than yarn.

Sitting up in her saddle, Janus noticed the observatory ahead. A small tower of stacked, uneven stones sat against the cliff’s edge, overlooking the valley.

The Altanese guard fanned out, creating a perimeter around the mountainside, though Janus could not imagine anyone sneaking up on them here. Dismounting Taniyn and handing her reins to Kalid, Janus followed Felsin to the door and watched as he knocked heavily.

A faint ‘come in’ echoed inside, and Felsin pulled a key from his belt and unlocked the door, holding it open for Janus.

A surprisingly neat sitting room greeted them, of simple cushioned seats gathered around a fire pit.

Their host trotted down a spiral staircase in the corner and curiously observed them.

He was decidedly not the dark-eyed, veil-covered mystic Janus had envisioned.

Wrinkles caressed Alfaris’ pale skin, but thick, neatly combed white hair fell over his shoulder in a ponytail.

The hue reminded Janus of a stormborn cefra, but his eyes were pure black.

They matched his long robes, their ends tattered as though dragged over rough floors one too many times.

A flash of silver appeared behind the heavy fabric.

“Felsin,” Alfaris said warmly. “You’ve never brought a guest before.”

“Alfaris.” Felsin bowed with respect. “Princess Janus wanted to see you.”

“Janus,” Alfaris repeated, staring at her. Despite the wrinkles around his eyes and the laugh lines creasing his mouth, he appeared strangely youthful. “I never imagined I’d have the pleasure.”

“Are you a cefra?” Janus asked.

“No.” One side of his mouth rose. “You’re as terrible with manners as they say.”

Biting her tongue, Janus floundered for an apology. She probably should have led with ‘the pleasure’s all mine.’

Alfaris beckoned Janus to the sitting area. “Now, what could have possibly brought you to me?”

Strangely at ease around the old man, Janus’s words came easily. “I was hoping you might help us.” She gratefully sank into one of the cushions. “Assassins have tried to kill me twice. On the second, they almost got Felsin, too.”

“Troubling.” Alfaris sat opposite her.

“I was hoping you might have a lead on them.”

“Why would a hermit know such things?”

Felsin leaned on the back of Janus’ seat. “We both witnessed the same thing during the attacks. A glassy-eyed. . . mirage.”

Alfaris’ expression didn’t change much, but Janus noticed his eyes widen slightly. “Let’s see, then,” He leaned forward. “They laid in wait for you at the inn and Felsin at a tavern. Then they struck both of you at once on the mountainside, disguised as your guards.”

Janus moved to affirm his words but paused. Who had told him the details?

“Meaning they know a great deal about us, and our plans,” Felsin said.

“It’s certainly curious.” Alfaris continued, face softening. “Who has something to gain when you lie dead? Or rather, what can they not reach while you yet live?”

Nothing. The answer repeated itself in Janus’ head, knocking against her skull. She was a princess of nothing and had sway over nothing. Had offended nobody.

“Which brings us to you,” Janus said. “The only link we could find was our mentors—you, and Gemellus.”

“Is that so? Perhaps you should stop looking back.” Alfaris stood. “And try looking forward.” He offered Janus a hand. “Come with me.”

Accepting the offer, Janus rose and peered up the spiral stairway before following the old man upstairs. After a long climb, they reached the tower’s top floor, and a magnificent sight stole Janus’ breath away.

There was no ceiling. A sky of black intermingled with otherworldly blues and purples, dotted with stars and moons. Gold metal rings spun between them, connecting planets in an intricate sphere that rotated in a slow orbit.

Janus gaped at the starry sky, and Felsin chuckled as he joined her. “I wore that expression my first time, too.”

Alfaris stood beneath the cosmos. “Has Gemellus told you much about me?”

“He’s never mentioned you,” Janus said.

“Why am I not surprised?” Alfaris laughed breathily. He took her shoulder and stood behind her. “Look up. What do you see?”

A nagging sensation bit into Janus. Hadn’t Felsin asked her that already? She glanced behind her to see him grinning at her.

“Stars,” Janus answered.

“The seers of Yuri Llaqta were the first to glean the stars, centuries ago,” Alfaris said. “From their patterns, they devised the tarots, and saw fate unfold.”

A metal ring whooshed overhead, and Janus reflexively ducked. “Are you saying my future is written up there?”

“In a sense. If you only know where to look.”

Watching the rings orbit one another, Janus pressed her lips together. That letter, nearly ten years ago, had mentioned a fortune. The Tower. Death. Illusion. The same fortune Felsin had pulled for her a few days ago.

An irrevocable change, a catastrophe, will be brought about by someone’s death.

Eros’ death soon followed that letter. Had that been the fate Alfaris saw?

Was it going to happen again?

Panic welled in Janus’ throat, and she backed up, bumping into Felsin. She hastily stepped away. “Talon’s never going to believe any of this is real.”

“He’s a cynic.” Felsin agreed. “I’d have to perfectly foretell his entire day to convince him. And even then, he’d be skeptical.”

“Can you do that?”