Page 28 of Death of the Glass Angel (Apotheosis #1)

Des/Talon

They are so alike, the shadows. Confident, self-assured, sharp-tongued. Beneath the bravado they crack, hiding their scars from the world.

-Private letter from Alfaris to Professor Aevus

Des awoke from a groggy sleep, her body heavy and head pounding. She sat up slowly and adjusted her eyes to the darkness.

Pain shot through her arms as her wrists twisted behind her. Shackles bound her hands behind her back, and cold stone pressed against her like a coffin.

This was a dungeon. Iron bars separated her from the cells to her left and right, though only one was occupied.

Shifting closer to the bars, Des stared at the unconscious man bound in the neighboring cell. Talon didn’t appear to be injured; Des saw no bloodstains or noticeable welts.

He roused shortly after her, slowly pulling himself into a sitting position. The moment he noticed her, his eyes widened.

“Are you alright?” Talon asked worriedly.

“I’m fine,” Des assured him.

“I’m so sorry-” he cut himself off, changing his tune, “What were you doing running around the stone quarter at midnight?!”

“Janus doesn’t always think things through.”

Talon paused before speaking again. “How did she find me?”

“She’s more resourceful than most give her credit for.”

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Talon’s eyes flicked around the area. “There are carvings all over these walls.” He observed, though Des couldn’t see them. Cefra had better night vision. “Ruins?”

Dust drifted down from the ceiling as something thudded overhead. They were underground.

“Are we down the tunnels we found?” Des asked.

“Maybe.” Talon shook his head. “Who knows how long we’ve been out? They drugged you as soon as you passed out. And then me.”

Standing, Des stretched her stiff limbs, hoping she would be able to slip her arms around to her front.

“I don’t understand,” Talon muttered.

“I don’t either.” Des interrupted him. “Were you trying to get caught?”

“Yes. My partner was supposed to trail and free me.” He released a frustrated exhale. “When she saw you were involved, she should have intervened immediately.”

“Or maybe that’s why she didn’t. There were two of them and only one of her. Attacking might have only put me in more danger.”

“I suppose.” Talon grimaced. “She should know where we are if nothing else.”

“A backup in case we can’t escape ourselves.” Des leaned on the bars. “I don’t have any pins in my hair. What about you?”

“A few lockpicks hidden here and there. I don’t think they found one of my daggers.”

“Good. Can you pick locks behind your back?”

“Why would I need to?” Talon asked, effortlessly slipping his shackled wrists under his feet around to his front. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re alive, but you aren’t exactly a young stormborn man.”

“You’re right.” Des realized. The man who’d grabbed her had been a step behind—presumably stalking her before she’d run into Talon. Why target her if she didn’t fit his type?

Talon produced a lockpick from somewhere in his coat and set to unlocking his shackles. “Where were you yesterday, by the way?”

“With Felsin, We-”

“With Felsin?”

“This isn’t the time to be jealous.”

“I’m not jealous. I thought I told you to stay away from him.”

“Last I checked, he wasn’t the one who threw me in a dungeon.”

“Fair.” Talon reluctantly agreed. His shackles clicked.

Thundering footsteps echoed down the hall. Talon hastily hid his lockpick and swung his arms behind his back again.

“Cooperate.” He whispered.

A pair of human men in plain steel armor approached, unmarked by symbols or colors. Their faces were hidden behind their helms, and Des caught only a hint of dark eyes behind the slits as they unlocked the cells.

Their captors were not rough or abusive. They guided them from the dungeons into remarkably old tunnels. Torches sporadically hung from sconces, providing just enough light for Des to make out the carvings on the walls.

Ghostly figures walked in processions around the borders of the murals. Within, faded carvings of mountains, huts, and trees painted a scene of ancient Altanbern.

They arrived at a crossroads; one guard led Des left while the other guided Talon right.

Worried, Des glanced over her shoulder and met Talon’s gaze, holding it until the darkness swallowed him. Des considered wrenching away from her guard and racing after him. A stupid thought.

“Where are we going?” Des questioned as she snapped her head around.

The guard did not answer. In the distance, Des heard the faint rumblings of activity. A few thuds, low murmurs of distant voices, and shuffling footsteps. A faint crackling echoed through the halls.

Her guide appeared to be deliberately following empty paths that kept Des from the commotion she could overhear.

Eventually, they arrived at another door, and the guard knocked twice, paused, and then swung the door open, motioning for Des to enter.

Doing as he commanded, she passed into a room that would have enraptured Janus.

Thick pillars supported the ceiling, each carved with faded murals. Something was etched across the ceiling, but so much of it had crumbled that Des could barely make it out.

A man sat in a stone chair, stout with a thin beard. Dark purple robes draped him, cascading over the chair and brushing against the floor. He gestured for Des to sit, and she cautiously lowered herself into the other chair.

“My apologies for the rude introductions, Lady Janus.” The man said. Warm charisma lined his words, yet also a threat. “Cooperate with us, and you will not come to any harm.”

“That’s rather presumptuous,” Des said, taking in his features. Copper skin, dark hair. “I don’t imagine you would dare touch me unless you intend to kill me.”

“I merely wish to ask you a few questions.” The man crossed one leg over the other.

Des caught a glint of metal as the folds of his robes parted. A blade. Weighing her options, Des decided it was best to entertain him, for now.

Janus might have been able to evoke an escape route, but Des could not use magic.

“Are you the one who sent the assassins?” She asked.

“A stupid, shortsighted approach. You’re better left alive.” The man leaned forward. “I promise you will remain that way if you behave.”

Cracking fear traced down her throat. Swallowing the nerves, Des raised her chin. “Someone else sent the assassins, then. You disagreed. Who are you working with?”

Knitting his hands together, he raised his voice. “You are an evoker, yes?”

“I am.” Des lied. “Are you not going to share your name?”

A small smile briefly flickered across the man’s face before he continued. “You lost your younger brother in an accident a few years back. A fire created by an inexperienced evoker raged out of control. You were lucky to survive.”

Des hardened her gaze. Thank the twin gods, it was not Janus who spoke with this man.

“Was it truly an accident?” The man pressed.

“Yes,” Des answered honestly. Though Janus blamed herself, the act had not been malicious, far from it.

“Interesting.” The man did not seem convinced. “Did anyone leave the palace shortly thereafter? Or did someone new appear before the incident?”

Des glanced down, thinking. “No. Why are you asking about this?”

The man tapped a finger on his wrist. “Your tutor is an interesting man. First, a professor at Valeria, and now your father’s court mage.”

Des cocked her head. “First my brother, now my tutor. What do they have to do with you kidnapping or killing stormborns?”

“Gemellus’ past is a mystery, despite his supposed credentials. Do you know much about him?”

“Nothing at all. He’s, as you say, a mystery.”

“Hm.” The man’s mouth twitched. He was studying her, searching her for lies.

These questions were not what Des expected. An intelligence glimmered in the man’s dark eyes, but he spoke veritable nonsense.

“Tell me this, then. Why did your father send you alone?”

“He thought it would be a good experience for me,” Des replied. “A chance to see new places and meet new people.”

The man pressed a thumb to his chin. After a hesitation, he spoke. “Your answers don’t strike me as dishonest.”

“Brilliant deduction,” Des said dryly. “Who are you working for?”

Again refusing to answer, the man stood and approached, laying one hand on the side of Des’s face. His countenance shifted to one of deep concentration, and Des felt a pressure on her mind, like fingers raking through her brain. This man was an evoker.

“Don’t resist.” The man ordered. “And it will not hurt.”

Des immediately reacted, attempting to escape the man’s grasp. Her head cracked against the wall painfully. The man drew his blade, pressing it to her throat. Des went limp.

Memories swirled in Des’s mind as the man sifted through everything she had lived through. Gods, but it hurt like knives raking through her skull. She tensed, feeling the blade dig into her skin.

Wincing, Des could only watch as a passenger in her own body as she relived the past, watching it alongside the uninvited guest. He scoured her mind, searching for something.

Eventually, he released her. Des’s head pounded and her vision blurred.

The final memory he’d lingered on replayed before her eyes. An insignificant day in Evander’s study, where the wind had blown his collar aside.

The only time Des had glimpsed the pendant he wore.

“You don’t have it.” The man muttered. He pounded on the door. “Take her away.”

* * *

Nervous shivers ran down Talon’s spine as he was led down a dark hall. If anything happened to Des on his watch. . .

His escort opened a heavy stone door and shoved him inside.

Talon knew an interrogation room when he saw one. A chair in the center of the room, shackles lying on the floor, faint bloodstains on the stone, and a cart of unhappy instruments sitting nearby.

Wonderful.

The guard was gentle enough, at least. He shoved Talon in the chair, attached a chain to his shackles, and stepped aside. A woman entered after him, slight wrinkles creasing her eyes and hair pulled into a taut bun.