Page 30 of Death of the Glass Angel (Apotheosis #1)

Felsin/Des

Whatever comes, do not grant Gemellus your trust. We followed him unto the end, and he betrayed us at the last.

-Letter from Sir Penna to Alfaris

Felsin reclined in his porch’s rocking chair, looking between the promenade sprawling below and the sky of stars above. A sense of unease pervaded him, though he was not sure why. Janus was under tight guard, and he was home. They were both safe.

Flipping through his deck of cards, Felsin dwelt on the trip to the observatory and the impromptu training session.

Janus was an awkward young woman. Nervous and frightened, a dark cloud hung over her. The past haunted the poor girl.

Maybe others would think her strange, but Felsin was growing to like her. She was cute, especially when enthusiasm brightened her eyes and all timidness melted away.

The door creaked open, and a woman, curly-haired and dark-skinned, peeked outside. “There you are.”

Felsin couldn’t remember the last time his mother willingly sought him out. She had been too busy of late.

“Mother.” He sat forward. “Something wrong?”

“No.” Heras shook her head. “Someone tried to kill you, remember? But you haven’t seen fit to inform me of your comings and goings.”

“Sorry. I’ll leave a note next time.” He paused. “Did anyone recognize the dead man?”

“No, of course not. He was probably foreign.”

“Right,” Felsin murmured.

Heras stepped outside and laid a hand on his shoulder before retreating inside. They had been standoffish to one another recently. Felsin supposed he was equally to blame for the rift.

Sighing, he returned his gaze to the stars.

Near-freezing temperatures blanketed the city tonight, but the cold never bothered Felsin. He quite liked it. Basking in the pleasant chill, he studied the heavens, straining to see what Alfaris did—to watch more than what appeared to the naked eye.

Felsin pulled his deck out and shuffled it, pulling a random card. An evoker in flowing robes, hands extended to the stars—The Magician.

The stars brightened and changed, resonating.

Concentrating on Janus’s star, Felsin watched a feminine figure, outlined in bright starlight, move through the heavens, bowing as though an actor relieved of the stage as a shadow dashed ahead and led the way.

Hasty steps carried her onward, laced with tense anxiety.

She ducked and weaved through a narrow hall or cramped tunnel.

The figure in starlight collapsed, as though struck down by a blade. Then, the canvas blurred and darkened, and Felsin lost concentration.

Worried, Felsin leaned forward, trying again, but his thoughts ran rampant, interrupting the quiet calm required for readings.

Rocketing from his chair, Felsin grabbed his coat from where it draped over the balcony and pulled it on, raking his curls into a short ponytail. He stepped onto the railing, a prick of pain coursing through his veins as he channeled his blood into earthen magic.

Stone steps formed against the balcony, slamming into place one by one as he raced down to the courtyard below. Ignoring the guard calling out in surprise, he climbed over the walls and dropped onto the other side.

“Going somewhere?” Brand leaned against the wall, red locks bright against the night.

Felsin froze. “Is there a reason you’re loitering outside?”

“I was coming home when I heard you leaving.” Brand pushed off the wall. “Well?”

“I saw something,” Felsin said reluctantly.

“Not with your eyes, I’d guess.” Brand gestured for Felsin to lead. “Someone did try to kill you. You might want company.”

“Where have you been?” Felsin asked, trudging down the street. “You show up to interrupt my-”

Brand didn’t let him finish. “Interrupt your little date?”

“Training session.” Felsin corrected, looking away. Their practiced jabs had been. . . a bit more than friendly. “I have questions for you, Brand. About the assassins you brought to me, for one.”

“They fooled all of us. And if you recall, I have my hands full.” Brand said sharply. “Khan has it out for mother.”

“For good reason. Chiefs are not meant to act alone.”

“Yet they have for centuries. What good is a queen who is undermined at every turn?”

“Mother is not a queen.” Felsin stopped mid-stride.

“Imagine how much simpler everything would be if she were.”

Felsin narrowed his eyes. “Why did she miss the last Thruinc council?”

Brand threw up his arms. “Every year, the little kings and queens get together because they’re all afraid of something nobody sees. Altanbern should move on without them.”

“Our people created that alliance, if you’ve forgotten. Badulf-Esseg is one of our most revered ancestors-”

“You put too much stock in the ancestors, Felsin.” Brand chuckled. “No wonder you’re a hack fortune teller. Always glancing back.”

Let not the glance behind steal away your chance to change the foretold end. Alfaris’ mantra.

Felsin felt like he’d been struck. He gaped at his brother. “When did Alfaris tell you that?”

Brand’s scarlet eyes drifted away. “Is that your cat?”

A tiny white cat sat on the street corner, licking its paw. Felsin dropped to a knee beside Sors, eyeing him with confusion before lifting his eyes to the windows lining Janus’ suite. A candle glowed behind the glass, but no shadows painted the walls.

“Sors.” Felsin addressed the lazy-eyed cat. “You’re supposed to be with Janus. Why are you out here?”

The cat swished its tail in response. Scooping Sors up, Felsin hurried to the suite’s front door, where a guard stood at attention.

“Has the princess gone out?” Felsin called to him.

The guard tightened his grip on his glaive. “No, of course not.”

“Right,” Felsin muttered. Informing the guard of his hunch would only make him seem suspicious. “Sorry to bother you.”

Wandering away, Felsin gazed into Sors’ lazy black eyes before tucking the white cat into his bag, its head poking out. Perhaps he should have adopted a hunting hound instead—maybe it could have tracked the girl down. Sors was cute—but frankly, useless.

These roads seemed so empty, so cold. Light flecks of snow powdered from the blackened sky, painting a dust of white across the gray stone.

Brand lit a fire in his palm. “Hoping for a late-night tryst?”

“No, I. . .” Felsin trailed off.

The temperature rapidly dropped, sending a shiver down Felsin’s spine, and he halted as what appeared to be water pooled over his feet.

Yet he felt nothing, no wetness, no chill as his boots were soaked through. No sun lit the sky, merely the gentle glow of stars, yet the water below reflected everything above it—the sharp corners of buildings and Felsin’s black coat.

Phantom tendrils snaked along the mirror like grasping hands. It happened quickly, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment. The chill parted as the water rushed away. South.

He had seen this before. An itching familiarity clawed at his mind, and he pressed a hand to the transparent crystal hanging about his neck, running his finger along its surface as though leafing through the pages of a book.

Dropping his hand, Felsin realized he would not find this memory among his people’s. When he’d tried to show Brand the night at the tavern, where assailants had cornered him in an alley, something had been missing.

The reflective water, the phantom hands. . . This was the work of the strange, glassy-eyed creature who had appeared in the chaos.

Both at his assassination attempt and Janus’s.

Panicked, Felsin lunged after it. Brand seized his wrist and yanked him back. “What are you doing?”

Felsin stared at his brother—once his best friend, now a stranger. A knowing glint hid in his eyes—recognition. “Do you have something to do with this?”

“What are you talking about?”

Slipping out of Brand’s grip, Felsin spun on his heels, chasing the fleeing mirage.

* * *

Des paced her cramped cell, eyes on the floor. The reflective waters had receded, but the mirage evoker was nowhere to be found. Had he passed them by, or did he hide in shadow behind them, invisible to the naked eye?

Talon pulled his lockpick from his teeth and set about unlocking his shackles. He froze as footsteps carried down the hall.

A guard in steel armor appeared and unlocked Talon’s cell. He dropped his hands, glancing back at Des before following the guard out. Something plunked against the stone at Des’s feet, barely audible.

Leaning against the bars, Des watched their backs fade into the shadows. Kneeling, she ran her hands along the floor and found a lockpick lying just under the bars.

Leaning back on her haunches, Des stared at Talon’s parting gift. He wanted her to escape. Without him, if necessary.

Shrugging off the shackles he’d already picked, Des grabbed the cell door and carefully inserted the lockpick. She had less practice with this skill than she’d like, and it was nearly impossible to see in this dark.

Twice she almost broke the pick. Cursing with each near failure, she steadied her breathing and tried again, teeth drawing blood on her lower lip.

Finally, the door clicked open. Pushing it open slowly, Des winced with every creak and scrape. Once she’d created a gap large enough to squeeze through, she slipped out.

The other cells in the ancient hall were empty. Des took that as a bad sign; the fifty men who’d disappeared before them had either been killed or moved.

Reaching the end of the hall, Des pulled open a heavy stone door and peered outside. A hall forked left and right—and a guard approached, metal greaves clanking loudly.

Ducking back into the dungeons, Des remembered Talon’s words: An axe and dagger hung from their belts.

Talon has made it sound so simple—grab the dagger and drive it through their necks before they could react. But for all her bluster, Des had never harmed someone, let alone killed them. Perspiration coated her palms as her heart pounded out of her chest.

She had no choice. Talon was probably going to be killed. If she did not rescue him now, it would be too late. Holding her breath, she listened as the guard approached.