Page 4 of Death of the Glass Angel (Apotheosis #1)

Janus

Gemellus has been taunting me again. Tell him to meet me in the courtyard tonight if he’s so confident quick wits can outmatch my big axe.

-Message left by Professor Aevus on the Valerian duel board

This ride hadn’t quite been the adventure Janus was hoping for. Since leaving Piona city behind, she had seen only dust and sand. This roadside inn was the first building in a few days.

As they tucked their horses into the inn’s stables, Janus gratefully slid from the saddle and patted her horse affectionately.

Many people never named their animals, but it felt wrong to give no name to a stalwart companion. Janus had picked a special one for her gentle mare.

“Night, Taniyn,” Janus whispered.

Talon overheard her. His bright purple eyes landed on her. “Taniyn? Did you name her after the Argiris goddess?”

Stunned, Janus stared at him. Precious few people in Piona knew that name, but this merchant did. “Yes.” She blurted out happily. “Where did you learn that?”

He ran a hand down the horse’s snout. “Dragon mother. It’s a good name.” He winked. “I told you I’m well-traveled.”

“How much do you know about them?” Janus clung to his side as they approached the inn. “Their history is fascinating, I-”

“I’m teaching you to dance tonight.” Talon interrupted. “The history lesson can wait.”

Kalid opened the door for Janus and bowed. Looking down nervously, Janus shuffled inside.

The room inside was crowded. A swathe of colors met Janus’s eyes as discordant words and faint music reached her ears.

Travelers from all walks of life littered the tables, and boots rapped on the granite floors.

The lighting was low, with only a hearth in the corner and a chandelier providing the glint of fire.

Panic surged in her throat, and she swallowed it down. She loitered awkwardly as Kalid arranged their reserved rooms and Talon approached the bard to make a request.

When her guide returned, he extended a hand. The bard strummed a lively tune.

“We’ll start with an Athelstani dance,” Talon said, pulling her to an empty corner.

“But everyone’s watching.” Janus protested.

“So will everyone at the ball. Just look at me. I’ve been told it’s easy to get lost in my eyes.”

Janus glanced at his bright purple eyes and stared somewhat longer than intended. Had she ever danced with a man who wasn’t her brother before?

Oh, gods. She hadn’t.

Turning scarlet as Talon placed a hand on her waist, she gasped in surprise when he pulled her to the music.

Janus had always imagined dancing with a suitor to be a sensual experience. Reality proved quite a bit different. She stumbled and flailed as her teacher gave her instructions with practiced precision.

Athelstanis flew about the dance floor with energy Janus did not possess. It felt less like she was dancing, and more like Talon was spinning her around until she saw stars.

Eventually, she figured out the basic steps, but the display could hardly be called elegant. Talon released her when the song finished, and Janus doubled over, catching her breath.

“Not bad.” Talon admired. “You’re salvageable.”

“Have you ever been told,” Janus panted, “You shouldn’t talk to a princess like that?”

“Not that I recall.” He smirked. “How would you like me to talk to you, my lady?”

Janus’ throat dried up. She had no answer to that.

“Shall I request another song?”

“No.” Janus gathered herself and stood. “I’m exhausted.” Noticing Kalid standing nearby, she gratefully turned to him. “Will you take me to my room?”

“Of course, my lady.”

Nodding a quick goodnight at her guide, Janus followed her guard down the hall and into a much quieter room. A wave of relief swept over her when he shut the door, and the din became a murmur.

Leaning on the wall, Janus stared at the ceiling despondently. This ball was going to be hell if a mere inn proved such an obstacle. And if she were expected to dance like that with suitors.

Multiple suitors.

Ellaila save her.

* * *

Sleep evaded Janus. It always did. After tossing and turning for a few hours, Janus got up and yanked her boots on. Maybe a walk would help.

Evander would yell at her. Kalid would be appalled. But Janus doubted anyone had realized the mouse of a woman scurrying to her room had been anyone important.

Pressing a hand to her aching head, she tiptoed down the dark hall and slipped outside. A dry wind swept over the shrublands, rustling the scattered bushes. Small rocks crunched underfoot as she stepped off the porch and wandered away from the road.

Janus’ memories were fuzzy. Some days felt like they’d been stolen away—dizzying empty spots flecked her days. Most recently, she’d awoken to find everyone expected her to set off for a ball, though she had no memory of agreeing or even being informed of such.

Life had been like this since the fire. Since Eros died. Since the day she’d fled from the funeral, tripped, and . . .

And awoke two weeks later, though according to everyone else, she had been there, conscious, talking, and eating the whole time.

Evokers had flawless memories. But Janus could recall only half her life.

Something wet struck her head. Startled, Janus looked up into the starry sky. The faint light of the lantern posts illuminated the shapes of raindrops.

A storm? The sky had been clear when they’d arrived.

Something moved in the shadows atop the inn roof. Had it not begun to rain, Janus would have never noticed them.

A person, aiming a crossbow.

Evoking was a simple thing. Remember something from your life, and with enough concentration, you could make it appear. But Janus never chose simple memories.

Shrieking, Janus recalled a horse-pulled wagon rolling down the road. One appeared beside her, horseless. A bolt thudded into its other side as Janus took shelter behind it.

Something shook the ground nearby—feet landing on rocky sand. A man raced around her cover, sword glinting under starlight. Janus backed away as he lunged, blade raised above his head.

A dagger whistled overhead, landing in the assassin’s shoulder. He staggered off balance, crashing into the carriage. A shadow dashed past Janus, parrying the man’s blade before driving a short sword into his gut. Her savior pulled the blade out as the assassin crumpled, blood gleaming on steel.

A freckled man in a pale blue coat whirled around and stared at Janus like she was the dumbest creature in the country.

Which, to his credit, might have been true.

“Talon?” Janus gasped.

Talon pressed Janus between him and the carriage, eyes scanning the open stretch of shrubland. “Why is there a wagon here?” He hissed.

“I evoked it.” Janus choked. “There’s one on the roof. An assassin, not a-”

“I know. Stay down.” Whirling around the edge of the slowly rolling wagon, Talon leaned out and immediately ducked behind cover as another bolt whizzed into the wood, narrowly missing his eyes.

Flipping a dagger in his palm, Talon’s bright eyes flicked across the desert before he darted around his cover and threw. A crossbow bolt raked across his arm, tearing a gash in his coat, but Janus heard the sound of steel striking flesh. He must have hit the man on the roof.

“Go.” Talon pushed her.

Releasing her spell, Janus let the wagon collapse into a pile of wood before it faded away. Sprinting for her life, she glanced up at the roof to see the crossbow lowered, a knife sticking out of the assassin’s arm.

Water pooled around her feet, and she nearly slipped. A mirror on the ground reflected her face and the falling rain. A white phantom drifted across its surface, tendrils of mist shaped like grasping hands.

What in Yesharu’s name was that?

Skidding through the sand, she sharply turned, darting around the inn’s corner. The porch and safety of the door were just ahead.

Two men waited for them on the porch, crossbows lifted, ready to fire. As soon as Janus entered their sights, the bolts flew.

Janus squeezed her eyes shut, awaiting death.

Clink. The bolts struck metal. Halfway through the rain, they slammed into an invisible barrier and clattered to the ground, broken.

Talon grabbed Janus, throwing her behind him.

Those bolts had struck something. The rain parted, avoiding a small space between them and the assassins. A silhouette shimmered in the storm, blurred, unnatural. It turned, and Janus caught a glimpse of its eyes.

Glassy, inhuman eyes. Flowing white cloth surrounded it, ethereal, like the banners hung from funeral boats. Its gaze met Janus’s, and her blood ran cold.

Blood-curdling screams erupted from the porch.

Enormous white spikes rose from the stone, impaling the assassins so quickly Janus hardly registered the broken flesh and pooling blood.

Shooting into the air, the spike rose past the roof into the sky, branching apart into something resembling a pair of antlers.

Janus stared at the macabre artwork. What memory could have allowed an evoker to cast such a horrible spell?

Talon’s fingers dug into her arm, but he didn’t move. The shimmering distortion in the rain drifted toward them, gaze locked on Janus. White fluttered behind it, like a maiden’s gown flowing down a chapel’s stairs.

It reached them. And then it was gone, as though it had never been there at all. Rain fell around them, washing away the blood pouring from the white antlers growing from the porch.

Talon must have been stunned, too. But he returned to his senses quickly. Driving Janus ahead of him, he hurried her to the safety of the inn. Kalid and his men met them halfway, bursting from the inn doors, glaives drawn and ready.

Some of them stopped beneath the towering edifices of death. Kalid didn’t. He ran to Janus and collected her. Shielding her, he ushered her back inside.

She paused before the door, just short of the assassin’s bodies, to search for the mirage in the rain.

A glint of silver illuminated the shrub lands as the rain abruptly dried up, and the clouds parted with unusual haste. But no glassy-eyed evoker stood there.

* * *

Janus sat with her back to the hearth, attempting to enjoy the heat without considering its cause. A blanket wrapped her shoulders, and she adjusted it as she sipped the piping hot tea she clutched in both hands.

Talon watched her from across the room, occasionally glancing out the window. A soldier burst into the room, reporting to Kalid.

“Four in total. If there were more, they’ve fled.”

“Find anything identifying them?” Kalid asked.

“No. One appeared to be Sigillite, another Athelstani. They wore plain garb and bore no orders.”

“Search again.” Kalid barked. The soldier saluted and fled outside.

“I don’t understand.” Talon finally spoke up. “Why would assassins come for Princess Janus, specifically?”

Janus didn’t understand it, either. She wasn’t the crown princess. She would inherit no station of importance. If all continued as it was, she would be married and languish around the castle for the rest of her days.

“Maybe they didn’t,” Kalid suggested. “Maybe all nobles traveling to the ball were attacked.”

“An easy enough answer to find once we arrive.” Talon stared at Janus. “Which either means someone has something to gain from spilling blood over the alliance, or someone holds a grudge we aren’t privy to.”

Looking up from her empty mug, Janus waited for Kalid to mention the mirage. Had he not seen it?

Kalid shook his head. “We should turn back.”

“Why?” Janus blurted out.

“It’s not safe, your highness.

“I’m not crawling back home with my tail between my legs before we’ve even left the country,” Janus said.

She hadn’t wanted to go. Now she didn’t want to turn away. But she couldn’t place why.

Kalid nodded reluctantly. “Alright. Then we should head out first thing in the morning. The sooner we arrive in Weisskopf Fortress, the safer we’ll be.” Turning on his heel, he left the room.

“Or the more danger we’ll find,” Talon murmured.

Sighing, Janus stared into her mug. Nobody had scolded her for running off on her own. She hadn’t digested the fact someone wanted her dead yet, so finding herself in trouble seemed a more pressing concern.

“Do you make a habit of wandering off, Princess?” Talon asked.

Well, there it was. Shoulders slumping, Janus shook her head. “Honestly, no. Gemellus likes to make fun of how I never leave castle grounds.”

“That’s a half-decent trait for a princess. Try to keep at it, yeah?” He leaned on the window, watching the men outside. “You should get some rest.”

Janus glanced at her bed. “I don’t think I can.”

Talon turned to leave, hand on her doorknob. “Lie down. I’ll keep watch outside.”

“Can you keep watch inside?” Janus blurted out.

“Would your guard approve?”

“I don’t care. I. . . I don’t want to be alone.”

Releasing the knob, Talon’s eyes darted around. The bed was the only piece of furniture in the room, so he leaned on the wall. “Alright. I’ll stay until you fall asleep at least.”

Relieved, Janus crawled into bed, hugging the pillow tight. A twinge of guilt stirred her heart, and she raised her head. “I don’t mind. I mean! You need to sleep, too, so. . .”

Talon composed her thoughts for her. “The bed does look comfortable.” Hiding a smile and failing, he sat on the edge of her bed and touched her shoulder. “I’ll be right here.” He promised in a low, soothing tone.

A wave of solace washed over Janus, and she lay down, squeezing her eyes shut, feeling the warmth of another body beside her.

Someone wanted her dead. She deserved it. All murderers did.

Swallowing, her throat dried. Had the strange mirage arrived to save her, or had it meant to kill her instead?

Shutting her eyes, Janus strained to recall the glassy eyes of the shrouded mirage in the rain. But try as she might, the memory simply eluded her.