Page 41 of Death of the Glass Angel (Apotheosis #1)

Talon

There are many things we perceive as real, when they are not.

Some people’s minds fracture, leading them to hear people who aren’t there.

Others split their very being into pieces.

And for others, this truth is much simpler.

In my mind I fostered an image of the woman I thought I was.

In the mirror of Gemellus’ gaze I eventually accepted the truth.

-Excerpt from Sir Penna’s private journal

Talon kicked his feet up on the table, idly flipping a coin in his left hand. A powdery snow fell outside the window, signaling the approach of winter. The anniversary of Mom’s death approached. The one day of the year when Talon was simply Asher again.

He didn’t miss the name. No future had awaited that boy, a commonplace, no-name peasant from Clodia’s slums. Yet he’d been so optimistic his life would turn around. And in an evening, it came crashing down.

Snow reminded Talon of death. It had fallen like heavy rain the day she passed.

Valkyrie sat opposite him, a mug of warmed cider in hand. “How’s the arm?”

“Fine.” Talon lied. It hurt like hell.

He stretched his fingers under the table—even such simple motions brought agony. Skin did not regrow on its own. Yet another scar Talon would bear for the remainder of his life.

He’s missing something. A voice called behind him.

He missed it. A woman said outside the window.

Talon jerked his head, staring at the curtains. “I know I’m missing something.” He muttered.

Tilting her head, Valkyrie followed his gaze. “Do you really believe this fate business?”

“Not entirely,” Talon admitted. “But the collapsed ruins that didn’t collapse demand I expand my imagination.”

Valkyrie ran a hand through her thick, red locks. “For years, there have been but two forms of magic: evoking and cefran elements. To think, there’s another.”

“Worse.” Talon lifted his mug. “There might be two.”

Valkyrie chuckled and laid a hand over his.

She was not an affectionate woman; her fingers never curled around his, her arms never opened for an embrace. But if someone could be called his sister, it would be Valkyrie.

The door flew open, and Valkyrie pulled back her hand.

Prince Dinu blustered inside, dusting a powder of snow from his coat and scarf before slamming the door with his foot.

Mumbling complaints about the cold under his breath, he hung his jacket on the coat rack and retrieved something from the cabinet before approaching their table.

“How’d it go?” Valkyrie asked.

“Fine?” Dinu answered; his tone did not inspire confidence. “Poor little Janus had a right panic in the middle, though. Gave me some time to think, at least.”

Talon shifted in his seat. No wonder Des had returned from the dinner.

“There was a great deal of arguing, besides,” Dinu shrugged, “Which was to be expected, but” He enunciated, “Something of interest as well.”

Licking his finger, Dinu rolled open a parchment scroll and laid it on the table. A map of the mountain range and the Forebear’s monolith.

“I have a suspect,” Talon announced. “The same Kahn pointed the finger at.”

“But why would she kill her son?” Dinu murmured, studying the map.

“I haven’t decided that yet,” Talon admitted, choosing not to share about the old man and his fortunes. “But she’s the only one who makes sense. And I suspect one—or both—of her sons are working with her.”

“And Kahn dislikes her.” Dinu agreed. “But what’s her end goal? How does Janus fit in?” He looked up sharply. “Do you know him—our evoker?”

“I’m looking into it,” Valkyrie said.

“Good.” Dinu tapped his finger on the map. “Talon, keep eyes on Heras. Valkyrie, on Kahn.”

“Easy enough.” Valkyrie agreed.

“This path would be the perfect place for an ambush.” Dinu tapped the route they’d be taking. “I wonder. . .” He shook his head. “Bah. I’m just being paranoid.”

Talon dropped his feet to the floor with a thud. “Never hurts to set up a watch. I never sleep anyway.”

“Going somewhere?” Valkyrie asked as Talon stood.

“To look into Heras. I want to know the people’s opinion before we’re whisked away from the city.”

Valkyrie leaped to her feet. “Good idea. Taverns here are lively this time of night.”

Offering a quick bow to the prince, Talon grabbed the doorknob but paused when Dinu called out to him. “Are you going out in only that? It’s cold out there.”

Talon ran a hand down his coat and leaned on the door, eyebrows raised. “I didn’t realize you were my father.”

“Sorry. You look. . .young.” Dinu looked him up and down. “How old are you?” He shook his head. “Oh, gods, Avalon must be rubbing off on me.” He drank from his flask and shooed Talon away as he ambled to the other side of the room.

Snorting, Talon opened the door for Valkyrie. It was hardly uncommon for people to fawn over Talon, as if he were a sickly child. It must have been the eyes. They wooed everyone, save Lark and Valkyrie.

He’s so vain. The voices laughed.

So vain.

He thinks too highly of himself.

His eyes are pretty. One whispered.

Smirking, Talon slipped outside, dancing down the steps and exiting into the snowy garden. A shadow caught his eye as he rounded the building, passing into the alley cutting between this suite and its neighbor. Grabbing his dagger, Talon backed away, eyes adjusting to the darkness of the night.

His grip loosened, and he closed his eyes, exasperated.

“There you are.” Des stepped from the shadows, black hair spilling from her hood. “I thought you went to the palace, not across the street.”

“I’m going drinking.” Talon corrected. “Oh, you still think spies slip into vaults and steal paperwork, don’t you?”

Des flushed for half a second. “No. You’ll gather gossip from drunks. That makes sense.”

“You want to come, don’t you?”

“I even have Gem’s permission.” She grinned.

Talon laughed. He’d sensed an intimate connection between the court mage and the princess—seems he was right. They were more akin to family.

“Listen, um.” Des scuffed her boot awkwardly. Awkward. Not a word Talon had attributed to her before. “What Janus did—that was her, not me. Just so we’re clear.”

“What Janus did . . .?” Talon echoed.

“The slap.”

“Oh. She’s still worried about that?” Talon shrugged. “I’m used to worse.”

Des scoffed. “You say that like it’s an accomplishment.”

“My old man was a real piece of work,” Talon said, tucking his injured arm under his coat as he paced around her. “And songbird masters do not coddle their students.”

Des watched him circle her. “Did you and Valkyrie train under the same teacher?”

“No. Hers was a brilliant, but cold woman—Dove. Lark taught me.”

“What was he like?”

Talon paused in his tracks. How could he explain his teacher in mere words? “Complicated. He ensured I had everything a child could want. I suppose that’s all that matters.”

“And the burns. . .?”

“From my life before.”

Des wanted to press, but she respected him enough to let the matter lie. “So, where are we going?”

Laying his hand against the wall, Talon stood opposite her. “First things first. Why are you so insistent on following me around?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Talon drummed his fingers against the cold stone.

There were a few answers he could think of.

One, she was infected with an unbearable curiosity to uncover the truth of whatever plot was unfolding.

Two, she fancied the songbird title and enjoyed a spot of theatrics.

Or three, she wanted to spend more time with him.

It could have been any of them. Usually, Talon was better at reading people and arriving at accurate judgments.

She’s beautiful. A voice said.

She makes him nervous.

She should.

Talon repressed the urge to respond. The voices had always sounded so real—as real as if they stood beside him. Why could no one else hear?

Was Des bathing in the glory of his anxious hesitation? Or did she fear rejection?

“So. . .” She finally broke the silence. “Are we going or not?”

“Gods. You’ll follow me anyway. Come on.”

Des stood straight and offered Talon her arm, inviting him to court. Dramatically sighing, Talon held his arm out for her to grasp as he led her across the street.

Gossip was not something cefra indulged in. What was there to chatter about? No, to hear rumors about Heras, they’d need a human-favored tavern. Flipping through a few establishments, Talon settled on one and guided Des toward it.

“If you die,” He said softly, “You’ve no one to blame but yourself.”

“I’d rather live my life than be safe.”

“Can’t exactly live if you’re dead.”

“You’d better protect me, then.”

Shaking his head, Talon paused outside the glowing windows of a lively tavern—packed. Perfect. Glancing up at the sign, he studied the painting of a woman’s generous bosom before smirking at Des and pulling the door open.

A rush of noise and music blew over them as they stepped inside and weaved through the crowd to find a seat. They managed to snag a pair of bar stools near the bard.

Des leaned in. “So, how do we do this?”

“We order a few drinks.” Talon hailed one of the bartenders. “Join a few games, and listen.” Setting a few coins on the table, he passed them to the barkeep in exchange for two glasses of Altanese ale. “For the moment, we’ll enjoy a drink and feel out the crowd.”

Taking a glass, Des leaned her elbow on the bar. “Shame we didn’t get to dance at the last ball.” She nodded at the bard, a gray-haired man slamming his boot to the beat. “Shall we?”

A few drunken couples already occupied the dance floor. Figuring he could spare a couple of minutes, Talon drained his glass and offered her an arm. “This is Altanese dancing. Are you up for it?”

“Trust me.” She took his hand. “It’s perfect for me.”

Altanese dancing was fast-paced and sloppy. Partners competed playfully, trying to outdo each other’s moves. Des yanked her hair from its bun, letting her black locks fly free as she led him into a whirling dervish.

The world faded away, save for the music and her. Every time he’d pull her close, she’d slip his grip and dance away. It was like a game of cat and mouse, her grin growing wider with each escape.

Locking his arms around her, Talon pressed her back to his chest before lowering her into a dip. The bard strummed a final note, ending the song.

Pulling Des back up, Talon held her against him. “I think I won.” He whispered in her ear.

“How are you scoring it, exactly?” She twisted her neck to look up at him.

“It certainly feels like I won.”

Des turned away sharply. “Don’t we have work to do?”

“Unfortunately.” Talon slowly released her, trailing his hands down her arms and sides before stepping away. “See anyone you want to join?”

Des’s soft brown eyes darted around the room with palpable excitement. Talon caught himself smiling. She desperately wanted to be smooth, skilled, and in control.

Her inexperience was all too obvious to him, but he found her zeal terribly endearing.

The grin that washed over her face when she noticed a game of cards playing out behind them made him feel something else entirely.

Gods, she was beautiful. Not just because of her features. To have lived through unimaginable pain and emerged with her head held high. . .

Talon’s mind rushed back to her words in the alley. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’

Swallowing, he steadied his feelings. “Shall we join them?”

Her eyes flicked back to him. “Do you play?”

Grinning, he pulled a deck from his pocket. “Darling, I thought you’d never ask.”