Page 45 of Death of the Glass Angel (Apotheosis #1)

Janus

Buildings crumble. People die. Landscapes change, and cities fade. Dynasties end. Empires collapse. Names fall out of use. But through memory, they remain. Preserved. Immortal. And from the ashes can something forgotten be revived—if only the flickering embers survive in one person’s heart.

-Excerpt from Lady Entia’s private journal

Janus stumbled from the carriage and tripped over a rock as she stared at the awe-inspiring edifice rising from the valley. Like a spear embedded in the earth, the Forebear’s Monolith reached for the sky, dark and glistening beneath the midday sun.

Talon caught Janus’s hand tenderly and helped her to her feet gently.

“Uh, thanks,” Janus said awkwardly, brushing off her tunic with her free hand.

Talon’s expression changed instantly, and he hastily released her hand. “Oh, Janus.” Clearing his throat, he tucked his hands into his pockets. “Excited to step inside?”

The surrounding world muted as Janus consumed the Monolith. Ancient carvings decorated the exterior, etchings of ghostly figures in flowing garb—a representation of the phantoms that appeared when the thick fog arrived.

Gods, what a beautiful edifice. Janus marveled at it, oblivious to Talon’s presence.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Talon chuckled and walked away.

This morning felt. . . fuzzy. After waking from a nap in the carriage, she had come to, as though pulled from a deep dream.

Last night, Des cried herself to sleep. The memory sat within Janus like a heavy stone. Why could she recall all her life now, when she never could before?

“You alright?”

Janus blinked away her jumbled thoughts and looked up to see Dinu walking beside her. She felt a kindred spirit with him—his hair was never combed, nor his clothes adequately fitted.

“Fine. Excited.” Janus said.

“Right. You’re big on architecture, aren’t you?” Dinu pulled out a cigar and lit it with a flash of fire on his fingertips. “The monolith here is more impressive than Weisskopf if you ask me.”

“Infinitely more.” Janus agreed enthusiastically, lowering her voice as she remembered how many people walked in this procession.

“Hm.” Dinu reached into his bag and carefully pulled out a scroll. “Maybe you’ll find this interesting.”

Delicate parchment was handed to Janus, and she carefully unrolled the scroll. A map painted the page, a sketched mess of tunnels, stairs, and chambers. This was a map of the Monolith.

“That’s not any map,” Dinu said. “It’s the original. Penned by the architect who designed it.”

He was right. Eyes widening, Janus pulled the parchment closer to her face, drinking in the finer details. The dimensions of halls and arches, the planned additions. Probably an outdated design, as the Monolith had been refurbished countless times over the centuries, but Janus didn’t care.

“How did you get this?” Janus asked, incredulous.

“I collect old maps,” Dinu explained, puffing his cigar. “That’s one of several I have in my collection. No one else seems to care much for this kind of thing, but I thought maybe you would.”

“And it’s in remarkably good condition. You must take excellent care of these.”

“Treat ‘em better than I treat my women.” Dinu chuckled, then frowned. “That’s what my mother says, at least.”

“I would never have guessed,” Janus admitted. “You don’t seem the type.”

“Avalon agrees. She still thinks it’s an elaborate lie I’ve conjured to confound her.” Dinu chuckled as he put the cigar back in his mouth.

With the map committed to memory, Janus carefully rolled the parchment up and returned it as if handing over fine jewelry. Dinu carefully tucked the scroll into his satchel as the procession halted before the Monolith doors.

The three Altanbern chiefs were the first to enter, followed by the other nobles with their guards and attendants taking up the rear.

The interior hall was cramped, the darkness dispelled by horn sconces hanging upon stone walls.

A gentle slope descended into the depths of the earth.

The chiefs led the way, guiding the procession down the gradient and deeper into the Monolith.

Arched alcoves lined the walls, two torches illuminating each. A stone sepulcher filled each, with a plaque above denoting the deceased’s name. Janus drank them in as they passed, noting the names written therein. A few rang familiar—ancient Altanbern chiefs who had passed long, long ago.

A shiver ran down Janus’s spine. Between the myriad coffins and the gloomy atmosphere, an unpleasant chill had seeped into her bones. Wrapping her arms around herself, she held her breath. Everyone remained utterly silent; only the rap of their footfalls could be heard.

After a nauseatingly long descent, the corridor evened out, opening into a grand chamber. The vaulted ceilings rose high overhead, crowning the massive statue at the back of the room. A tall, broad man clad in furs and a tweed wrap towered over them, clutching a simple spear. Badulf-Esseg Esseg.

The ancient chief’s tomb lay at the feet of his statue, and several long benches lined the area facing him.

Murals decorated the back wall, bas reliefs depicting the three clans and the small villages from which their first chiefs had originated.

The Gaevral relief caught Janus’s eye, no more than a tiny cefran village tucked into the woods, cute little carvings of miniature huts surrounding a maevruthan the size of a small pond.

Chief Esseg, a round, jovial-looking man bound in a deep green warp, approached the statue to invoke the judgment of the ancestors. Heras stood to one side of the tomb while the accuser, Chief Kahn, took the opposite side. The remainder of the group scattered around the room.

Gemellus snuck up behind Janus and touched her arm. “Stay put. I’m going to. . . look around, shall we say. Make sure no uninvited guests lie in hiding.”

“Be careful,” Janus whispered.

“There’s no need to worry for me, dear.” Gemellus smiled. “I am the shadows themselves.” He drifted away, melting into a dark corner.

Sitting on a cold bench, Janus observed the remainder of the surprisingly simple ritual. Chief Esseg lit a small incense at the statue’s feet, and as the smell wafted over the cold chamber, he dipped his head in prayer.

“We come before you today, hoping you will bequeath upon us justice. Chief Adel Kahn accuses Chief Heras Gaevral of treason. He claims she seeks harm upon our allies, upon her son. We ask you to sow truth- to judge the color of her character.”

Once finished, Chief Esseg rose and took a seat near the front.

Now, all that remained was to wait. And waiting could take time.

Sometimes, the spirits answered immediately; other times, the incense would nearly burn out before they arrived.

Time flowed differently for those who were dead.

That was what Thuatia believed, at least. And it seemed Altanbern agreed.

Maybe it was just her imagination, but Janus swore she saw a slight breeze stir the flame of the incense. It flickered in the darkness as quiet fell over the chamber.

Janus pulled her pocket watch from her coat and observed the ticking hand. An hour had passed.

The sight of her own cleavage caught her eye, and she stared in surprise. Des favored alluring clothes and dark makeup, something Janus would never understand.

At least she looked pretty. But comfort was so preferable to sex appeal. Maybe Janus would understand Des’s taste in fashion when she found someone to impress. As of now, she had entertained feelings for. . . Well, no one, despite Evander’s best efforts.

Janus’ gaze drifted to the front row, where Felsin sat with his brother. He glanced back at her, golden eyes bright in the gloom, outlined by dark kohl.

Sitting up, Janus adjusted her shirt, pushing up the padding Des had lined her tunic with. Felsin watched her, eyebrows slowly rising. Janus flashed him a smile as she awkwardly tucked her arms under her breasts, trying to make them look more prominent.

Laughing, Felsin bit a nail to stifle the sound. Shaking his head, he turned around.

Alluring. Not a word Janus could ever imagine describing herself with. At least she’d made him laugh.

. . . was that a good thing?

Chatter filled the hall, bouncing off the stone walls. After an hour, the crowd had tired of the solemn silence and had begun to talk.

Rear aching and legs sore, Janus rose and stretched, stepping away from the pews to escape the people and find some elbow room. Anxiety fluttered in her heart, dreading the appearance of the dead.

“Antsy?” Alfaris’ gentle voice asked.

The older man approached, dark robes trailing across the floor behind him. His white hair seemed a light in the pall.

“I didn’t realize you were here,” Janus said, startled.

“I travel quietly.” He smiled. “And I prefer to keep to myself.”

“Did you at least say hi to Gem?” Janus asked, rubbing the back of her head and disturbing Des’s neat bun.

Alfaris’s strange, black eyes tore through Janus, as though he were gazing into her soul rather than her face.

“Gemellus hates being disturbed. We have time enough to talk, later.” He looked up at the statue.

“I fear the dead are not keen to answer quickly. I’d guess we have an hour, maybe two, left.

Once the trial concludes, we will depart.

Leaves little time to explore such a historic monument, no? ”

“I would like to have a look around,” Janus admitted.

“I could give you a quick tour. We won’t wander far.” Alfaris suggested.

“Mm.” Janus managed in response. She was sorely tempted, especially if she were not exploring alone. Evander would be furious. She could imagine his disappointed face, tapping his foot with his arms tightly folded. . .

“I’d wager nobody here is older than me, save the buried bones.” Alfaris chuckled. “You’ll be safe with me.”

“Well, if you think we can return in time,” Janus said quietly.