Page 46 of Death of the Glass Angel (Apotheosis #1)

“I’m sure we will.” Alfaris scanned the crowd, but the guard’s attention was turned toward their lieges or toward the center of the room. He silently beckoned Janus to follow.

The claustrophobia of the tunnels swallowed Janus as they followed a western passage away from the central chamber. Closing her eyes, she summoned the memory of Dinu’s map.

Each alcove they passed housed a body, some centuries old. The temperature dropped steadily as they trekked deeper. Bodies surrounded them, above and below.

Alfaris stopped, knitting his brows. He reached into the folds of his hood and pulled out the turtle Janus had seen in his observatory.

“You seem scared.” Alfaris pointed out.

“Maybe a little.” Janus eyed the turtle. “You and Felsin can’t be parted from your pets, huh?”

“Why should we? Each moment spent with our loved ones might be the last.” Alfaris offered the turtle to Janus. “Turtur’s a good sort. Might make you feel better if you carried him.”

Extending a hand, Janus let the turtle crawl into her palm. Slow and ambling, the ancient turtle climbed up her arm and nestled into her cloak. Feeling him there soothed her, for some reason.

Smiling, Alfaris turned around, and Janus walked to his side. “So. . .”

“Are you going to inquire about my past again?” Alfaris presumed. “Here in ancient stone, yet you find me more interesting?”

“Can you blame me?”

“I suppose not.” His black eyes twinkled. “I’ll allow three questions.” Alfaris folded his hands behind his back.

Something told Janus he would be strict about this. Gluing her mouth shut, she considered her first question carefully. “How did you discover you could read the stars?”

“The magic came as easily to me as evoking came to you,” Alfaris answered. “And I was not the only practitioner in my homeland.” He stopped, and though Janus wanted more details, he did not give them.

“Where-” Janus bit her tongue before the question could emerge. “So, are you a cefra? It’s. . .” Janus looked him over. Short and slight, with bright white hair not caused by aging, Alfaris was certainly not human, but. . . “It’s hard to tell.”

“I’m not a cefra,” Alfaris replied.

Shit. Janus should have been more specific. Rolling her tongue in her mouth, she thought over her next inquiry. “How did you and Gemellus meet?”

Alfaris’ mouth twitched as he suppressed a smile. He probably expected that question, but unlike last time, he answered. “He asked me to join him on a suicide mission. I agreed.”

Vague and unhelpful. And Janus was out of questions. “Are you not going to answer anything else?”

“No,” Alfaris said shortly before pointing down the hall. “This is the newest wing. A different style was used here than the rest of the Monolith. Care to take a look?”

The newest wing meant the freshest dead.

Peering into the dark hall, Janus observed the stone.

The arches were far straighter, less curved, with beveled edges.

The tombs were thicker, with heavier lids and narrower bodies.

Curiosity drew Janus into the hall, and she drifted down its length, reading the names and observing the impressive masonry.

Janus cursed under her breath. She should have asked a million other questions than what she had. Maybe Alfaris’s answers would have been equally vague regardless of the inquiry.

“You’re more cryptic than even Gem,” Janus said, voice echoing.

“Gemellus’ ego inadvertently forces him to reveal his secrets.” Alfaris looked amused. “I’ve always been the least straightforward of us all.”

“Ego?” Janus mused. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.” She paused. “Us all?”

“Of the dragons.” He smirked and turned away.

Cryptic answers. Janus wondered what they meant.

As she passed another tomb, she froze and backpedaled, rereading the name on the plaque. Recently carved, the tomb was noticeably newer than those further back.

‘Veren of the Gaevral, Son of Estel, Father to Brand and Felsin, husband to Heras.’

A memory from Janus’ childhood stirred in her mind.

In Halcyon days, when Eros was still alive, the thrill of grasping evoking consumed Janus’s waking hours.

She’d trailed after Gemellus, enduring his preliminary tests as she awaited learning a real spell.

And on one such day, Gemellus had received a private letter—one he had not wanted Janus to read.

“Ah, Veren,” Alfaris said sadly. “He was a good man and a better father.”

Janus dwelt on that memory as she stared at the old man beside her. “You knew him, didn’t you? You were friends.”

“. . . yes,” Alfaris replied a bit hesitantly. “Did you assume that because I teach his son?”

“No, I. . .” Janus hesitated. “I read a letter from you to Gemellus a long time ago. You were telling him about Veren’s death.”

“Oh.” Alfaris’ eyes darkened slightly.

“Were the three of you friends?”

“No,” Alfaris admitted. “Gemellus, until he arrived recently, had never met Heras or her family.”

“Then why did you write to him about it?” Janus pressed. “Your letter. . . it was odd. Like it was code for something else.”

“You presume a lot from a simple letter,” Alfaris said. “I wanted to update Gemellus on Altanese affairs. That’s all.”

Clamping her mouth shut, Janus reviewed the old letter in her mind. Veren had died in a landslide. Felsin had been with him but had survived. No trace of Heras had appeared in the letter’s contents.

“It was a landslide.” Janus blurted out. “Right?”

Alfaris nodded solemnly. “A terrible accident. At least Felsin survived, though it nearly claimed him as well.” He sighed. “Or, at least, that’s the official story. Nobody else was there, after all.”

Narrowing her eyes, Janus attempted to read between his words—if he meant anything by them.

Ignoring her reaction, Alfaris continued. “But, I can’t help but think it’s odd—and unlikely. Like a fire raging in a stone building.”

Janus’s heart skipped a beat, and she ceased breathing for a few seconds. Alfaris’ eyes met hers before drifting away.

“Ah.” Alfaris gasped, gaze fixed on another tomb. “I think I know that name.” He wandered further down the hall.

Throat dry, Janus studied Veren’s tomb. Talon claimed some of Heras’s memories were missing. The day of Veren’s death had been one such memory mysteriously absent from the maevruthan.

Janus brushed the edge of the tomb’s lid, but stopped herself, yanking her hand back. Ancestors were revered in Altanbern. And this tomb housed Felsin’s beloved father. How could Janus think to disturb it?

Which sensation was stronger? The insatiable curiosity? Or the importance of decorum?

Yesharu and Ellaila be damned—Janus had never known decency. Gods knew Evander told her that often enough.

Pushing on the heavy stone, Janus strained to remove the tomb lid. It scraped open, unveiling the well-preserved body within. A lifeless face, eyes open, gazed up at Janus, and she started and backed away, looking on from afar.

Veren did not resemble his children. His skin was darker, his eyes the color of red gems. And unlike the thick curls the rest of his family grew, Veren’s hair was short and straight, neatly kept.

He wore the ceremonial attire of the dead—a red tweed wrap to represent his tribe, over pale gold robes.

Something had dented his skull—perhaps the rocks from the landslide. Otherwise, the body was in good condition.

Gemellus had always said much of interest hid behind the mundane. He’d invoked those words whenever Janus overlooked something in her studies. Alfaris had not accidentally brought her here.

Hand trembling, Janus smoothed back the golden robes, examining the corpse’s neck before parting his collar. There. Concealed during preservation, yet clear as day: a wound in his chest that could have only been caused by a bladed weapon. Someone had stabbed him through the heart.

Retracting her hand, Janus pushed the lid back over the coffin, digesting the information.

Felsin had not mentioned his father being attacked. Was he lying? Or did he not know?

“Perhaps I was wrong.” Alfaris’ quiet voice drifted down the hall. “I think it may be starting.”

Janus tensed and retreated, back slamming into the opposite wall. Mist seeped through the stone, though they were deep underground, lining the edges of the floor and ceiling. It thickened with each passing beat, suffocating Janus.

“I would kneel before the dead,” Alfaris advised. “They do not take kindly to disrespect.”

Heart pounding, Janus lowered herself to her knees as the mist condensed and turned white. A spot of darkness disturbed the fog, where Alfaris stood a few paces away. His head dipped in concentration, and then the blanket of fog covered him.

Nothing but white surrounded Janus. Whispers carried through the mist, faint, as though they existed only on the edges of Janus’s mind. Shapes apparated within the cloud, gradually forming into silhouettes of people, marching through the tomb and disappearing into the walls.

Were these truly the souls of the dead? Of those buried within these halls?

Alone in the darkness, Janus’s breath came quickly, loudly, as hysteria set in.

Her heartbeat reverberated in her chest as a phantom figure approached and stood before her. Something in her satchel shook, and she squeezed her eyes shut, hoping they would disappear.

When again her eyes opened, the figure loomed before her, swirling mist taking the shape of legs. Paralyzed with fear, Janus slowly raised her head, terrified by what she might see.