Page 5 of Death of the Glass Angel (Apotheosis #1)

Talon

I once had a shadow. Two beings, sharing one body. You would be surprised how few noticed. Not even Aevus did. Though perhaps it would be more apt to call myself the shadow, and he the light.

-Excerpt from Gemellus’ private journal

Talon tossed and caught a plum while waiting for the rest of camp to rouse. He’d been watching the road, but no one had followed them from the inn. Perhaps their mysterious enemy had presumed four assassins were enough to finish the job.

A reasonable assumption. Janus had wandered into the night like a lost sheep—defenseless. Had Talon not been watching her like a hawk, she would have been found in the morning with a crossbow bolt between her eyes.

Catching the plum, he tucked it under his arm.

Hands mirrored in reflective surfaces upon the ground, glassy eyes, and shimmering steel . . . something about that evoker had not been right.

They would have killed the princess had it not arrived. A deep voice whispered.

Pathetic. A low voice muttered.

Resisting the urge to respond to the voices, Talon focused on the sound of the wind instead. Reaching under his vest, he pulled out the small crystal hanging from a pendant chain around his neck. His master had advised him to touch it whenever the voices troubled him.

Running a finger along the crystal, Talon immersed himself in the memories stored within. Though his clan was small, and Talon could hardly consider them family, their collected memories always comforted him, allowing him to step from his shoes into another’s.

The face of a happy mother holding a baby drifted across his mind, the sounds of its cries drowning out the voices.

Shifting memories, Talon next focused on a simple memory of his master sitting at his desk, comforted by the familiar flick of his wrist as he dipped his quill in a pot of ink while the other hand brushed back the bangs of his short, neat hair.

“What are you doing?”

Startled, Talon dropped his necklace and whirled around, hand tightening on his dagger. Janus smiled at him dumbly. Her hair fell in tangled black lumps around her face as she halfheartedly brushed them out.

Her light brown eyes widened. “Oh! Were you looking at your maevruthan? I’ve always wondered what it’s like to be a cefra.

I mean, you can just touch that necklace and see everyone else in your clan having sex, right?

” She slowly shut her mouth with an audible click of her teeth. “Sorry, that just sort of came out.”

How would a simple merchant respond to that? Pretending to be horrified, Talon glanced away. “My Lady. . .”

“Sorry.” Janus raked out the last tangle and hastily gathered her hair into a ponytail.

Studying the disheveled girl, he thought of a metaphor. “You hate dates, right?”

“Mhm?”

“Imagine if they weren’t on every Thuatian dinner plate. Would you still hate them as much?”

“Well, probably not-” Janus paused. “Oh. I see what you’re saying.

But how could you get tired of it? I mean, cefra are pretty.

A bit too short and slim for my tastes, especially the men.

” She breathed out heavily, tripping over her words.

“I’m exhausted. Can we take a break from dance lessons tonight? ”

“You’ve become half-decent, but I strive for perfection.” Grinning, Talon released his dagger. “You’ve gotten comfortable with me. All that dancing by the fire shook off your nerves. I daresay you’re ready for the ball.”

“What? No. You’re one person and you aren’t. . .” Janus floundered for the right word. “Important. You don’t expect anything from me.”

Talon wondered if there was a wound hidden behind those last words. He didn’t touch on it. “I’m only here to guide you, remember? You owe me both for the lessons and now the gallant rescue.”

“I never did compliment that. You were pretty smooth.” She tilted her head. “Did you learn to throw knives in the same place you learned to catch pickpockets?”

“The Clodian streets?”

“Are they that bad?”

Talon grinned. “Worse.”

Shuddering at whatever she imagined, Janus returned to camp as the soldiers prepared to depart.

She’s cute! A voice spoke on his left.

Janus was precisely as described: a deeply troubled young woman who was charming enough in her own strange way once the ice she’d built around herself thawed.

And she was naive. Not once had Talon glimpsed a flicker of doubt cross her eyes. She had no idea who he truly was.

* * *

Two weeks into their ride, they arrived at the Altanese border. Four days later, the shadows of mountains loomed on the horizon. Gone were the fields of flat shrub lands and rocky earth, replaced with packed soil and thin pine trees.

The trip had gone well. Whoever attacked them that night at the inn had not returned. But would more be lurking in the city?

Indiscriminate chattering trailed after Talon’s horse, never more than a few paces behind.

Reaching into his satchel, Talon pulled a small hand mirror from his bag and studied his hair, hoping to distract himself from the voices. They were active today.

He’s always looking in mirrors. One voice taunted.

He’s vain. Another agreed.

Shoving the mirror back into his bag, Talon bit back his retort.

What else could these bodiless voices be but the gods?

Before he’d begun hearing the cefran deities, he had not expected them to be such piddling assholes.

Nor did he understand why they chattered incessantly over his shoulder but no one else’s.

“Janus,” Talon called, glancing over his shoulder.

The girl had her nose in a book—a thick tome with slightly tattered edges. If she heard his voice, she ignored it.

“Janus!” Talon tried again.

Hearing her name this time, Janus looked up. “Hm?”

“Look.”

Pulling her paint horse beside his, Janus followed his gaze, only just noticing the city’s silhouette in the distance.

The road swerved through the pines, following a river before rising up a tall mountain. A town of simple wooden shacks gathered around the mountain’s base and outside its dark-gray walls. Hefty, wide stone steps led into the city proper, where buildings were carved into the mountainside.

The palace towered above, spires rising to the clouds. Green, red, and yellow banners waved from rooftops, mere smudges in the distance, painting a colorful aura over the stone.

“Finally!” Janus slumped in relief. “I think my thighs are going to fall off if I spend another day on this saddle.” She leaned forward. “It’s beautiful. The stonework looks positively ancient.”

Right. Talon had pretended to care about architecture whenever Janus rambled about it. He shifted in his saddle to face Janus. “Weisskopf’s fifteen hundred years old, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Well-crafted, well-maintained, with centuries of history. Think of all the secrets hiding under the mountain.” Janus’s face lit up, the corner of her lips curling up between every word.

“Hoping to go exploring?”

“Could probably find some catacombs, collapsed escape tunnels. Maybe a few sealed-off personal chambers for revered ancestors.” Janus mumbled, more to herself than an answer.

The growing confidence Janus had exhibited crumbled apart as they merged with the crowd of travelers housing their horses and making their way into the city. She shrank into herself, glued between Talon and one of her guards.

Looking over at his traveling companion, Talon sighed. “I guess this is where we say goodbye.”

“What?” Janus blinked a few times. “Why?”

“I’ll be back for your tour in the morning, but I have to find accommodations of my own.”

“You don’t have to.” Janus blurted out. “You can stay with me.”

“Are you offering me free room and board?”

“You said I owed you, didn’t you? Besides,” Janus continued. “You’re my dance tutor. I’ll need your help at the ball.”

“As you wish, Your Highness,” Talon said, offering to take her horse into the stable. Janus gladly passed him Taniyn’s reins.

The odor of animals was just horrific. Talon’s home city of Clodia smelled sterile and dry, with a hint of salt on the sea breeze.

Altanbern had smelled of soil thus far, with a hint of pine.

This stable housed every scent known to man from the southern sea to the northern mountains of Dragosi.

A collage of culture, collected in horse shit.

Pinching his nose after paying the stable boy to take care of the rest, Talon escaped the stables and rejoined Janus.

Most people gathered here were merchants or tourists, and the sight of an armed guard clued them to the presence of nobility.

It wasn’t hard to cleave a path to the city proper’s gates, not with Janus’ guards protectively circling her.

Janus tapped the first broad, stone step. Grinning to herself about something, she trotted alongside Talon. “How’s your Altanese?”

“Alright.” Talon lied. He was fluent. “Enough to escort you wherever you need.”

“I’m terrible at it,” Janus admitted.

“Don’t worry. Most nobles, at least, understand Imperial common.”

Several Altanese guards stood at the top of the stairs, patrolling another set of gates.

The street flattened beyond it, sprawling to the west, north, and east. Men and women watched the incoming crowd like hawks from their perches on the guard towers, their chests bound in tight leather, and their backs concealed by white-fur cloaks.

Red tweed wrapped their waists and fell to either side of their greaves. Gaevral members.

Janus smiled insincerely at the guardsmen, her eyes focusing on the red tweed they wore. Yellow tweed marked members of the Kahn tribe, and green marked members of the Esseg. They stuck together in groups, rarely associating with the other clans.

Talon watched in concern as Janus’s head swiveled to take everything in. One step into the city and she’d already begun to veer off course. Hovering a hand behind her, Talon gently pushed her back on track whenever something caught her eye.

The city of Weisskopf was almost unbearably crowded, even by Clodia’s standards. The chatter of the crowd suffocated the air, drowning out Talon’s own thoughts. If any of the voices spoke to him, he could not hear them.

One, two, three. Talon kept count of how many times Janus bumped into someone. She collided with a merchant stall on the fourth, and nearly fell off a ledge on the fifth. Talon was already exhausted, and the ball had yet to begin.

God’s help him.

Another flight of thick, broad stairs brought them to the palace district. Suites for visiting nobles clustered on orderly streets of paved stone and planted trees. Red leaves scattered over the porch of Janus’ designated room.

Touching Janus’ shoulder, Talon entered first. Kalid nodded at him, holding back the princess.

Grabbing the pommel of his dagger, Talon crept into the quiet hall and pushed open every door. Fresh linens had been laid out for the guests, a kettle and box of tea leaves sat on the kitchen counter, and provisions filled the cabinet.

But it was empty of hidden assassins. Relieved, Talon returned to the others and waved them in.

Nervous, Janus stuck to his side, fingers trembling on her bag. “Um. You can stay wherever you’d like.”

“I’ll take the parlor, then.” Talon smiled, squeezing her shoulder.

While Janus’s attendant helped her set down her trunk and settle in, Talon slipped into the parlor and dropped his bag.

Taking a breath, he leaned against the wall and pushed aside the pale yellow curtains to peer onto the street below.

A perfect view of the palace was framed within the glass, an ancient stone building whose spires touched the sky.

The door swung open and quickly closed, and Kalid hurried to Talon’s side. “Are you sure you want to stay here? We could always arrange another room.”

“Oh, it’s fine. I think my company makes Janus feel better.”

“It does. And I wouldn’t mind another pair of eyes.”

“If assassins lurk nearby, I’ll find them,” Talon promised.

“Well, let me know if you need anything.” Kalid offered a brisk bow before he knelt beside the hearth and lit a fire. Once it breathed to life and warmth spread across the room, he departed, leaving the door ajar.

With even the girl’s guards on his side, learning everything about the Thuatian royals would be child’s play. She’d even secured him a place at the ball.

Talon shifted uneasily as he watched the fire grow, one hand reaching under his collar as a burning itch pricked at his neck.

Feeling like he would suffocate, he pulled off his coat and threw it over the armchair before loosening his vest and undershirt.

Staring out the window, he breathed deeply, calming himself.

“Not a bad little room.” Janus mosied through the door. “I feel bad for throwing you on the couch, though.”

“Better than paying for a crowded, cheap inn.” Talon shrugged. “I’ll take a royal couch any day over that.”

“There’s plenty of pillows on my bed, that’s for sure. I can lend you some, cozy up the -” Janus paused mid-sentence, her eyes glazing over as she stared at Talon.

Looking down at himself and back up at her, Talon followed her eyes to their target: his neck, where the hint of a nasty burn scar peeked out from beneath his shirt. Hastily pulling the collar up, he folded his arms tightly over his chest, intending to pretend she had not seen it.

But Janus remained frozen, horror replacing her hesitancy. Deep horror, as though flashes of war fled across her eyes. And then she changed.

Someone could have convinced Talon that a fell wind blew in from the window, spluttering the flames and darkening the lights.

The air itself grew colder. Janus blinked rapidly and stood taller, her shoulders no longer slumped.

Her eyes narrowed, and Talon swore her features sharpened, and her chin drew to a finer point.

Though the woman standing before him was unequivocally Janus, she could have passed for a different person altogether.

Evander had warned Talon this might happen. The prince had said Janus was, at times, different. He had advised Talon to take this in stride and speak no mention of it to the nervous bookworm of a princess whenever the girl called Janus again emerged.

Three weeks on the road, the Thuatian princess had been an anxious but bright-eyed girl. Now, Talon supposed he was about to meet her other half.

Her shadow.