Page 50 of Death of the Glass Angel (Apotheosis #1)

Des

Despite my station, I passed judgment only once.

On a solitary isle, I pressed my spear to Gemellus’s throat, intent on executing him for his crimes.

But, I could not move my lance arm. I could not bring myself to deal the finishing blow.

By the books, he was culpable. To the doubt of none.

But, as I hesitated, I realized something. He was right.

-Excerpt from Sir Penna’s private journal

Talon carried Des back to absolute chaos. Cacophony sounded in the ritual chamber. Had a tavern brawl broken out in the sacred tomb?

Loitering in the arched entrance, Talon set Des down as he scanned the chamber. Several Altanese guards, marked by white fur cloaks, gathered around the statue, restraining a man in a yellow kilt—Chief Kahn.

Some of the crowd stood frozen. Others murmured amongst themselves. Des lifted her head from Talon’s shoulder to observe the scene.

Heras and Chief Esseg stood opposite Kahn, engaged in an argument. Esseg appeared exhausted by the exchange, his plump face growing redder with each passing moment.

“Silence!” He shouted.

The crowd hushed and turned to face Essex, though he’d only been yelling at his fellow chiefs.

“The ancestors have spoken.” Esseg declared. “Even if it was not the outcome you anticipated, it is the truth.” He turned to the team of guards restraining Kahn. “By our people’s law, you must withdraw your accusations.”

The chieftain fought against his captors, furious eyes fixed on Heras. “What did you do?” He demanded.

“I did nothing, Kahn.” Heras insisted. “Or do you imply our ancestors are false?”

Kahn ripped from his captor’s grip and brushed himself off. “No.” He breathed. “The matter is settled. I withdraw. And apologize.”

Talon observed Heras’ quiet confidence and cursed. “Shit.”

“I don’t understand,” Des murmured into Talon’s neck. “It sounds like there was no room for doubt.”

“There wasn’t,” Talon said. “I caught a glimpse of it.”

Felsin shoved through the crowd to join his mother, while Avalon plowed through the throng to reach Talon. “Shadows.” She cursed. “You’re covered in blood. What happened?”

“The assassins struck again,” Talon said through gritted teeth. “But this time, we took a captive.”

* * *

Talon laid Des’ arm across his lap as he gently bound her wound. His touch was delicate, and each wrap of the gauze sent shivers up her arm.

The mountain pass was frigid, but still warmer than the tomb’s frozen halls. A fire crackled beside them, warding off the chill.

“Good throw.” Talon commended

“It was easy enough.” Des lied, staring at the Forebear’s Monolith. Its heavy stone doors remained closed, for now.

Any minute now, the doors would open, Heras would be clapped in irons, and they could finally learn what her motive was.

Talon chuckled. “Would it kill you to learn some humility?” He brushed a thumb across her palm, and she shivered again.

He noticed.

Smiling coyly at her, he continued wrapping her wound.

“Yes,” Des admitted. “It would kill me.”

“You know what they say about pride.” Talon teased. “Janus is willing to share her secrets with a stranger, but you bottle everything up. How does that make sense?”

“You ask as if I understand myself.” Des glared at him. “You’re one to talk. Or are you willing to share your secrets now?”

“Never.” He paused, watching her arm tremble and twitch as she fidgeted. “Sit still.”

“I can’t. I’m too. . .” Des trailed off. Anxious? Furious? She couldn’t find the word.

“This laceration runs deep. It needs proper binding.” Talon eyed her sharply. “Sit still.”

Taking a deep breath, Des closed her eyes and relaxed, forcing her knees together and unfurling her fingers. The trembling gradually ceased.

“Good girl.” Talon resumed his work.

Eyes flashing open, Des met a coy, playful gaze. “Say that to me again.” She breathed. “And see what happens.”

“Tempting. I’ll be sure to praise you next I get a chance.” Talon winked.

A heavy thud roared across the pass as the Monolith’s doors scraped open and Gemellus flew out. Des could tell by his angry gait and the way his tailcoat violently whipped behind him that he did not herald good news.

Talon finished binding the gauze, but his hand lingered on hers. “What happened?”

“The spirits have spoken,” Gemellus said mockingly. “Heras is innocent. It is to Castelmar their gazes now fall.”

“Whose charged with interrogating him?” Des asked.

“Kahn. Though I get the impression Avalon intends to have a go at him, too.”

“Gem.” Des’ brow creased in thought. “The phantoms—what are they?”

“I don’t know,” Gemellus admitted. “Nobody truly does. They appear and disappear at a whim. Who can blame the Altanese for seeing ghosts?”

“I think they were manipulated. Controlled.” She looked up at her tutor. “Heras is guilty. I saw her army in Alfaris’ visions—the clockwork men and their jittering movements. That’s what the ruins were, no? An attempt to make such a force.”

“Alfaris’ visions come true. Always.” Gemellus asserted. “She’ll get her army. But what does she want it for?”

Talon sighed, closing his eyes.

“And. . . and because of this. . .” Des waved her uninjured arm angrily. “I’m supposed to lie down and let her kill me?”

“You would jeopardize Thuatia’s position greatly if you harmed her now.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

Talon interrupted. “That’s why songbirds exist.”

Des’ anger faltered. “What do you mean?”

“I have a bad feeling.” Talon glanced at Gemellus. “That Castelmar wanted to get caught. Heras is having him take the fall.”

“We agree on that,” Gemellus said.

“So I’m going to kill her,” Talon said. “For a hundred years, we’ve kept the peace, silencing anyone who would threaten the alliance. If diplomacy fails us,” He looked at her gravely, “blades will serve in its stead.”

The remainder of the group emerged from the tomb before Des could respond. Talon rose and stepped away from her as Avalon jogged to her side, blonde braid swishing behind her.

“Lady Janus.” She asked. “May we speak?”

* * *

Cold autumn air washed over Des, the ensuing shivers reminding her she was alive. Drinking in the fresh air, she watched Avalon pace angrily before their little gathering.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Avalon said, awed. “I would be a fool to discredit their ritual.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you believe that nonsense.” Paulus picked at his nails idly.

“How can you not? You saw what happened.”

“You discredit evokers, implying they couldn’t conjure such a simple show.”

Dinu shrugged. “The Altanese are satisfied with their answer, and now they have a name to hunt down.”

Avalon halted. “Do you know anything about this Castelmar? You would have been studying at Valeria during his time there, no?”

“He was the only Altanese student. Some of the Sigillites liked to pick on him, but I didn’t really talk to people.”

A smile flickered across Des’s face. No wonder Janus felt comfortable around Dinu.

“I’m more interested in Thuatia’s court mage,” Paulus said. “And why he vanished into the shadows during the show, only to conveniently arrive with a captive.”

A defensive edge lined Des’ voice. “Are you accusing him of something?”

“Not at all.” Paulus lowered his hand and stared at her with sharp green eyes. “Merely wondering aloud.”

“If you won’t accept her word.” Felsin strode between them. “Accept mine. Everyone absent was fighting for their lives.”

Avalon resumed pacing. “Nobody is safe until we have a lead on this evoker.”

“Good thing the ball ends soon.” Dinu smiled at Des. “Maybe he’ll give up. You’ve proven remarkably difficult to kill.”

“Hasn’t she?” Felsin stepped closer to her. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to have a word with our favorite damsel.”

“But of course,” Paulus glanced between them before departing.

Des waited until Dinu and Avalon were out of earshot. She eyed Felsin with vitriol. “Do you not value your life?”

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist.” The cheer quickly washed from his face. “Here. Take a look.” He offered her a black card.

Gods, this thing looked ancient—frayed edges and worn colors. Gently handling the card, Des turned it over, studying the picture on its front: a winged horse with draconic features pulled an ornate cart.

“It’s not one of mine.” Felsin folded his arms. “It’s Alfaris’.”

“Did he turn that thing into a card?” Des looked up.

“Wouldn’t I like to know? I’ve never seen anything like it.” He shook his head. “No, if I had to guess, that creature came from the card.”

Des brushed a finger across the faded words written on the black card. ‘The Nyxian Chariot.’

“Where is he?” She asked. “Alfaris?”

“I don’t know.” Felsin looked up slowly. “I didn’t see him come out.”

Whirling around, Des stared at the ajar doors of the massive tomb. A new piece of the puzzle had fallen into the pile.

Felsin’s father had been murdered, not killed in an unfortunate accident. Alfaris had wanted her to know. But how was Des supposed to tell Felsin?

“Des,” Felsin said softly, “Can I ask you something?”

“I’d like to ask something, myself,” Brand’s voice thundered over his brother’s. He marched toward them, scarlet eyes ablaze. “What were you doing, wandering the halls of the tomb during a trial?”

Des chose her words carefully. “I stepped out for air. Alfaris-”

“Stepped out for air? You desecrated our ancestors’ rest for that?” He scoffed. “Tell me. What in the Monolith did you want to tamper with?”

“I didn’t-”

“Lies, again? You think I don’t know?” Brand’s eyes narrowed. “That you defiled our father’s tomb?”

Felsin looked up sharply. “What?”

Des bit back with an accusation of her own. “If he’s so beloved, why have you been hiding the truth of his murder?”

Felsin’s eyes brightened. “What?” He breathed, rage entering his tone.

“Ask Alfaris.” Des backed up. “He orchestrated this. All of this.” Turning away, she fled to the safety of Gemellus’ company, sparing a glance back at the brothers, who wore starkly different expressions.

Felsin had been shaken to his core, but not a hint of surprise supplanted Brand’s fury—and triumph.

He’d long known the truth of his father’s death.