Page 51 of Death of the Glass Angel (Apotheosis #1)

Janus

I hate that little clock. Did I tell you the story of our first courtship? Gemellus clicked it open and closed the entirety of our walk before fleeing, leaving me stranded. Some gentleman. And do you know why? He remembered your mother invited him for dinner. Ridiculous.

-Letter from Sir Penna to Professor Aevus

Janus’ mind raced with a thousand ideas. She had no room for them.

Rubbing her aching temples, Janus tried not to move her wounded arm. Swiveling on the overturned log, she glanced across the camp, at the fire crackling near Heras’ tent.

Felsin was going to kill her. Deservedly so.

Gemellus pulled a kettle from their fire and poured her a cup of tea. A heavy wind blew wild her cloak and fluttered the bands of his blindfold.

“Thanks,” Janus said, taking the cup.

“Only another night of this,” Gem said, pouring himself a cup and sitting beside her. “Then we’ll be back in the city. Safe and sound,” he added the last part with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

“I think Talon’s been avoiding me.” Janus shifted back and forth.

“He wants to lessen the link between you two.”

“What’s he going to do, exactly?”

Gemellus paused thoughtfully. “Songbirds are sometimes assassins, as well as spies. Many a noble who died of sudden illness or accident was actually murdered.”

“So. . .” Janus digested his words. “I won’t know until he does it.”

“Precisely. If he’s good, you might even doubt the cause.”

“. . . what gives them the right to decide who lives and dies?”

“Themselves.” Gemellus brushed his bangs back. “They’ve made many mistakes. A price they think is worth paying.”

“Do you think so?”

A coy smile tugged at his lips. “You’d be surprised to hear my views on assassinating kings.”

Silence drenched their camp save for the flickering fire. Janus looked over her shoulder again, searching for Felsin.

Nowhere to be found.

“Gem,” Janus said, turning back. “Did Alfaris. . .?”

“Anything could follow those words, and the answer would still be ‘I don’t know.’”

“You don’t know something?”

“It happens.” Gemellus shrugged. “I’m brilliant . . . but not omniscient.”

There was that ego of his.

Ego. Alfaris had mentioned the weakness hidden in Gem’s arrogance. Feeling the satchel around her hip, Janus reached into her bag and sorted its contents.

She carried little on her. The stuffed dragon, a couple of notebooks, a change of clothes, and most recently. . . the glass angel.

Pulling out the glass pendant, Janus ran a finger along its grooved wings. Gemellus shifted uncomfortably beside her.

“This was in the ruins,” Janus said. “But if it’s related to my other problems, I can’t see it.”

“We’ve been over this, dear. I don’t know what it is.”

“Surely you do.” Janus pressed. “You know everything. If you don’t know, who does?”

“I just said I don’t know everything.”

“You’re the closest thing the world has to a god of knowledge.” Janus continued. “Take another look. Surely you have. . .” She trailed off.

Snap. Gemellus pulled his pocket watch out and nervously played with it. He was on edge.

Why did this necklace bother him?

“Surely you have some idea.” Janus finished her thought. Mimicking the pouty face Eros had made often—and to much success—Janus batted her eyelashes pitifully at her tutor. “Father hired you because you’re the best.”

A silly move. Gemellus couldn’t see. Maybe the pitiful tone in her voice would suffice.

The pocket watch snapped closed, and Gemellus sighed heavily, tentatively reaching forward to touch the necklace. “I suppose I can take another look.”

Grinning, Janus sat back. She’d managed to achieve something, however small.

And she’d take any win she could get, right about now.

“Hm.” Gemellus turned over the glass angel, snapping his pocket watch open and closed in the other hand. Sors padded over, ducking between Janus’ legs and peering out at the tutor.

Gem looked up. “Do you know why it is called ‘the glass angel’?”

“No.” Janus shook her head. “Nothing in their scrolls mentioned this.”

“It’s probably a metaphor.” Gem continued, fingers trembling on his pocket watch. “A glass angel grows once a year, by its lonesome. Rare. Beautiful. Fleeting. Dead too soon.”

Janus studied the glittering wings. “But it’s just a necklace.” She watched him steady his trembling hand. “What’s wrong?”

“You remember Des, now.” He said. “Her life. Her experiences.”

“I didn’t tell you that.” Janus pointed out. “How did you know?”

“I’m omniscient.” He smirked at her. “Des. What do you think of her?”

“Oh.” Janus tapped her fingers on her cup. “She’s a lot more confident than I am. Sarcastic. Kind of. . . well, kind of a bitch. But not necessarily in a bad way.” Janus paused. “It doesn’t feel like remembering me. It’s like she’s an entirely different person.”

“She is,” Gemellus assured her. His voice was strangely sad. “She is unrecognizable from you. The very air changes when she emerges or recedes to let you forth. I can tell, just from that.”

“Can Evander?”

“Oh, he can.”

Silence fell over the camp as Janus thought. It was difficult to concentrate, given Gemellus’s continued fussing with his watch. Click. Click.

“Janus,” Gemellus said. “Des. Do you think she deserves her own life? Or do you think she’s but a shadow, better consigned to the darkness?”

The question took Janus off guard, and she sat silently for a few minutes. She had never considered such a thing before, nor did she understand why Gemellus was asking. Up to this point, for seven years, Des had been. . . conflicting.

The days of fog, when Janus could not recall her words or actions, made life difficult. But, when troubling memories or situations arose, Janus would fall into a kind of sleep, allowing Des to take the reins and. . . the protection was a great comfort.

“I have no idea,” Janus finally admitted.

“Hm.” Gemellus tapped the pendant. “This is anmarite.”

“I figured as much.”

“Very old, too. Look at the wear marks.” He tapped the bulb. “Supposedly, anmarite can amplify nearby magic. Supposedly.” He reiterated.

“I haven’t noticed,” Janus said.

She leaned back, creasing her eyes. Or had she? Racking her brain, she tried to remember.

“Don’t strain yourself.”

“Ah!” Janus lunged toward Gem, and he reared back. “It did! In the tomb! This hummed, and I saw a memory of Alfaris.”

“You peered into another’s mind?” Gemellus asked softly. “Without meaning to?”

“I. . .I must have.”

Gemellus placed the glass angel in her hands. “Keep careful watch over this. Such a skill is useful but dangerous. And forbidden.”

“I know.” Janus swirled her tea, watching the leaves catch the light of the fire. “I think it’s about time you told me about you and Alfaris.”

Sighing, Gemellus back bent and he slid down to sit beside her. “I don’t like thinking about my past.”

“Neither do I. But we’re evokers. It’s kinda funny, when you look at it like that.”

“Yes, it’s hilarious,” Gemellus said dryly. “Alfaris was a kid when we met. Fifteen, I think. He’d been cast out by his family and left for dead.”

“Why?” Janus shifted closer.

“Because he was. . . different. You cannot see it from a glance, but he was born with a disability. It shamed his family, so they got rid of him.”

“And you took him in?”

“I suppose.” Gemellus reached out, as if to catch the embers. “I trained him. Gave him work. I was hardly kind. Aevus was always nicer. Treated him more like a son.”

“Professor Aevus?” Janus asked. “I knew you were friends, but I didn’t realize for so long.”

“For ages, Janus.” Gemellus smiled faintly. Wistfully. “But where were we? Alfaris is not what he seems. He values one thing and one thing alone: the chance for tomorrow to change.”

Janus stared at the stars, trying to understand. “And the cards?”

“As an evoker needs memories, so too does Alfaris need his precious little cards.” Gemellus chuckled, standing. “But enough. You should get some rest.”

Janus didn’t want to be left alone, but she solemnly nodded and stared into her tea.

A shadow passed over her as Gemellus kneeled, taking her hand. “If you need anything, dear, I am here for you.”

“I know.”

Smiling, Gemellus stood. Offering a small bow laced with sarcasm, he sauntered into the night, Sors padding after him.

Janus slumped, letting the steam from the tea waft over her face. She managed to relax for five seconds before she sat upright and raked her fingers through her hair, pulling loose the amethyst pin Gemellus had given her.

A glass angel. Janus ran her thumb over the sculpted flower. This hairpiece had been gifted by someone Gem cared about. She knew so little about her mentor.

Despite the situation, Janus’ spirits rose. Other than architectural and history tomes, Janus had often read stories of mystery and intrigue. The best tales kept her guessing until the end.

In a way, this sprawling web of confusion was kind of like those engrossing books. This was almost fun.

Sighing, Janus watched her mentor’s departing shadow, marveling at how it appeared almost like the magnificent bulk of a dragon, its wings extending from the flames into shadow.

Setting down her cup, Janus leaned over the log, watching the fires dancing in the distance. Heras stood alone by hers, arms folded as she stared over the mountain pass.

A surge of confidence bloomed in Janus’ chest. She stood, smoothing back her hair as she approached Heras. The closer she tread, the more her hand trembled, and she tucked it into her cloak, hoping to conceal her nerves.

“Congratulations.” Janus offered softly. “On winning the trial.”

Heras turned, surprise written on her face. “Thank you. Though I’d rather it not have come to this.”

The Royal Chief never seemed like a bad person. Or maybe she was adept at hiding it.

“Can I ask you something?” Janus glanced over the camp. “Why was Kahn so insistent, and why do you and Felsin seem so strained?”

“That’s a rather personal question,” Heras said. “But I suppose he’s told you. The two of you have been spending a lot of time together.” She sighed. “They both feel the same. They take too much stock in the dead and refuse to think about how it’s held us back.”

“Felsin does value the ancestors highly. But I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.”

“There is,” Heras said sharply. “Look around. When we divided the clans, we drove a wedge between us, but we can’t do a damn thing without agreeing. We’ve fallen behind; no other nation in the alliance still has its people living in mud huts.”

Janus fell silent. She didn’t know much about politics.

“We need a strong ruler for what’s to come.” Heras swept a hand across the camp. “Not this.”

“. . .what’s to come?”

Heras stared into the fire. “If you knew calamity approached, and you could save your people alone. . . would you?”

“I. . . I suppose I would. But what could call for such extremes?”

“Nothing.” Heras looked up, smiling. “I’m merely talking in hypotheticals. The crown should always be prepared to protect its people. And as we are, we cannot. That’s all.”

“Right, I. . .” Janus swallowed. “I should. . . Thank you for talking with me.” Bowing her head, Janus quickly turned around and hurried to her camp.

She caught a spot of fire, where Brand watched her across the camp, silently glaring. ‘Least of all what’s coming for them. Do you truly not know?’

Alfaris’ fortune had written death and flames upon the stars. And Gemellus said those fortunes always came true.

Kalid stood by her tent, watching her with concerned eyes. He gripped his glaive tightly, silently nodding as Janus slipped inside. Gathering her hair into a bun, Janus face-planted onto her bedroll, pulling Des the dragon from her bag and cuddling it under the blankets.

Had Janus slept since leaving home? Wide-awake, she tossed and turned until finally her errant thoughts settled and she managed to get comfortable.

Kalid’s voice roused her—he spoke softly to someone outside. Gemellus, or Talon, maybe? Eventually, Kalid allowed them to enter, and they knelt beside her, letting out a soft sigh that revealed their identity.

That had been Felsin’s voice. Frozen, Janus’ eyes sprang open. He was no doubt furious with her. What was he doing here?

“See?” Talon’s voice surprised Janus. “She’s fine.”

“Sh.” Felsin hissed.

“She’s out like a rock. I slipped something into her tea.”

“. . .why?”

“The girl hasn’t slept in days. She needs rest.”

“Drugging a princess, now?” Felsin tutted. “Are you trying to get executed, Talon?”

“Oh, whatever. Sleep will speed her healing.”

Whatever Talon had slipped into Janus’ tea clearly hadn’t worked. Or, more likely, Gemellus had noticed and given her a fresh cup. Janus wasn’t sure if she was thankful or sore about that.

“She’s not used to being wounded, and. . .” Felsin continued, speaking much quieter than Talon. “Gemellus told me what she saw in the tomb.”

“He doesn’t talk to me. . .” Talon murmured.

“You’re not as likable as I am,” Felsin said smugly. Talon made a sound of annoyance. “Drugged or not, Janus doesn’t like to be alone. I just want to sit with her for a bit.”

“. . . alright. You’re lucky Kalid likes me.”

The tent flaps parted, and Janus heard Talon walk out. Felsin was silent for a moment before speaking softly. “I think I’m furious at you, but maybe the shock is preventing me from processing everything.”

There it was. Janus’ fingers tightened around the stuffed dragon.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said. “When we realized you were missing. . .”

Felsin trailed off. He was talking to himself, not her. Maybe he wanted to work through his feelings while she couldn’t hear him.

While he believed she couldn’t hear him.

“Whatever happens. . . I’m glad you came here, Janus.” Felsin pulled her blanket over her shoulders and brushed a strand of hair from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. His fingers lingered on her cheeks before trailing down the length of her hair, slowly brushing her thick locks.

No one had ever simply sat by Janus’ side and stroked her hair. Shivers ran down her spine, and she repressed the urge to cry.

Part of her wanted to sit up and respond. Maybe grab his collar and kiss him. The other was petrified his demeanor would change once he realized she was conscious.

Torn in half. Every part of Janus’ life wavered between two fragments, never whole.

Under the warmth of his touch, sleep rose from the depths to finally claim her.