Page 53 of Death of the Glass Angel (Apotheosis #1)

Janus/Des

I think about it often. The life you and I might have led.

I shouldn’t.

-Letter from Gemellus Instigo to Lady Entia

Janus sat on the bed, thumbing through her book. Sighing, she turned another page before flipping the book closed and tossing it into the ‘finished’ pile. Grabbing another book from her unread pile, she took a moment to face-plant on the sheets.

Everything hurt. Her head, especially. Thinking hurt.

The door to the suite flew open, and Gemellus whirled inside, gracefully closing the door behind him before sauntering to the table and pulling out a chair, leaning on its back as he faced Janus. He held up a parcel stuffed with letters.

“Good news?” Janus inquired hopefully.

“Useless news,” Gemellus corrected. He shook the parcel. “Can you believe an idiot captain gave me this and told me to read it? To my face?” He made a sound of disgust and tossed Janus the collection of parchment.

Sitting up, Janus unrolled the scroll and scanned its content. The dead from the compound had been collected, but most bodies had been so terribly crushed they could not be identified.

The account reported the ruins intact, littered with dead, some identified as the missing stormborn men. The second report noted all but the captured assassin from the tomb had fled.

The doorknob jimmied as someone unlocked it, and Talon stepped into the room, moving at a sluggish pace. Surprised at Gemellus’s presence, he scooted around him to approach Janus.

Gemellus’ face wrinkled in concentration. “Light, cautious. Talon, I presume? You’re favoring your right side.”

“You can tell all that from footsteps?” Talon mumbled as he swept aside Janus’s books to sit.

Returning the letters to their parcel, Janus wearily brushed back her messy hair. “How’s it going?”

“It’s done,” Talon said, pulling off his coat.

Rolling up his sleeve, Talon displayed the fruits of his labors: anmarite seamlessly grafted to his arm, forming a smooth line with his skin. Sitting beside him, Janus ran a hand along the forearm, feeling the warm skin turn to cool metal.

Gemellus bolted upright from his lax position. “What’s done?”

Smiling, Janus knocked on the anmarite, though it did not reverberate how she hoped, instead dully thudding. “I’ve got to say.” She admitted. “I wasn’t sure it was going to work.”

“What?” Gemellus repeated.

“The evoker, er, Castelmar. We found his plans to graft anmarite to stormborn.” Janus tapped the metal arm again. “It worked.”

Gemellus stuttered over his words, a sound Janus had never before heard. Eventually, he managed to string together a coherent sentence. “By the scour-” He cut off whatever curse had been coming. “You went through with it? Have you taken leave of your senses?”

Exhausted, Talon offered only a halfhearted response. “The skin had a hole. I filled it.”

Janus snorted and regretted it. Gemellus did not seem amused.

“Why with anmarite?” Gemellus demanded. “Why not with—with anything else?”

“What else is there?” Talon shrugged despondently. “It worked, didn’t it? At least my arm is indestructible now.”

Teeth gritted, Gemellus exhaled and yanked off his blindfold to rub his eyes. “Of all the-”

Frowning, Janus leaned forward to look her tutor in the eyes. “What’s gotten into you? Do you know something about anmarite we don’t?”

“Supposedly, it amplifies magic. What if it amplifies spells cast on you?”

“I’m not in the habit of getting into fights,” Talon said.

Gemellus opened his mouth to speak further, but bit his lip and looked away.

“Are you okay, Gem?” Janus asked.

“It’s the color of the room.” Gemellus gestured to the drapes. “Yellow. Joyful. It seeps into my skin like poison.”

“Someone’s being dramatic today.”

“I’m dramatic every day, Janus.” He gathered up his parcels and swept his coat over his shoulders. “Did you know I practiced theatre in my youth?”

“You did?”

“Oh, the stories I could tell.” He glanced between them. “Keep an eye on each other.” Gemellus bowed and opened the door.

Before Janus could ask where he was going, the door clicked shut behind him.

“I think he’s upset,” Talon observed.

“You don’t say.” Janus teased.

Leaning back, Janus stared at the chandelier before returning to Talon. Pallid skin, dotted with dark freckles and smudged with tired shadows, made him look ill. Releasing a heavy exhale, Talon plonked onto his side, head connecting with her pillow.

They were alone. And they had not found a moment to themselves in days.

“So. . .” Janus started, unsure how to hold this kind of conversation. “Felsin.”

“What about him?” Talon’s voice was muffled by the pillow.

“He said your star had a shadow. Like mine.” Janus said carefully.

“Oh. At least offer me a drink first.”

“Ah.” Janus rose and nervously dusted herself off, running to the small bar in the corner where the servants had stocked a couple of bottles of liquor. Tapping on the bottles, Janus read off the labels.

A half-filled barrel of Altanese ale had served Janus many a night. Something told her Talon had more refined tastes. An unopened bottle of aged liquor, its name printed in Altanese glyphs, would probably be more to his taste.

Pouring him a small glass, Janus returned to the bed and offered it. Talon sat up and drained the liquor in one go before dropping the empty glass into Janus’s hands, silently asking for a refill.

Doing as he commanded, Janus returned with a much fuller glass, hoping he could hold his liquor. To her relief, he merely sipped. Clearing her throat, she sat delicately beside him. “That bad?”

“Hm.” Talon ran the back of his hand across his mouth. “Where should I start?”

“Wherever you want, I guess.”

Talon took a deep breath, staring at the chandelier rather than Janus.

“When I was about fifteen, I started thinking my home was haunted. I heard voices from the corners. Sometimes from outside.” He stared into the drink.

“Quiet and muffled at first. Indistinct chatter later. Eventually, full words.”

Janus crossed her legs, brushing aside a few books to make room. “Was it haunted?”

Shifting, Talon faced Janus, resting the glass on his knee. “No. Nobody else heard them. Not Lark, not Valkyrie. Only me.” Talon drank heavily again, reducing the glass to half-full. “Covering my ears can block out the loudest bang, but not them. They speak in my head.”

“Like thoughts?”

“No. Not like thoughts. Like someone else, standing over there.” Talon pointed to the corner. “Sometimes I hear music. Sometimes they become muted chatter. Sometimes they keep quiet.”

Talon had stared past Janus a few times as though listening intently to someone behind her. Distracted eyes had scanned the walls, as though he stood in a crowded room, straining to listen to three conversations at once.

“I’ve. . .” Janus tried to find the right words to say. “I’ve never heard of anything like that.”

“Most people haven’t. I mean, it’s got to be divine, right? What else would it be?” Talon sounded surprisingly confident, though he had not struck her as religious. “Two men, two women. Just like the cefran pantheon.”

“You think they’re the cefran gods?” Janus tilted her head. She was not familiar with the cefran pantheon. As a Thuatian who worshiped Ellaila and Yesharu, nor did she believe in them.

“I do,” Talon confirmed. “Floraidh is kind, nurturing. Diorbhail is hardest on me, but that makes sense—she governs intelligence, too. Seoras is always encouraging me to do what I think I can’t, and Olbhreis, he. . . well, he sounds like a disappointed father.”

From what Janus knew of the pantheon, the characteristics matched their domains. Despite the absurdity of Talon’s claim, Janus believed him. Why should she not? A second woman inhabited her body, alien to her mind.

“Are they talking to you now?” Janus asked, straining to hear.

Talon let out a breathy laugh. “No. Not at the moment. I never know what makes them decide to speak. Sometimes, they chatter for hours; other days, I hear nothing.” He finished the last of the drink and set the glass aside. “You seem to be taking this in stride.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Janus shrugged. “It makes sense. My shadow is another me, so I guess your shadow is the gods looking over you.”

Relief flooded Talon’s countenance, and he picked up the glass to drink again, only to be met with disappointment. “You know, I’ve never really talked to anyone about this before. About anything, really. Everything’s a job, every face a facade. And then I met someone almost as fractured as I am.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Janus took his glass and returned to the bar, pouring herself a tall mug of ale.

“If the only struggles you face are a few chatty gods, that’s not so bad.

I mean-” She laughed bitterly. “Look at me. You’re good at everything you do, and I’m a blundering idiot.

” She offered him another glass of liquor before fetching her ale.

Talon frowned. “You’re brilliant. How could you think that?”

“Brilliant? Psh.” Janus plopped onto the bed, sloshing some of her ale onto her pants. “Ah. See?” She chortled nervously as she rubbed the small stain out.

Falling silent, Talon stared out the window. Dusk pooled over the gray stone city as the sun set.

“I still don’t know much about you.” Janus pressed. “Besides your job. What were you before that?”

“I don’t like to talk about myself.”

The orange sunlight pooling in his deep purple eyes illuminated a well of emotions. He was thinking about something. Maybe many things. None of them were happy.

For the first time, Janus felt like she could read a face and glean something in silence.

A thrum tugged at Janus’s heartstrings, painful. Talon looked younger in this light. Despite his cynicism and independence, deep down hid a young man who she doubted had ever been held.

Eros used to do anything for a hug. Crocodile tears, a feigned stumped toe. Anything for the comfort he craved when the nights were cold.