Page 55 of Death of the Glass Angel (Apotheosis #1)

Des

Take the boy in if you must, but do not grow attached to him. He will die before the end. By your own hand. If fate reveals itself to you alone, then you can see the Final Day approaching.

-Letter from Gemellus Instigo to Alfaris

Des smoothed the silk of her black gown, absorbing the tension hanging heavy over the ballroom.

One final dance. But now everyone stood on a knife’s edge, watching each other warily.

Assassins in the dark. Strange creatures of unworkable metal. The spirits of the dead. The evoker responsible had been caught, but would that mark the end?

Before, the grand chamber had been chaotic—people scattered everywhere in enormous groups. Now, they clung to their tables, surrounded only by their family and guards.

A man in a dark suit departed the bar, a wine glass held lazily between his fingers. Gemellus took a heavy sip as he joined Des, brushing a loose strand of blonde hair from his face.

“Lovely party.” He said quietly. “And you, without a date.”

“I hear he’s lying low these days,” Des whispered back.

“Aren’t you funny?”

Des shifted, staring at the Gaevral’s table across the room, where Heras sat with Brand and Esseg’s family. “I can’t stand it.” She leaned closer to her mentor. “I don’t know when Talon will strike. And once she’s gone, the answers die with her.”

“The palace is empty. Every guard is here, in the ballroom.” He swirled his wine. “A perfect time to snoop around and search for those answers.”

“I would if I had the means.”

Gemellus planted a hand on his hip and looked away. “What if you did have the means?”

“Then, I’d-” Des cut herself off and frowned at him. “Are you and Alfaris incapable of being straight about anything?”

“Who do you think trained him?” Gemellus teased. He paused, listening to the chatter and footsteps behind them. “Some evokers can invoke a phenomenon to make themselves appear invisible.”

“How?”

“Remember when I taught you about mirages?”

“Um. . . distortions of light, in the desert. They cause illusions.”

“Right.” Gemellus nodded. “But mirages can also make it appear as though something that is there isn’t.”

That made sense. “But I’m not an evoker.” She protested.

“I know. But I am.” Gemellus whispered.

“Won’t you lose concentration on the spell once I get too far away?”

“Well, that’s the benefit of being blind. I needn’t see you to keep you in my mind.” Gemellus smirked.

Though she’d never say it to his face, Des was convinced Gemellus was the greatest evoker alive. She trusted him completely. Nodding, she grinned. “I’ll run to the powder room, then.”

“Wait.” Gemellus grabbed her hand and pulled her back. “Can I have your dragon?”

Eyebrows raised, Des slipped her hand from his grip. “How did you know I have it?”

“Good guess?”

“Why do you want it?”

“It’s you. The. . . proverbial you in my mind’s eye. That way I can keep ‘eyes’ on you.”

“Ah.” Des pulled the old, stuffed toy from her bag and pressed it into his hands. “I didn’t realize you were an adorable little softy.”

“Me, a softie? I’m not the one carrying a stuffed toy around.” Gemellus tucked the dragon under his arm. “Don’t get caught.”

Returning to their table, Gemellus rested the dragon in his lap. Fixing her hair, Des sauntered across the dance floor, heels clicking on the tiles as she retreated to a washroom down the hall. Slipping inside, she closed the door behind her.

After a moment, Gemellus’ voice arose beside her, though he sat far away. “You should be quite hidden now.”

Des opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off.

“This is just a memory of my voice—don’t respond. Off you go and don’t get caught. More than men in steel lurk in the dark.”

Must he be so ominous? Stilling her breath, Des pulled off her heels and tucked them into the corner under a bin before slipping back out, checking to ensure no one was looking.

She re-entered the quiet ballroom, hurrying to the table at the head of the room. Heras rose from her seat, a red tweed gown trailing behind her as she excused herself and slipped through a door to her north.

Hiking up her dress, Des loitered by the door. If it swung open, people would notice, even if they attributed the mystery to a ghost.

Eventually, a butler approached with an empty tray in hand. Gluing herself to his backside, Des slipped through the door behind him.

Altanese taste was. . . garish, to say the least. Tables with animal bone artifacts littered the hall, and numerous deer or boar heads gazed through sightless eyes from their mounted frames.

She passed a mirror and saw nothing in the reflection. Shaking off the eerie feeling, she searched for the woman—and anything useful.

A murmuring voice emerged from a nearby door. Silently padding to its threshold, Des peered inside.

A cracked window poured cold air into the office, fluttering the curtains. Heras stood before a mirror, fixing her curls into a bun.

Behind her paced an old man with white hair dressed in black robes—Alfaris.

“This is frustrating,” Heras said, releasing an exasperated sigh.

“I know.” Alfaris sounded like he was consoling her. The old man reached into his down-turned hood, running a finger along the turtle tucked safely within. “But, the Ballad of Burgundy Rose is a favorite of mine. It doesn’t end the way you would expect.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Heras agreed. “Do you think. . . are the actors for this performance good?”

“I think so.” Alfaris nodded slowly. “The main star resembles the hero—touched by flame and devoid of life.”

What in Yesharu’s name were they talking about? Des squinted, confused as the pointless conversation droned on.

“I hope you’re right.” Heras raised her head. She looked tired and worn.

“I usually am.” Alfaris folded his arms. “You-” he cut himself off. “There is a somewhat dangerous stunt near the end. He needn’t take the risk.”

“He will,” Heras muttered.

Oh. The truth clicked for Des, and her head snapped up. They were speaking in code. Had Heras’ memories truly been removed from the maevruthan, or had she skirted suspicion by only corresponding in riddles?

“Sometimes I wonder if I made a mistake.” Heras finished tying her hair and dropped her arms. “Tonight, most of all.”

“You made this decision. You cannot take it back, now.” Alfaris chastised.

“But what if-”

“Don’t glance behind.”

“Lest we lose our way.” Heras finished the mantra, a similar phrase to the one Felsin had shared.

“Altanbern’s children yet to be born will thank you—even if another must be buried.”

Another must be buried? Was he talking about Heras’s child or a figurative one?

Stepping back, Heras exhaled. “One more dance.”

“Wait.” Alfaris held up a hand, blocking Heras from leaving. “Do you love him?’

“Of course.” Heras sounded offended. “He’s my son.”

Alfaris lowered his hand. “Then, tell him so, before it’s too late.”

“I. . . you’re right.” Heras bowed with respect before pulling open the door and exiting.

A heavy burden weighed on her shoulders. Shadows lined her eyes. What, exactly, awaited them in the future?

Des shrank into the hall as Heras passed. She lingered, waiting for Alfaris to leave—but he didn’t. Figuring he hadn’t seen her yet, Des risked stepping into the office.

The old man loitered by the window, gazing wistfully into the night. Watching him closely, Des searched for signs he could see her, but none came. Tiptoeing, she approached the desk, though she didn’t have high hopes of finding anything.

Crouching behind the desk, she glanced between the drawers and Alfaris, slowly opening each and peeking through its contents.

The lowest drawer caught her eye—it was locked. Pulling a pin from her hair, she pushed it into the tiny lock, eyes glued to Alfaris’s back.

With a barely audible click, she pulled the drawer open. A beautiful bracelet sat inside, shimmering silver flecked with blue. Wings sprouted from the bulb at its center, angelic yet eerie.

It matched the pendant from the compound. Des reached in to take it, but froze when Alfaris spoke.

“What lies behind the shadow of stars?” The old man murmured. “Do you even realize what you’ve done, Gemellus?”

Des tilted her head, hoping he’d say more. Instead, he turned, black eyes boring through her.

Hastily pushing the drawer shut, Des rose and backed away as Alfaris approached. Not wanting to get caught, she turned and left, hurrying down the hall back to the ballroom.

She noticed her reflection as she passed the mirror. Halting, she stared in horror before whirling around.

And slamming into someone else. A strong hand grabbed her arm, restraining her.

Surprised, Des looked up into a handsome face framed by red curls. Brand.

She tried to wrest from his grip to no avail.

“What are you doing back here?” He spoke in a low, gravelly voice.

“Using the washroom.” Des spat. “Now, if you don’t mind.”

“Barefoot?” He asked, looking down. “First in the tomb, now here. What are you up to? Spying? Or something more sinister?”

“You’ve had a problem with me since the day we met. Care to share what I’ve done to piss you off?”

“I have good reason for it.”

Des stared knowingly into his eyes. “Oh. You know, don’t you? What your mother does.”

“What are you talking about?” His eye twitched.

“What do I do then? I can’t imagine returning to this dreary country—so what earns your ire?”

He laughed. “Decided to speak in riddles, have you?”

“I already know. What sense is there in hiding it?” She stepped closer, and his grip on her arm tightened. “Do I ruin your plans, whatever they are? Or am I just in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

He gritted his teeth but said nothing.

“And I thought cefra were supposed to be close. Who knew you were so callous as to kill your own brother?”

Brand’s grip on her arm tightened, and fire laced his fingers. Pain shot through her as searing heat cut through her skin.

Gasping, Des grabbed her arm, trying to tear his fingers away.

“Do you pretend to be someone you’re not?” Brand growled. “Or do you have no idea who you are?”