Page 56 of Death of the Glass Angel (Apotheosis #1)
Whatever Des had expected him to say—it was not that. What had these people seen?”
Thud. Des felt Brand drop her onto the ground, and she sprawled across the floor. Lifting her head, she saw Brand slam against the far wall, nursing a shoulder. Felsin planted himself between them, rock encasing his fist.
“What are you doing?” He hissed.
“Ask her.” Brand stood, staring daggers at Des. “What she was doing back here?”
“Eavesdropping?” Felsin guessed. “Maybe if you hadn’t sent assassins after her, she wouldn’t need to.”
A grin twisted across Brand’s face. “Just what are you saying, brother?”
Felsin leaned toward his brother. “Don’t lay a finger on her again.”
“I won’t need to,” Brand said. “So long as she goes back to the darkness, where she belongs.” He spat, marching away.
Nursing her wound, Des watched him stalk away. Had she struck a nerve or come close to the truth?
Felsin offered her a hand up. Fighting down the pain, she stared at him curiously. “You finally believe it, then?”
“I heard what Brand said. And now I understand his change in attitude. They know. Alfaris showed them. . . something.” Felsin admitted. “Are you alright?”
“I’ll be fine. I don’t want to make a scene.”
“That’s probably for the best.” He paused. “I forgive you, by the way.”
“Janus will be glad to hear that.”
Felsin smiled, stepping back. “Don’t get too excited. I still plan to lecture her about respecting other cultures.” He nodded his head left. “Go. Before someone realizes we’re all gone at the same time.”
Des hurried down the hall, slipping back into the washroom, and slammed the door, retrieving her shoes and inspecting herself in the mirror. Wincing, she shifted her armband to cover the burn.
Straining to ignore the pain, she straightened herself out and returned to the ballroom.
Gemellus didn’t look up from the dragon in his lap as she sat. “Learn anything?”
“Heras was speaking in code,” Des explained. “To Alfaris. Something about the actors on the stage, and needing the lead actor to do something.”
“Hm.” Gemellus looked up. “The final day is a grand play at the opera house. What does she plan to do there?”
“She won’t send assassins again. I think she’s too smart for that.”
“So what happens next is anyone’s guess.” Gemellus fiddled with his pocket watch. “At least I’ll be there to guard you.” He stared at her intently. “Assuming you don’t wander off.”
“I’m not Janus,” Des said, rising. “I’m going to get some fresh air.”
Before he could notice her wound, she hurried to the door and stepped onto the balcony. Cold air soothed the pain in her arm. Ivy snaked through the cracked stone, climbing up the half-wall overlooking the snowy mountains.
Pulling her armband down, she inspected the wound. Whitened skin swelled where his fingers had touched.
Talon appeared at her side, slipping from the shadows like a ghost. “There she is.” He leaned beside her. “You promised me a dance, but I didn’t want it to be public.”
His eyes darted to her arm, despite her best efforts to hide it.
“What happened?”
“Nothing,” Des said, trying to slide her armband over it.
Talon caught her hand and inspected her injury. “Who did this?” He asked, gritting his teeth. “No, I think I can guess.”
“Let it go. I thought you weren’t trying to make a scene.” Des said. “Besides, he was mildly justified. I was eavesdropping.” When his scowl didn’t fade, she leaned closer. “I thought songbirds kept the peace. Clever women like me get revenge in discretion.”
“So do I.” He finally dropped her hand. “At least let me tend to it. Sit.” He ordered.
Des did as ordered, sitting on the ledge and watching as he pulled a small medical kit from his satchel. “Have you always carried that?”
“Only after the tomb.” He undid a small glass jar. “In case you lost a fight again.”
Annoyed, Des tried to express her anger, but the breath she exhaled sounded more like a laugh than a snarl. Smiling, Talon took her arm and gently applied the cold salve to her burn before wrapping it gently.
His fingers lingered on her skin, and his eyes flicked up to meet hers. “Still in the mood for a dance?” He asked softly.
“Might be our last chance.”
“Mhm.”
Talon took her waist and lifted her off the ledge, setting her on the ground. Wrapping an arm around her, he pulled her close, swaying her to the distant sounds of the quartet playing inside.
Des leaned against his chest, nestling her head beneath his chin. Tomorrow, the nobles would gather to attend a play. That night, they would bid farewell, toasting another finale to the Badulf-Esseg ball.
And she and Talon would part ways, forever.
He led the life she yearned for. And if she closed her eyes tightly enough, she could envision them living it together. A life where they escaped the shadows, a life where nothing tore them apart—least of all themselves.
Talon tilted her chin up and kissed her, a lingering embrace Des let herself be consumed by. All her troubles faded away, the cold ballroom vanished, leaving them alone against the night.