Page 60 of Death of the Glass Angel (Apotheosis #1)

Felsin/Janus

Let not the glance behind steal away

Your chance to change the foretold end

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” A warm, welcoming voice spoke in Altanese.

A tall man with irises the color of red gems stood behind Felsin, hand raised to shield his eyes from the sun. The breeze stirred Felsin’s curls but did not disturb the short-cropped hair of the older man. A similar burgundy tweed wrap covered his body, its high collar rising to the man’s ears.

Veren of the Gaevral. Father.

Felsin stared at his father in awe and confusion. This was no spirit, manifested in spectral white of roiling fog. This man was real, composed of flesh and blood. Yet, his eyes never seemed to look directly at Felsin. Always a hair off.

“Eros?” Janus called, gazing up a spiral staircase of ancient stone.

A few paces up, a little boy, perhaps ten years old, bounced excitedly on the rickety stairs.

He was cefran, with blazing pink eyes reminiscent of the cherry blossoms in Forsaidh.

And though they differed in race, a strong likeness was shared between the boy and Janus.

They had the same slightly upturned nose and pronounced cheekbones.

Felsin’s head felt like it would split. Behind him lay the interior of a tower, ruined and abandoned, evidenced by the holes in its walls and the dust falling from the stairs.

Yet, when he turned around, he saw the expanse of Altanese mountains, peaks dusted with snow and slopes littered with pines full of rich green needles.

“Let’s get started.” Father beckoned for Felsin to follow. “They say you can spot Nyxes in the woods this time of year.” He chuckled. “Think we’ll get lucky?”

Nyxes. . . Felsin recalled this conversation. As a boy, he’d owned a book filled with illustrations of black horses covered in draconic scales.

They’d had this conversation before their hike. Father had been wearing that same outfit, a new gift from Mother. Cane in hand, he tapped it on the gravel as he began his walk. His final walk.

Felsin stared in horror as Father strode to his death.

“Eros, wait!” Janus called, trotting up the stairs to catch up with the boy.

Head splitting, Felsin squeezed his eyes shut.

This was a memory. No, two memories merging into one.

But evoking did not work like this. Evokers could pull a piece of memory out into life, but they could not manifest one in its entirety.

And they certainly could not replicate people.

Not Eros. Not Veren. Not any soul, dead or alive.

“Janus. . .” Felsin weakly called, struggling to look away from his father’s retreating form.

He gritted his teeth as he strained to move his leg, though it felt like thick mud rooted him in place, stuck between the bottom step of the ancient tower and the Altanese mountains.

Let not the glance behind steal away your chance to change the foretold end.

Father walked not to an accident, but a murder. Someone lay in wait down the trail, ready to plunge a blade into his heart. And Felsin could not recall it. Someone had covered it up.

If he followed, he could see the truth. See the murderer’s face.

Every second Felsin hesitated, Janus drew further away.

Janus. . .

Felsin’s head snapped back. He had entirely forgotten where they had been a moment before. The play, in the Faedrail Opera House . . .

The fire, the destruction. They were in danger. This. . . this was a trap.

Let not the glance behind steal away your chance to change the foretold end.

Dive one step deeper into the past, and Felsin would lose sight of the days to come. The truth could still be found. Justice could be meted out.

Yesterday was gone. Only tomorrow remained.

Gritting his teeth, Felsin studied his father one last time, committing the sight of him to memory.

Felsin’s lungs stung as he dragged his eyes away from his father, away from the mountains. He felt like something within him fractured, and then he was free. The hills were no longer behind him. Only the crumbling tower Janus ascended.

“Janus!” Felsin called again, his voice stronger. Regaining control of his legs, he raced up the fragile steps, reaching out to grab her.

* * *

Eros hopped up the stairs, tripping and teetering on a slight bump in the ancient tower’s floor. Laughing, he continued the climb, more mindful of his footsteps.

“Stairs are hard.” He muttered to himself, exactly as he had eight years ago.

Janus trailed after her little brother, eyeing the spot beside him where she had stood as a child. Why had her memories manifested to haunt her? She could not look away, could not stop chasing him. If she reached out to touch him, would he turn around?

Evoking did not work this way. It should not work this way.

Choking back a sob, Janus flew up the steps, closing the gap between them. She grabbed Eros by the shoulder. Her hand met a soft tunic, slightly too big for the skinny boy. Warmth radiated from the living body beneath it. Tangible. Real.

But despite her efforts, Eros did not budge or glance behind. He instead looked right, intently listening to a description of the tower’s history that a young Janus would have been sharing.

Just a memory.

Janus’ fingers dug into his shoulder. If she held on, if she didn’t let go, would he. . .

Could she bring him back?

“Janus!” Felsin’s voice echoed behind her.

Startled, she whipped around to see Felsin ascending the stairs behind her.

“Where are we?” he asked, panicked.

Eros slipped out of Janus’ grip as he resumed his climb. Hands knit behind his back, he bounced eagerly by the second-story window, gazing out across the desert.

“You’re an evoker.” Felsin insisted. “Get us out of here!”

What had happened before this? Janus could not recall. Had she not always been standing here, in this tower?

No, she had been watching a play. The scene had changed; the soldiers had dragged Burgundy into a burning building. From the stage, fire had spread, consuming the opera.

“Get us out?” Janus repeated. “Why would I want to leave?”

“Janus, this isn’t real. Spirits know what’s happening back at the opera.”

“Isn’t real?” Janus gestured to Eros. “Evoking cannot create life, Felsin. What is this, if not real?”

Felsin reached her and grabbed her arm. “Everything’s the same as it was, no? We can’t change anything—it’s already passed.”

Pulling from his hold, Janus returned to Eros and placed her hands on his shoulders. She ran a hand through his hair, but he did not react to her presence. He laughed at something she’d said, eight years ago.

Wrapping her arms around him, Janus felt hot tears run down her cheeks. Was this a blessing or cruelty, to be allowed this moment?

“I think I understand.” She said shakily. “What Alfaris meant. That I cannot let go. That I can’t see ahead.”

Felsin circled Eros, studying her brother. He looked up at her with soft eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with that. Do you not remember what I said? Someone must remember the dead, lest they be lost. Memories keep them alive.”

“It’s my fault. I’m the one who. . .”

“I was a little brother, once,” Felsin said quietly. “I wouldn’t have wanted my sibling to wallow in guilt. I would have wanted them to make it up to me.”

Make it up to Eros? Janus felt him laugh, shoulders shaking. The kid had been a brat. Felsin was right.

Janus owed Eros. From the unfinished threads of his life, she’d pick up his lost dreams and fulfill them in his stead. It wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough. But this way, she could face him in the afterlife and greet his smile with hers.

Felsin laid his hand on her arm. “Memories aren’t supposed to be like this. You have to let him go. We’re not safe here.”

This had happened before. In the Forebear’s monolith, the tomb had disappeared, and Janus had been transported to a flowering field under a brilliant night sky—the same Alfaris had gazed upon long ago. He had been real, too. A mere few paces away.

The answer struck Janus. The Glass Angel. It had thrummed as the flowering field appeared, and it had vibrated moments before the fire flared and Janus had tumbled from the window.

Janus loosened her grip as Eros darted away, running up the steps.

The topmost would crumble beneath his feet, sending him tumbling to the ground.

His ankle would snap, and Janus’ wrist would fracture.

They’d lie in pain for five minutes before Evander showed up to rescue them—knowing full well they’d snuck out.

Falling. She and Felsin had been falling. Into flame. To their deaths.

Something cracked behind them, and someone shrieked. Janus closed her eyes. This wasn’t real. They were in the theater. They were falling.

Her eyes flew open, and she gasped as she felt the support behind her back dropping away, sending her plunging through the theater toward the burning stage. The floor gave out beneath Felsin’s feet as he grabbed her arm.

Chaotic and unorganized memories flew through Janus’ mind as they plummeted, but one in particular sang above the rest.

Every experience is an asset. Even boring balls. Gemellus had said.

Are you suggesting I open a sinkhole at the ball? Janus asked humorously.

The stage collapsed as the ground beneath them churned, falling away into a massive sinkhole, swallowing everything in its vicinity. The memory of Piona’s lake, sparkling under the sunlight, joined with it. Water burst from underground, surging like a geyser, flooding the growing chasm.

Janus struck the water with a painful splash and sank with debris and rocks. Something grazed her head, and her vision spun. Red mingled with the waves, and stone darkness swallowed her.

* * *

One moment, Felsin had been standing in a Thuatian ruin; the next, he was plummeting through from the third story of the Faedrail Opera House. Within an instant, the seating and stage collapsed into an underground waterway.

He was still braced for impact with the chairs when he struck the water, back slamming into the shattered wood of the submerged seating. Janus sank a few paces away, a stream of blood rising from a wound on her head.

Fighting through the murky water littered with chunks of furniture and stone, Felsin swam to Janus and grabbed her, hauling her to the surface. They broke the water with spluttering gasps.

Reflections of fire burned brightly on the water’s surface. Glancing up, Felsin saw the roof’s support beams falling away, but more than stone plummeted from above -strange sheets of bronze metal tumbled with them.

There was nowhere to go—everything was collapsing. Everything was ablaze.

The roof caved in. The night sky appeared in the newly created gap, stars pouring silver light upon their tomb.

Felsin gazed at them, seeking comfort in their tranquil canvas.

His mind fell quiet, strangely peaceful despite the situation.

For the first time in his life, he finally grasped Alfaris’ teachings.

In this final moment between life and death, he let go of his thoughts and gazed ahead.

The starlight descended from the sky, enveloping everything in a luminous glow. A figure painted the heavens, skeletal and shrouded by dark cloth. Death.

With a final groan, the opera house collapsed, spilling chunks of rock into the water.

A light so bright it cut through stone caught his eye, where a solitary torch clung to a fractured wall. A constellation shone beside it.

The Star. Hope.

The world turned on its side and time itself reversed. The rocks picked themselves back up, rising into the air and piecing the ceiling back together. As though someone had wiped clean the canvas and undone the past few seconds.

The constellation of Death flashed one final time, and the opera house was whole again.

Felsin gasped. He had glimpsed the future. Truly glimpsed it for the first time. Nothing had collapsed yet—they still had time.

Where had the Star been? Spinning around wildly, he searched for the torch, where it clung to a piece of rubble. Grabbing Janus, he dragged her towards it.

The ceiling rumbled again. Cracks streaked through the stone. Death approached.

Shoving Janus against the submerged chunk of wall, Felsin shielded her with his body, watching the sky fall. He closed his eyes, counting the impacts, as water was tossed around them in violent waves.

Alfaris’s mantra had always been meant for this moment. Had Felsin followed his father, they both would have died here.

Whatever his other motives, Felsin’s mentor had always meant to save his life.