Page 65 of Death of the Glass Angel (Apotheosis #1)
Evander
What kind of hell awaited a man who murdered his family? Not merely his younger brother, but now. . . Did Yesharu trap them in time, lost in endlessness, tortured forevermore? It would be no less than he deserved.
Evander hated his reflection. The face that stared back was a lie. To normal eyes, one would see only a well-kept man, his dark hair brushed and groomed, a weariness in his deep brown eyes. Weariness born of responsibility.
How many people were fooled by the facade?
Closing his eyes, Evander fixed his collar and stepped out of his room. Alone in the hall, he touched the pendant hanging under his shirt. Sometimes, running a finger along the glass brought him comfort. Other times, he longed to yank it from his neck and shatter it against the wall.
The sound of chatter grew as the throne room drew near. A pair of guards outside the open doors nodded at Evander as he entered.
Dozens of Thuatian nobles had gathered for today’s meeting. Governors, generals, advisors. . . Each panicked by the news of the attack in Altanbern intended to massacre the Alliance nobility attending the ball.
Father stood by his throne, ensnared in an argument with Lady Heba, the Minister of Evocation.
A sharp woman, no doubt, but entirely too forthright and overbearing.
Father and Gemellus both had often used Evander to hide from her.
Her hawkish nose added a layer of severity to her face as her wrinkled hands waved about wildly.
And Father. . . Father was the picture of a king.
Tall and deep-voiced, a patterned pale orange and purple cloak trailing across the floor at his feet.
How many people had said the son and father looked precisely alike?
Too many to count. But Evander did not believe he would ever inherit the regal bearing that came so naturally to his father.
“Evander. Good.” Lady Heba welcomed him to their conversation. “Talk some sense into your father.”
“What’s wrong?” Evander asked.
Father stared at Heba with hard eyes. “We cannot take rash actions. I need time to consider our options.” He glanced at Evander. “Heba believes we need to seek retribution for the harm done to Janus.”
“And we should!” Heba insisted. “What does it say if we do nothing? We care not for our kin, and others are free to assassinate us without repercussions?”
“Father’s right, Heba.” Evander interrupted. “If we attack Altanbern, we’ll only make matters worse.”
As he finished the thought, Evander’s eyes drifted onto the throne before rising to the alcove above it. Under the light of the setting sun, it sat in shadow. Perfect.
Lady Heba opened her mouth to begin another rant, but Evander cut her off. “Heba, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I need to speak with my father.”
Snapping her mouth shut, Heba glanced between them before stepping away, offering a polite nod before joining another group.
“I see order has dissolved.” Evander stood opposite his father, gently encouraging him to shift positions.
Luckily, Father moved exactly as Evander hoped, placing his back to the throne and the alcove above. “This is. . . disastrous.” Father rubbed his nose therapeutically. “Thank Ellaila Janus is alright. I’m not sure what I would have done if we’d lost her.”
“Neither would I.” Evander quietly agreed. He knew danger awaited Janus in Altanbern; he’d sent Talon to protect her. But never in his life would he have imagined such a catastrophe.
“I want to hear her account.” Father decided. “Janus is a bright girl, if a little scatterbrained. And Gemellus can fill in any gaps. Once we better grasp the situation, we can decide the next steps.”
“Right. . . “ Evander played with the string of his pendant, forcing himself to avoid looking at the alcove.
Use not your memory, Gemellus had said. A difficult task for an evoker, I know. Remember life as those born without magic do—flawed, blurred. Imperfect.
“Are you alright?” Father asked. “Don’t tell me you’ve brought worse news.”
It required a great deal of willpower for Evander to raise his chin and face his father. “I’m. . .” He could not find the words.
Fatherly concern replaced the kingly visage. “Evander?”
“I’m sorry, Father.” Evander finally said quietly, barely a whisper.
There were many words Evander wanted to say but could not. He remembered so vividly the last time he’d seen Eros. The kid had skipped into his office, bored. Evander had sent him away.
How desperately he wished he’d said the words—hugged his brother one last time.
But there were too many people around to make a scene, now. Evander merely smiled at his father as he pressed his hand against the necklace.
An arrow appeared in the darkness of the alcove, already mid-flight. It soared across the throne room in a blink, piercing through the king’s neck before driving through Evander’s shoulder. Father’s blood splashed across his face before the king’s limp body fell forward onto his.
The arrow broke and jarred loose from Evander’s shoulder as he struck the ground. Gritting his teeth, he bit back the pain as screams erupted from those around the room. Guards piled into the room while guests fled for their lives.
A glimmer of good news soared above the chaos. Evander heard a guard yell, “Up there! It came from up there!”
His misdirection had worked. No one would suspect the assassin was Evander himself.
Someone pulled Father off of Evander while another dropped to their knees beside Evander and packed the bleeding wound, but Evander hardly registered them. His attention was wholly on the king.
Dead. Pierced through the jugular, Father had lived for perhaps a few seconds before expiring.
I’m sorry, Father. Evander thought the words he had not been able to say. But I need your crown.
Poor Janus. How relieved she probably felt right now, traveling home in the safety of Gemellus’ company, eager to leave the horror of the ball behind. Instead, she would return to a funeral.
No nest awaited her, safe and warm, but a farce. A viper hid amongst the boughs. And Janus trusted it with all her heart.
To be continued in
Echoes of the Eternal City
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