Page 103 of Death of the Glass Angel
“This is a dispute amongst our people. Not yours.” Khan answered.
Janus spoke up, though she shrank at the sound of her voice echoing in this hostile space. “What does that mean?”
To her surprise, it was Heras who answered. “The ancestors lay at rest in the Forebear’s Monolith. When accused of a crime, the accuser and accused stand before their tombs and ask them to judge.”
“And they answer?”
“They do,” Heras confirmed.
Hoping to disappear into the folds of the chair’s upholstery, Janus heard the people around her dampen, as though far away, hidden beneath a layer of water. A trial by the ancestors to be accused of guilt? And such certainty they had in its validity.
What if Eros showed up? What if he pointed blame at Janus? Her guilt, plainly revealed to all in the Thruinc alliance.
To learn his spirit lived on in torment and spite. . . nothing frightened Janus more.
“Fine.” Avalon glanced around the table. “But we must be allowed to accompany, to oversee this trial.”
Chief Esseg, his fork frozen in his potatoes, nodded. “All are welcome to observe. The Forebears’ monolith lays bare the soul upon death.”
“This should be interesting.” Paulus returned to his dinner. “I’m eager to hear what your spirits say about the matter.”
Avalon looked to Janus, awaiting her answer. She nodded rigidly, throat closing as it became harder and harder to breathe. Janus wanted to get up and flee, but she was frozen to the spot. Panic consumed her, coating her palms in sweat.
A door slammed open and footsteps clicked across the floor. A smudge of black flew past Janus’ vision as something was tossed onto the table.
A black handkerchief, edges trimmed with golden vines, landed on the table soundlessly. “Sorry to interrupt.” A rich voice, laced with a Sigillite accent, announced. “But I need a moment of the princess’s time.”
Gemellus stood behind the table, dressed in his finest. His blonde waves fell neatly around an open collar, tucked beneath a silken black coat.
Janus closed her eyes in relief. She had never been so glad to see someone in all her life. Slipping into herself, she longed for someone to take the reins, to wrench away the pain.
And they answered.
* * *
Des leaned her head against the wall. Gemellus’ rescue had not been enough to calm Janus’ panic. The girl had withered, the way she always did when she remembered Eros’ death.
From the quiet hall, Des could hear hints of the conversation continuing in the other room. They were still arguing.
“My letter was explicitly clear.” Gemellus placed a hand on his hip. “Stay in your room.”
There was no point in protesting. Des looked down.
“At least all those nights you spent fiddling with my lock paid off.” He chuckled. “Even if you never did break into the vault.”
Des winced. Half her fourth year at Valeria had been spent in isolation for that stunt.
Gemellus leaned down, voice softening. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m fine,” Des said. “What I need is to go home, and, and think.”
“Let me talk with your hosts. Take a breather.” He encouraged. “I’ll come get you if you’re needed.”
“Thank you.” Des breathed, sinking onto the bench.
“Of course, dear.” Gem smiled and returned to the dining hall.
Running her hands over her face, Des tried to relax. This was supposed to have been a fun trip. How had everything gone so wrong?
