Page 12 of Death of the Glass Angel
Athelstanis flew about the dance floor with energy Janus did not possess. It felt less like she was dancing, and more like Talon was spinning her around until she saw stars.
Eventually, she figured out the basic steps, but the display could hardly be called elegant. Talon released her when the song finished, and Janus doubled over, catching her breath.
“Not bad.” Talon admired. “You’re salvageable.”
“Have you ever been told,” Janus panted, “You shouldn’t talk to a princess like that?”
“Not that I recall.” He smirked. “How would you like me to talk to you, my lady?”
Janus’ throat dried up. She had no answer to that.
“Shall I request another song?”
“No.” Janus gathered herself and stood. “I’m exhausted.” Noticing Kalid standing nearby, she gratefully turned to him. “Will you take me to my room?”
“Of course, my lady.”
Nodding a quick goodnight at her guide, Janus followed her guard down the hall and into a much quieter room. A wave of relief swept over her when he shut the door, and the din became a murmur.
Leaning on the wall, Janus stared at the ceiling despondently. This ball was going to be hell if a mere inn proved such an obstacle. And if she were expected to dance like that with suitors.
Multiple suitors.
Ellaila save her.
* * *
Sleep evaded Janus. It always did. After tossing and turning for a few hours, Janus got up and yanked her boots on. Maybe a walk would help.
Evander would yell at her. Kalid would be appalled. But Janus doubted anyone had realized the mouse of a woman scurrying to her room had been anyone important.
Pressing a hand to her aching head, she tiptoed down the dark hall and slipped outside. A dry wind swept over the shrublands, rustling the scattered bushes. Small rocks crunched underfoot as she stepped off the porch and wandered away from the road.
Janus’ memories were fuzzy. Some days felt like they’d been stolen away—dizzying empty spots flecked her days. Most recently, she’d awoken to find everyone expected her to set off for a ball, though she had no memory of agreeing or even being informed of such.
Life had been like this since the fire. Since Eros died. Since the day she’d fled from the funeral, tripped, and . . .
And awoke two weeks later, though according to everyone else, she had been there, conscious, talking, and eating the whole time.
Evokers had flawless memories. But Janus could recall only half her life.
Something wet struck her head. Startled, Janus looked up into the starry sky. The faint light of the lantern posts illuminated the shapes of raindrops.
A storm? The sky had been clear when they’d arrived.
Something moved in the shadows atop the inn roof. Had it not begun to rain, Janus would have never noticed them.
A person, aiming a crossbow.
Evoking was a simple thing. Remember something from your life, and with enough concentration, you could make it appear. But Janus never chose simple memories.
Shrieking, Janus recalled a horse-pulled wagon rolling down the road. One appeared beside her, horseless. A bolt thudded into its other side as Janus took shelter behind it.
Something shook the ground nearby—feet landing on rocky sand. A man raced around her cover, sword glinting under starlight. Janus backed away as he lunged, blade raised above his head.
A dagger whistled overhead, landing in the assassin’s shoulder. He staggered off balance, crashing into the carriage. A shadow dashed past Janus, parrying the man’s blade before driving a short sword into his gut. Her savior pulled the blade out as the assassin crumpled, blood gleaming on steel.
A freckled man in a pale blue coat whirled around and stared at Janus like she was the dumbest creature in the country.
