Page 36 of Death of the Glass Angel
A flash of fire erupted on Valkyrie’s fingertip as she pulled out a cigar and lit it. Talon flinched beneath the flame’s glow and shimmied a step away from her.
Why is he scared?The voices whispered.
He should jump.
Irritating, repetitive. Talon wished they’d stop. He rolled his tongue in his mouth as it dried out, the taste of smoke infecting it. The scent of burning wood carried on the wind, far more potent than what Valkyrie’s cigar should have produced.
Talon swallowed, forcing back his memories.
Letting out a puff of smoke, Valkyrie’s hand drooped. “Well?”
“You know I can’t say no to a gamble.”
“Ten gold says I’ll find something of worth investigating this.” She waved the missive.
“Twenty gold says you’re wrong.”
“Deal.” She tried to blow a circle of smoke, but it emerged more like a squiggle. “I’m Lady Mela of House Parnesius, by the way.”
“Parnesius?” Talon whistled. “How did Dove get you that?”
“I’m just a lesser cousin. The prince likes me for my personality.” She smirked. “Should we make each other’s acquaintance at the next ball? Paulus is skipping the hunt.”
“I’ll save you a dance,” Talon promised.
“Bet you five gold you’ll forget.”
“Down, girl. You’ll lose your entire purse at this rate.”
Chuckling, Valkyrie dropped her cigar and waltzed away, disappearing down a set of stairs.
Taking a final glance over the ledge, Talon gripped the stone so tightly it dug into his skin. Fire paralyzed him to this day, yet he harbored no fear of heights.
Strange, how some memories lingered like blood stains on stone. Others faded, washed away by time and rain.
Sighing, Talon returned to the princess’s suite. There was a chance, however slim, that Des would awaken in the night to see if he was still there.
The guard on duty nodded and let Talon in, and he quietly crept through the manor into the parlor. Shrugging off his coat, he laid it across the back of a chair. As he loosened his cuffs, the sound of footsteps and a thud caught his ear, and he wandered back into the foyer.
Des stood by the fire, warming a kettle over the heat, her old maid insisting she return to bed. With a sharp order, Des shooed her off. Throwing up her hands in defeat, Raja walked away.
“Can’t sleep?” Talon asked, approaching Des.
“No. It’s too cold,” Des said, pouring hot water from the kettle into a mug. “I’m not used to this frigid air.”
“Probably because you ran around barefoot in a backless dress.”
“I felt fine, then. Adrenaline keeps me plenty warm.” Her brown eyes, now washed of makeup, flicked up at him. “Sheets do not.” Grabbing her mug, she returned to her room.
Her body language was relaxed, not dismissive. She wanted him to follow. Leaning against the door frame, Talon crossed his ankles. “I can think of a few ways to keep warm,” He lost his train of thought upon noticing a small knitted creature lying on her bedside table.
It was a little dragon. Well-used, judging from the loose threads around its button eyes and the hole in one of its wings. Des snatched it and tucked it behind her back. “What?” She barked.
“Who’s that?” Talon asked.
“She’s. . .” Des’s shoulders slumped, defeated. “Des.”
“You named it after yourself? And I thought I was vain.”
