Page 39 of Death of the Glass Angel
Names drifted at the back of Janus’ mind. Avalon. Felsin. She had met them before, but the memory was hazy.
A booming voice interrupted her thoughts. “The honored guest arrives!” A broad man in a yellow kilt trudged to her side and clapped her back hard enough to send her sprawling. “Are you sure you want to sit this one out?”
Yellow kilt, commanding voice. Janus could surmise this was the Kahn Chief.
“I’m sure.” She stood on her tiptoes to meet his eyes.
“Maybe you’ll be back in time to see our war prizes.” The Kahn Chief winked at her with another heavy clap on her shoulder.
“Enjoy your ride.” Avalon bowed and walked away with the chief.
“We can set out once they funnel out,” Felsin nodded at the cluster of hunters, “But there’s something I need to get before we leave.”
* * *
When the handsome prince of Altanbern left to retrieve a forgotten item, Janus had not been expecting a cat.
A rather strange-looking cat. One of its big, black eyes drifted lazily off to one side. A veritable orb of white fur, the cat’s general shape could be summed up as a ball with legs.
The tiny, fluffy white cat slept soundly in Felsin’s bag, ears sticking out of the flaps.
“Is there a particular reason you needed the cat?” Janus asked, stepping over a rock.
“Sors goes with me everywhere,” Felsin explained. “He’s. . . not an ordinary cat.”
Wondering if Felsin was pulling her leg, Janus reached over and ruffled the cat’s ears. Eros had always wanted a pet. He probably would have loved this little cat.
Throat suddenly dry, Janus swallowed and stared at the woodline. She had trouble keeping eye contact with Felsin, partly because of how vibrant his eyes were, and partly because of his half-open shirt.
Gods, but this place was gorgeous. Snow-powdered mountains loomed all around them, and trees grew in thick, deep green clusters. A well-traveled path carried them up and around one of the mountains.
Shouting and pounding hooves sounded below as the hunting party rode through the valley. Janus peered over the edge, watching the colorful tabards of the noble party pass beneath them.
“You mentioned something I’d like,” Janus said. “What?”
“It’s a surprise,” Felsin replied.
Glancing behind her, Janus could see the distant shapes of her guards watching them. She really wished she didn’t have to take them everywhere, but wasn’t so stupid as to run off alone when assassins hunted her.
Her boot rammed into an uneven stone, and she tripped up the mountain. Felsin caught her arm, steadying her. “You alright?”
“Oh, yeah.” She chuckled. “Happens all the time.” Noticing a strange tattoo on his arm, she tilted her head. “What’s that?”
“This?” Pulling up his sleeve, Felsin revealed a fascinating image. A great winged being, trapped within an intricate frame, its eyes covered with a cloth. “I suppose someone was going to bring it up sooner or later.” He looked at her seriously. “I’m a fortune teller.”
Janus ducked under a low branch. “Really?”
“No, but that’s what Avalon, my brother. . . really anyone will tell you. They think it’s hilarious.” He rolled his eyes. “I read the stars and their cards. This one,” He pointed to the tattoo, “is my favorite.”
“What does it mean?”
“Fulfillment. Purpose.” He said. “I don’t draw it very often.”
Struggling up a steep slope, Janus’ breath emerged strained. “Can you tell my fortune?”
“I don’t see why not.” He chuckled. “It might not be as exciting as you’re imagining.”
“I’m imagining a crystal ball and candles in low lighting. Some Athelstani performers toss carved rat bones.”
