Page 41 of Death of the Glass Angel
He looked like he intended to launch into a detailed account, but chuckled. “I won’t bore you with a history lesson.”
“I’m interested.” Janus insisted, shifting to get a better view of the crumbling roof.
Sitting on a broken pillar, Felsin followed her gaze. “The ancestors willed it.”
“They did?” Janus chortled, and immediately regretted it.
Felsin’s eye twitched. He took their belief in the dead seriously. “Yes. All the clan’s shamans received the same message: the clans were to join hands or perish.”
Choosing her words carefully, Janus paused drawing. “Why? Did some great catastrophe loom on the horizon?”
“Maybe it did. After a few years, the chiefs listened. And the Kahn chief who didn’t was thrown out by his people.” Felsin eyed the crumbled door frame. “The Empire had been preparing to launch a war of conquest on us. Seeing us unite, they hesitated, and in that hesitance, Thuatia began its resistance.” He smirked. “You know how the rest goes.”
“The Empire split apart, and an Esseg stepped up to create the Alliance.” Janus finished. “Maybe your spirits know something after all.”
“Maybe they do.”
Turning back to the ruins, Janus finished tracing every detail, down to the vines growing thick over the crumbling archways. A shadow stretched over the grass as Felsin looked over her shoulder.
“You’re good at that.” He marveled.
“I had to learn.” Janus tapped her quill on the page. “Part of the fascination is wondering what it looked like in its prime. Only my imagination can give me the answer, so. . .” She gestured to her pictures.
Felsin smiled at her, but Janus couldn’t read his expression.
“What?” She looked down, twirling a strand of her hair.
“You talk about old rocks with such enthusiasm. It’s cute.”
“Old rocks?” Janus’ chin jerked up. “They’re not. . .” She trailed off, noticing people approaching.
Felsin turned around. “Brand? What are you doing here?”
A red-headed cefra with tousled hair and a well-muscled frame stalked toward them, fur cloak billowing behind him. Two Altanese guards trailed the prince, wearing yellow tweed wrapped around leather armor—Khan soldiers.
The cefra’s features matched Felsin’s. They were brothers.
“Checking on you,” Brand said. “Or rather, Princess Janus. A woman in danger should not be out here with so little in the way of protection.”
“She has both her guards and mine,” Felsin assured him, eyeing the two soldiers.
Brand’s scarlet eyes flicked to Janus, but he said nothing.
“Are you insinuating she isn’t safe with me?” Felsin laughed bitterly. “What, do you think I sent the assassins?”
“I think you’re naive, brother,” Brand said. His two guards strode toward Janus. “I think you care more for the dead than the living.”
“What’s-” Janus began.
She didn’t get to finish.
One of the Kahn soldiers grabbed her cloak and yanked her toward him. A glint of steel flashed before her eyes as a knife appeared at her throat and ripped across her jugular.
The blade’s tip drew blood before stone erupted from the steel, encasing the sharpened edge in smooth rock. It hurt like hell as it thudded against Janus’ throat, but it only bruised the skin instead of spilling her lifeblood.
Choking, Janus grabbed at her throat as the assailant released her. Her foot thudded into a root, and she fell, landing on her side. A shadow leaped atop her, dagger raised.
The dagger flew from his hand as a pillar of stone tore up from the mud and pierced his palm. The assassin’s bones crunched, and he grabbed his bloody hand in pain.
