Page 128 of Death of the Glass Angel
“No,” Alfaris admitted. “Gemellus, until he arrived recently, had never met Heras or her family.”
“Then why did you write to him about it?” Janus pressed. “Your letter. . . it was odd. Like it was code for something else.”
“You presume a lot from a simple letter,” Alfaris said. “I wanted to update Gemellus on Altanese affairs. That’s all.”
Clamping her mouth shut, Janus reviewed the old letter in her mind. Veren had died in a landslide. Felsin had been with him but had survived. No trace of Heras had appeared in the letter’s contents.
“It was a landslide.” Janus blurted out. “Right?”
Alfaris nodded solemnly. “A terrible accident. At least Felsin survived, though it nearly claimed him as well.” He sighed. “Or, at least, that’s the official story. Nobody else was there, after all.”
Narrowing her eyes, Janus attempted to read between his words—if he meant anything by them.
Ignoring her reaction, Alfaris continued. “But, I can’t help but think it’s odd—and unlikely. Like a fire raging in a stone building.”
Janus’s heart skipped a beat, and she ceased breathing for a few seconds. Alfaris’ eyes met hers before drifting away.
“Ah.” Alfaris gasped, gaze fixed on another tomb. “I think I know that name.” He wandered further down the hall.
Throat dry, Janus studied Veren’s tomb. Talon claimed some of Heras’s memories were missing. The day of Veren’s death had been one such memory mysteriously absent from the maevruthan.
Janus brushed the edge of the tomb’s lid, but stopped herself, yanking her hand back. Ancestors were revered in Altanbern. And this tomb housed Felsin’s beloved father. How could Janus think to disturb it?
Which sensation was stronger? The insatiable curiosity? Or the importance of decorum?
Yesharu and Ellaila be damned—Janus had never known decency. Gods knew Evander told her that often enough.
Pushing on the heavy stone, Janus strained to remove the tomb lid. It scraped open, unveiling the well-preserved body within. A lifeless face, eyes open, gazed up at Janus, and she started and backed away, looking on from afar.
Veren did not resemble his children. His skin was darker, his eyes the color of red gems. And unlike the thick curls the rest of his family grew, Veren’s hair was short and straight, neatly kept. He wore the ceremonial attire of the dead—a red tweed wrap to represent his tribe, over pale gold robes.
Something had dented his skull—perhaps the rocks from the landslide. Otherwise, the body was in good condition.
Gemellus had always said much of interest hid behind the mundane. He’d invoked those words whenever Janus overlooked something in her studies. Alfaris had not accidentally brought her here.
Hand trembling, Janus smoothed back the golden robes, examining the corpse’s neck before parting his collar. There. Concealed during preservation, yet clear as day: a wound in his chest that could have only been caused by a bladed weapon. Someone had stabbed him through the heart.
Retracting her hand, Janus pushed the lid back over the coffin, digesting the information.
Felsin had not mentioned his father being attacked. Was he lying? Or did he not know?
“Perhaps I was wrong.” Alfaris’ quiet voice drifted down the hall. “I think it may be starting.”
Janus tensed and retreated, back slamming into the opposite wall. Mist seeped through the stone, though they were deep underground, lining the edges of the floor and ceiling. It thickened with each passing beat, suffocating Janus.
“I would kneel before the dead,” Alfaris advised. “They do not take kindly to disrespect.”
Heart pounding, Janus lowered herself to her knees as the mist condensed and turned white. A spot of darkness disturbed the fog, where Alfaris stood a few paces away. His head dipped in concentration, and then the blanket of fog covered him.
Nothing but white surrounded Janus. Whispers carried through the mist, faint, as though they existed only on the edges of Janus’s mind. Shapes apparated within the cloud, gradually forming into silhouettes of people, marching through the tomb and disappearing into the walls.
Were these truly the souls of the dead? Of those buried within these halls?
Alone in the darkness, Janus’s breath came quickly, loudly, as hysteria set in.
Her heartbeat reverberated in her chest as a phantom figure approached and stood before her. Something in her satchel shook, and she squeezed her eyes shut, hoping they would disappear.
When again her eyes opened, the figure loomed before her, swirling mist taking the shape of legs. Paralyzed with fear, Janus slowly raised her head, terrified bywhat she might see.
