Page 147 of Death of the Glass Angel
“I don’t know,” Talon admitted.
“Something’s not right.” He said quietly. “Why do the assassins wait so long before striking again? Why always in public?”
“Why not poison?” Talon murmured. “Why not a blade in the night?”
“Exactly.” Felsin whirled around. “Alfaris can see so much more than I can. Precise moments, down to the minute, years in the future. ‘Fate is not a script.’”
“But we’re in one,” Talon muttered. What a horrifying thought.
“Everything they’ve done leads us to a certain outcome. Maybe it’s not our deaths they want.” Felsin grinned. “But what? What do theyseek? What moment will this lead us to?” His eyes flashed. “Get some rest. We have a bracer to finish.”
Talon thumped his head against the pillow, watching Felsin fly out the door. The man wasexcited.
Gods, was everyone in this city mad?
* * *
Talon had never been in the business of time-intensive, laborious tasks. He had little patience for them. To date, this project would mark his first honest endeavor. Judging from howdelightfulthis experience had been, also his last.
Wiping sweat from his brow, he stepped away from the forge, listening to the thunk of the hammer against the metal sheet. Flexing his tired arm, Felsin ran a hand over the anmarite, admiring his craftsmanship.
“Done?” Talon presumed.
“It’s about as good as we’re going to get.” Felsin nodded. “Unless you want to decorate it? Add a few engravings, maybe some fancy trim?”
“Heavens, no,” Talon said, exasperated. “Far too much effort for something I’m going to hide beneath a sleeve for the rest of my life.”
“If you say so. I just hope this works.” Felsin muttered as he picked up the anmarite bracer and beckoned for Talon’s hand.
Pulling off his coat and rolling up his sleeve, Talon sat at the workbench and laid his arm across the table, unraveling the bandages hiding his unsightly wound. Felsin’s measurements proved accurate; the anmarite bracer slid perfectly onto his arm.
Now came the uncertain part.
Backing away to avoid the ensuing spark, Felsin folded his arms and watched with rapt attention. Taking a deep breath, Talon closed his eyes, focusing on the cold metal painfully brushing against his missing skin. The blood within his arm pulsed with lightning, and to his surprise, he felt the metal shift. Almost as though it were alive.
Eyes flying open, Talon watched as the vambrace settled against his flesh as though called by the blood below. The gap Felsin had leftmelded together as the metal clicked into place, falling even with the uninjured skin on his upper arm and hand.
Fighting back a strangled sound of distress, Talon gripped the workbench’s edge with his other hand until his fingers turned white. He felt like his arm was being cut off. The metal’s squeeze and the storm raging in his blood sent waves of burning agony down his arm.
And then it passed. The discomfort vanished abruptly as the seams between skin and metal disappeared. Though his arm felt much heavier, Talon could still move it without difficulty. To the distant eye, it would appear as though he had forgotten to don every piece of his armor save the left vambrace.
“Whoa.” Felsin breathed, setting down his hammer. “That was unlike anything I’ve ever seen.” His eyes darkened. “And that thing in the tomb was covered in this.”
Standing, Talon tested his arm. The pain had dulled to a throb.
Anmarite.
Talon whipped around, startled by the piercing voice. He spun in place, searching the courtyard for the speaker. It sounded like a young man.
I always wanted to make something with anmarite.
Only Felsin stood in the courtyard, staring at Talon in alarm and amusement, unsure if he should be concerned by Talon’s sudden hysteria.
Who had spoken?
“You okay?” Felsin asked slowly.
“Fine,” Talon assured, casually stretching the new arm.
