Page 157 of Death of the Glass Angel
Annoyed, Des tried to express her anger, but the breath she exhaled sounded more like a laugh than a snarl. Smiling, Talon took her arm and gently applied the cold salve to her burn before wrapping it gently.
His fingers lingered on her skin, and his eyes flicked up to meet hers. “Still in the mood for a dance?” He asked softly.
“Might be our last chance.”
“Mhm.”
Talon took her waist and lifted her off the ledge, setting her on the ground. Wrapping an arm around her, he pulled her close, swaying her to the distant sounds of the quartet playing inside.
Des leaned against his chest, nestling her head beneath his chin. Tomorrow, the nobles would gather to attend a play. That night, they would bid farewell, toasting another finale to the Badulf-Esseg ball.
And she and Talon would part ways, forever.
He led the life she yearned for. And if she closed her eyes tightly enough, she could envision them living it together. A life where they escaped the shadows, a life where nothing tore them apart—least of all themselves.
Talon tilted her chin up and kissed her, a lingering embrace Des let herself be consumed by. All her troubles faded away, the cold ballroom vanished, leaving them alone against the night.
39
Felsin
“Ilove you,” Heras said fondly.
Felsin stared at his mother, wide-eyed. When was the last time she had said that? Silhouetted in the door frame of his balcony, she looked almost as she had in his youth. Less of a Royal Chief, more of a mother.
“I love you too, Mom,” Felsin said uncertainly.
“Try to sound like you mean it.” Heras walked over, arms crossed over her tartan robe.
“Is something wrong?”
“No.” Heras stood by the banister, looking up at the stars. “I just feel like we’ve been distant lately.”
Reaching into his pocket, Felsin brushed his deck of cards. “Why haven’t you told me?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Told you what?”
“What you saw. Why haven’t you told me?”
Heras’s iron eyes lowered. “Alfaris taught you to see the way he does. So look up. See for yourself.”
She turned abruptly, and Felsin caught her arm. “Why would you resort to silencing me before talking to me?”
“The ancestors spoke, Felsin.” Heras’ voice was a low whisper. “I have not lifted a finger to harm you. But I will find the one responsible.”
“The one who works for you? I remember him. Castelmar. If only briefly.”
“A chance encounter.” Heras studied his face. “I have never known my youngest son to be anything but sure. So sure of himself. He never cared that he was different; he never doubted his choices.”
“Enough riddles, mother.” Felsin spat. “I’m not going to let you hurt her.”
Heras’ eyes narrowed. “You always berated me, telling me the ancestor’s word superseded all. Now you doubt them? Now, you agree they are wrong?”
Felsin released her, eyes darting away.
“Choose the path behind or the road ahead,” Heras warned. “And let go the other.” She stepped through the door, leaving him alone on the balcony.
Darkness fell over him. Studying the door, every line in its wood, Felsin tried to decide who he believed.
