Page 172 of Death of the Glass Angel
“Alright,” Valkyrie said. “Talon’s told me much about you. Why don’t you pull a fortune to see us off on our journey?”
“Why not?” Felsin reached into his satchel and pulled out his cards. Shuffling them, he stared up into the stars, feeling the faint resonance between the heavens and the tarots.
Yanking a card free, he chuckled.
A jester, in an endless landscape. TheFool.
How fitting.
45
Des
How do you know it was real? How many times has Gemellus asked me that? Sometimes I wonder. Sometimes, I sit by Janus’s bedside as I did in her youth when I read her and Eros to sleep. Touching her arm grounds me, reminds me what’s real. Or so I believe. How much can we truly trust? How much is a lie? Eventually, right or wrong, you have to decide.
-Excerpt from Prince Evander’s private journal
The wind tousled Des’s hair, blowing down from the snowy mountains with flecks of white. Catching a snowflake in her palm, Des sighed as she watched the quiet, empty streets.
How could it have ended this way?
Unfurling Felsin’s letter, Des reread it.
May your path lead from the tragedy you’ve been promised, towards the hope you deserve. Perhaps I’ll see you there.
A gentle knock rapped at her door, and Gemellus slipped in. his head tilted in her direction. “Waiting for your prince to come save you?”
“Oh, shut up,” Des murmured, swiveling on the bench to face him.
Folding his arms over his vest, Gemellus joined her by the window. “Do you want to give His Majesty the report, or shall I?”
“I’m playing the victim. You give the report.” Biting the inside of her lip, Des studied the worried lines creasing Gemellus’ face. “Is there going to be war?”
“Not immediately. Heras painted herself a fellow victim. In the ensuing confusion, she’ll have plenty of time to finish what she started.”
“Then we should-”
“We should do nothing.” He looked at her sharply. “I’m taking you home. Your Father and his ministers will handle the rest.”
Des fell silent, conceding his point.
Gemellus backed away. “Ah. There’s my cue to leave.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Des called as he fled out her door and shut it behind him.
The window creaked softly as someone pushed it open and stepped inside. Grabbing her dagger, she whirled around and pressed it against the intruder’s neck.
Talon smiled at her, raising his hands playfully. “I surrender.”
“Talon.” Des gasped, lowering the blade. A nasty welt traced across his forehead. “They honored Felsin’s plea, then?”
“The Altanese and their traditions.” He tucked his hands in his pockets and paced around her. “You know how they are.”
Sheathing her blade, Des traced a finger across his wound. “Are you alright?”
“Are you? I heard you got a matching scar.”
“I’m fine.” Des fell silent as Talon brushed her hair aside, examining the fading scar. His hand trailed down her face, and his thumb brushed her cheekbone.
