Page 177 of Death of the Glass Angel
Not a hint of malice existed in this child. Entia would have loved him.
“So you want to find Gozt, a city that doesn’t exist. . .” Gemellus mused to himself as he followed the path around the tower. He halted abruptly, spinning around. “Do you want to see something cool?’
“Yeah.” Eros agreed eagerly.
“Promise not to tell Janus?”
“Keeping it secret from Janus just makes it better.”
Gemellus grinned. “Watch this.” He snapped his finger.
Only through illusions did Gemellus’s sight return. Great lights filled the darkness—the place where the lake should be colored in, clear waters manifesting where only darkness had previously been.
Floating islands hung far above his head, with towering metal spires rising from their peaks. Water surged from the lake, flooding the courtyard and flowers with eerie, still water. Edifices spiraled into the sky, brilliantly bronze, gleaming beneath a hidden sun—and at their center, a winged tower ascended the heavens, its face carved with an unmoving clock.
Tiny orbs of white light drifted like snow from on high, and Eros caught one in his hand.
“How. . .” He looked up at the perfectly blue sky. “How did you do that?”
“Magic,” Gemellus smirked.
The kid stumbled into Gemellus’ back, awed by the sight. Steadying him, Gemellus ruffled his hair.
Eros didn’t deserve to die. None of this was his fault. But he would bear the burden, the punishment.
Gemellus closed his eyes.Oh, Entia. . .
Laughing, Eros pointed at something and spoke. But Gemellus didn’t hear him. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out his pocket watch and flipped it open and closed.
Click.Click.
47
Evander
What kind of hell awaited a man who murdered his family? Not merely his younger brother, but now. . . Did Yesharu trap them in time, lost in endlessness, tortured forevermore? It would be no less than he deserved.
Evander hated his reflection. The face that stared back was a lie. To normal eyes, one would see only a well-kept man, his dark hair brushed and groomed, a weariness in his deep brown eyes. Weariness born of responsibility.
How many people were fooled by the facade?
Closing his eyes, Evander fixed his collar and stepped out of his room. Alone in the hall, he touched the pendant hanging under his shirt. Sometimes, running a finger along the glass brought him comfort. Other times, he longed to yank it from his neck and shatter it against the wall.
The sound of chatter grew as the throne room drew near. A pair of guards outside the open doors nodded at Evander as he entered.
Dozens of Thuatian nobles had gathered for today’s meeting. Governors, generals, advisors. . . Each panicked by the news of the attack in Altanbern intended to massacre the Alliance nobility attending the ball.
Father stood by his throne, ensnared in an argument with Lady Heba, the Minister of Evocation. A sharp woman, no doubt, but entirely too forthright and overbearing. Father and Gemellus both had often used Evander to hide from her. Her hawkish nose added a layer of severity to her face as her wrinkled hands waved about wildly.
And Father. . . Father was the picture of a king. Tall and deep-voiced, a patterned pale orange and purple cloak trailing across the floorat his feet. How many people had said the son and father looked precisely alike? Too many to count. But Evander did not believe he would ever inherit the regal bearing that came so naturally to his father.
“Evander. Good.” Lady Heba welcomed him to their conversation. “Talk some sense into your father.”
“What’s wrong?” Evander asked.
Father stared at Heba with hard eyes. “We cannot take rash actions. I need time to consider our options.” He glanced at Evander. “Heba believes we need to seek retribution for the harm done to Janus.”
“And we should!” Heba insisted. “What does it say if we do nothing? We care not for our kin, and others are free to assassinate us without repercussions?”
