Page 42 of Death of the Glass Angel
Stone had saved her twice from death—an earthborn cefra’s magic. Felsin’s magic. Eyes darting around wildly, Janus searched for the golden-eyed prince.
Another shadow emerged from the trees behind Felsin, driving a dagger through his side, spilling blood across his white tunic. Felsin stumbled forward as his assailant ripped the dagger out and grabbed the prince’s collar, intending to slit his throat.
A memory flashed before Janus’ eyes: Ellaila’s grand statue, from which the nooses of Piona’s gallows were hung. Two identical ropes sprang from the boughs overhead, snaring the two assassins’ necks. The men were lifted off their feet and dangled several paces above the forest floor.
Felsin darted forward, kneeling over Janus to shield her from further assault. Thundering footsteps brought Kalid to her side.
One of the assassins sawed through his noose and fell to the ground, the force of his fall throwing off his helm.
He was young, no older than thirty. Brown eyes, brown hair, no remarkable features. But Janus only needed a glimpse of his face to remember it forever.
Brand darted into view, swinging an axe at the assassin, but he dodged away. “See them to safety!” Brand yelled, before pursuing the fleeing assassin.
Where had Brand been during the scuffle? Janus could not recall seeing him.
High above their heads, the other assassin expired, breath strangled from his lungs. Janus started, losing concentration on her spell. The rope vanished, dropping the body to the forest floor with a crunch.
Kalid grabbed Janus and hauled her up. “He’s injured.” Janus gasped. “Not me.”
Barking an order, Kalid sent one of Thuatia’s men to aid Felsin. Janus watched intently, relieved when she saw Felsin nod, indicating the wound was not life-threatening.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she recalled the guard’s face. Someone wanted her dead—needed her dead. But now she knew they sought more than her head.
They wanted Felsin dead, too. An heir whose title was only a formality. An heir who held no power and would never inherit the throne, much like Janus.
Something beyond the obvious motivated her enemy. And that made them entirely more frightening.
12
Talon
Maevruthans are beautiful creations—my personal favorite. A well of memories, a pool of purity. A group of people gather in complete solidarity, surrounded by utter trust. It should have been infallible, but people are eager to prove they are incapable of harmony.
-Excerpt from Lady Entia’s private journal
Sprinting down a sheer mountainside was a fantastic way to get yourself killed. Voices echoed through the snow as Talon skidded down the slope, yanking a dagger from his belt.
The assassin, dressed in Kahn armor, glanced back, and Talon threw.
Thud. The dagger lodged into a tree as the assassin slipped into the woods.
Did Seoras, the wind god, ferry the man’s steps? Darting through the trees, Talon emerged in a clearing where a dirt path led to one of the city’s smaller entrances.
But there was no assassin to be found.
Straightening his hair and catching his breath, Talon tried to figure out where he was. The road curved toward a looming arch of stacked rocks, guarded by cefran warriors in red tweed. The Cefran Enclave, home of the Gaevral clan.
Chieftess Heras’ clan, where all the city’s cefra came to share memories at least once a year.
Jogging forward, Talon spun in a circle. Had the assassin doubled back into the woods? Cursing, he gave up the chase and set his sights on another lead.
Heras’memories were stored in this enclave. Finding the assassin would prove needless if Talon saw within her memories the truth of her strange behavior.
It was, admittedly, a far-fetched hunch. The only crime Heras had committed was staring at Janus in an odd manner. But Talon had no other leads. He doubted Kahn had been brazen enough to send those men—the attire was doubtless an attempt to shift blame.
Brand’s sudden arrival was far more worthy of scrutiny. It hadn’t been easy, tailing Janus through the woods. And all for naught. Talon hadn’t realized Brand’s escort intended to strike until they were upon Janus.
Talon approached the enclave gates, pausing so the guards could search his features. Seeing his brilliant purple eyes, they nodded their welcomes to kin and uncrossed their spears. Bowing graciously, Talon winced as his boot sloshed through a puddle of mud.
