Page 67 of Death of the Glass Angel
“You’d need a wardrobe change.”
Felsin lifted a sleeve. “You’re right. More gold. Maybe a veil.”
Alfaris and Gemellus—a fortune teller and an evoking instructor. How exactly had they met?
As a child, the contents of the letter Alfaris sent Gemellus had been uninteresting. Looking back on it, Janus found the wording odd. Something scratched at her mind, telling her there was a hidden message in the writing, but she could not find it.
Even if Janus’s hunch was wrong, an acquaintance of Gemellus was bound to be interesting. He had to know something of worth; perhaps even who might have sent the assassins.
“And your brother?” Janus asked.
“Brand?” Felsin glanced at her. “What, besides carousing in every tavern with every woman?” His smile slipped. “He’s the clan delegate, settling the disputes between the Kahns and Essegs and all that.”
“Do they fight often?”
“The clans have butt heads every day for the past thousand years. We make our decisions together or not at all.” Felsin sighed. “It takes a long time.”
Janus leaned forward. “You and your brother don’t seem friendly, either.”
“We used to get along famously. He’s been an ass recently. Just changed, almost overnight.” Felsin studied her. “Maybe he thinks you’re fetching. I’ve never seen him stare at a woman the way he stares at you.”
“Oh.” Janus sat back. Someone found her attractive?
“What about you?” Felsin said. “Does anything besides old rocks occupy your mind?”
“I draw sometimes. Most of my books are about magic and history.” She chuckled. “I sit inside and I read. A riveting life, I know.”
“Can I see your drawings?”
Janus flushed. Pulling out her journal, she reluctantly offered it to him.
The forests were light along this mountain road. The path wound through hills and cliffs, leading them to a peak. Felsin flipped through her journal, admiring her sketches of architecture but lingering on the portraits. Talon, Dinu, Avalon. . . Everyone from the ball had at least a rough sketch.
“You always draw them looking so sad.” Felsin pointed out.
“I don’t know any other way to be,” Janus said softly
Felsin’s eyebrows drew together sadly. He lingered on one portrait in particular—a depiction of what Janus imagined Des the Dragon might have looked like, had she been magnificent, rather than yarn.
Sitting up in her saddle, Janus noticed the observatory ahead. A small tower of stacked, uneven stones sat against the cliff’s edge, overlooking the valley.
The Altanese guard fanned out, creating a perimeter around the mountainside, though Janus could not imagine anyone sneaking up on them here. Dismounting Taniyn and handing her reins to Kalid, Janus followed Felsin to the door and watched as he knocked heavily.
A faint ‘come in’ echoed inside, and Felsin pulled a key from his belt and unlocked the door, holding it open for Janus. A surprisingly neat sitting room greeted them, of simple cushioned seats gathered around a fire pit. Their host trotted down a spiral staircase in the corner and curiously observed them.
He was decidedly not the dark-eyed, veil-covered mystic Janus had envisioned. Wrinkles caressed Alfaris’ pale skin, but thick, neatly combed white hair fell over his shoulder in a ponytail. The hue reminded Janus of a stormborn cefra, but his eyes were pure black. They matched his long robes, their ends tattered as though dragged over rough floors one too many times. A flash of silver appeared behind the heavy fabric.
“Felsin,” Alfaris said warmly. “You’ve never brought a guest before.”
“Alfaris.” Felsin bowed with respect. “Princess Janus wanted to see you.”
“Janus,” Alfaris repeated, staring at her. Despite the wrinkles around his eyes and the laugh lines creasing his mouth, he appeared strangely youthful. “I never imagined I’d have the pleasure.”
“Are you a cefra?” Janus asked.
“No.” One side of his mouth rose. “You’re as terrible with manners as they say.”
Biting her tongue, Janus floundered for an apology. She probably should have led with ‘the pleasure’s all mine.’
