Page 77 of Death of the Glass Angel
Talon’s eyes widened with horror. Hand on his dagger, his gaze flew to something behind her. Before Janus could turn, a black-haired man in a dark coat emerged from the shadows behind Talon, jagged blade in hand.
Janus tried to warn Talon, but a hand clad in a thick glove clamped down on her mouth, silencing her. A strong arm pulled her against a cold chest, and steel pressed against her neck. Hardly aware of the dagger at her neck, Janus’s attention settled on the blade hovering behind Talon’s back.
Dropping his dagger, Talon raised his hands. The black-haired man behind him grabbed his arms and yanked them behind his back.
“If you want your friend to live.” The man holding Janus hissed, “You won’t move.”
Staring at Talon’s freckled face and purple eyes, Janus went limp. Her vision blurred as the hand clamped around her mouth fell to her throat, choking the air from her lungs.
The last thing she saw was a jagged blade leveled at Talon’s throat before the world fell dark.
19
Janus
Five years ago. . .
So many people walked the streets, bright smiles on their faces and laughs on their lips. And though the carpenter had lost his wife and the mason his child, you would never read in their eyes a semblance of grief. Were they indifferent, uncaring? Or did they crumble to pieces once the doors shut behind their backs?
Janus’s hands trembled on the edges of her book, and she wiped the beads of sweat growing on her palms on her pants before tightening her hold on the tome.
Some days were more painless than others. Sometimes, it was almost easy to forget. But more often than not, the absence gnawed at Janus like an all-consuming hole growing ever larger in her chest.
A heavy thud startled Janus as Evander dropped a book onto his desk before striding to his office door and throwing it open. Without missing a beat, he whirled around and marched to the window, parting the drapes and throwing the glass panes open. A breeze blustered through, throwing wild Evander’s cloak and neatly kept hair.
Relieved, Evander returned to the pile of books on his desk and gathered them into his arms. He stood before his bookshelf, carefully sorting them on the shelves. Janus shrank back into her armchair, watching him idly.
“Are you alright?” She asked quietly.
“Fine,” Evander answered.
Dropping the matter, Janus fell silent. Grief weighed heavily on both of their shoulders. The palace had not been warm for years.
As each book found its new home on the shelf, Janus noticed Evander left one untouched; it lay by its lonesome on his desk. Slippingoff the armchair, Janus curiously approached the desk, observing the cover of the left-behind book.
Oh. This book detailed ores and minerals found on their continent. This had been Eros’s book. The boy had taken a strange interest in rocks. And though Janus had never found them particularly gripping, she felt a twinge of inquisitiveness today.
“Is this Eros’s book on rocks?” She asked.
“Minerals.” Evander corrected.
Same thing. Janus reached for the book.
“Don’t touch that.” Evander snapped.
Janus froze, hand hovering over the tome’s worn cover. “Why not?”
“Because. . .” Evander’s eyes darted around, and Janus noticed an expression she often wore. He was searching for an answer he didn’t have. “Because you’ll ruin it.”
With a slam, Evander shoved the next book on the shelf and continued his work, eyes fixed forward as if to ignore Janus’s presence. Retracting her hand, Janus eyed the book.
A last remnant of Eros. Perhaps it was better left untouched.
Slinking back to her chair, Janus curled up in its embrace and picked up her book, but the lines of text were little more than unintelligible smudges to her fogged mind. She thumbed aimlessly through the pages.
Her mind dwelt on her brother. On his death. On the fire. On her failure. And the screams from that night echoed in her head, like nails on a chalkboard, as real as though sounding in the room next door.
Pain. Agony. Death. All her fault.
