Page 80 of Death of the Glass Angel
“You’re right.” Des realized. The man who’d grabbed her had been a step behind—presumably stalking her before she’d run into Talon. Why target her if she didn’t fit his type?
Talon produced a lockpick from somewhere in his coat and set to unlocking his shackles. “Where were you yesterday, by the way?”
“With Felsin, We-”
“WithFelsin?”
“This isn’t the time to be jealous.”
“I’m not jealous. I thought I told you to stay away from him.”
“Last I checked, he wasn’t the one who threw me in a dungeon.”
“Fair.” Talon reluctantly agreed. His shackles clicked.
Thundering footsteps echoed down the hall. Talon hastily hid his lockpick and swung his arms behind his back again.
“Cooperate.” He whispered.
A pair of human men in plain steel armor approached, unmarked by symbols or colors. Their faces were hidden behind their helms, and Des caught only a hint of dark eyes behind the slits as they unlocked the cells.
Their captors were not rough or abusive. They guided them from the dungeons into remarkably old tunnels. Torches sporadically hung from sconces, providing just enough light for Des to make out the carvings on the walls.
Ghostly figures walked in processions around the borders of the murals. Within, faded carvings of mountains, huts, and trees painted a scene of ancient Altanbern.
They arrived at a crossroads; one guard led Des left while the other guided Talon right.
Worried, Des glanced over her shoulder and met Talon’s gaze, holding it until the darkness swallowed him. Des considered wrenching away from her guard and racing after him. A stupid thought.
“Where are we going?” Des questioned as she snapped her head around.
The guard did not answer. In the distance, Des heard the faint rumblings of activity. A few thuds, low murmurs of distant voices, and shuffling footsteps. A faint crackling echoed through the halls.
Her guide appeared to be deliberately following empty paths that kept Des from the commotion she could overhear. Eventually, they arrived at another door, and the guard knocked twice, paused, and then swung the door open, motioning for Des to enter. Doing as he commanded, she passed into a room that would have enraptured Janus.
Thick pillars supported the ceiling, each carved with faded murals. Something was etched across the ceiling, but so much of it had crumbled that Des could barely make it out.
A man sat in a stone chair, stout with a thin beard. Dark purple robes draped him, cascading over the chair and brushing against the floor. He gestured for Des to sit, and she cautiously lowered herself into the other chair.
“My apologies for the rude introductions, Lady Janus.” The man said. Warm charisma lined his words, yet also a threat. “Cooperate with us, and you will not come to any harm.”
“That’s rather presumptuous,” Des said, taking in his features. Copper skin, dark hair. “I don’t imagine you would dare touch me unless you intend to kill me.”
“I merely wish to ask you a few questions.” The man crossed one leg over the other.
Des caught a glint of metal as the folds of his robes parted. A blade. Weighing her options, Des decided it was best to entertain him, for now.
Janus might have been able to evoke an escape route, but Des could not use magic.
“Are you the one who sent the assassins?” She asked.
“A stupid, shortsighted approach. You’re better left alive.” The man leaned forward. “I promise you will remain that way if you behave.”
Cracking fear traced down her throat. Swallowing the nerves, Des raised her chin. “Someone else sent the assassins, then. You disagreed. Who are you working with?”
Knitting his hands together, he raised his voice. “You are an evoker, yes?”
“I am.” Des lied. “Are you not going to share your name?”
