Page 87 of Death of the Glass Angel
Mela crouched at the end of the hall and motioned for Des to do the same. The hall opened into a vast chamber, its ceiling looming overhead, held up by pillars four men could stand side by side within.
Every little sound echoed here. Thus, bangs and crackling carried from the west. A guard walked across the hall from them, obscured behind the pillar, but traceable by his loud footfalls.
Mela pointed south. “Entrance is that way. There’s a guard post, then we’re out. They’ll see us. I can start a fire to distract them while we run.”
“I told you I’m not leaving.” Des shifted forward. “What’s in the other direction?”
Mela grabbed her arm. “Don’t even think about it. There are dozens of men that way.”
“Then maybe Talon is, too.” Des slipped her grip and stood.
Muffling her footsteps, Des ran to the nearest pillar and pressed her back against it, peering around the edge at the patrol. The guard she’d spotted stood by a sconce, relighting his torch. He looked bored, relaxed. Nobody had escaped or broken in before now.
Watching the guard, Des shifted slowly, keeping the pillar between them. Mela joined her, silent as a ghost, though she looked none too happy about it.
Mela tapped Des’ wrist and darted toward the northern tunnel. Holding her breath, Des followed, glancing over her shoulder to see if they’d been followed, but the pillar blocked the guard from sight.
As the dark hall swallowed them, Mela grabbed Des and pulled her against the wall. Light bloomed at the end of the tunnel.
This was a workroom. Two wagons filled with unrefined ore sat nearby, and shelves lined the walls. A couple of fires raged in the forges, providing light and heat. A dozen men in soot-stained clothing sat at workbenches, hunks of stone laid before them and sparks flying from their fingers. Crackling accompanied the magic —the sound Des had heard earlier.
Handtightening on her dagger, Des hastily examined the room. Three passages led from this chamber—two halls and one door. Four well-armed guards watched over the workers.
“We can’t go in there.” Mela hissed. She grabbed Des’ wrist, intending to drag her back.
A glint on the floor caught Des’s eye, where water seeped past her feet. Yet no wetness brushed her boots.
The guards froze as the reflective water filled the chamber, and the men working rose from the worktables, surprised and alarmed. Phantom tendrils raced across the water, gathering at the room’s center, the mirror-like water darkening as a shape emerged from its surface.
It was so much clearer here in a lit chamber rather than seen through pouring rain at night. It towered above them, its body draped in flowing white cloth, the ends tattered and torn, fluttering in an unseen and unfelt breeze. Glassy eyes blazed with strange light, and its feet did not touch the ground, instead hovering a foot above the stone. Shimmering, lustrous armor, the steel gleaming with hints of pale blue, clad its body entirely—as though its armor were as form-fitting as silk or its skin were made of the metal itself. And despite the newfound clarity, a blur concealed its finer features, leaving its head but a void from which inhuman eyes peered.
Those glassy eyes seemed to take in everyone at once—its gaze impossible to follow. The guards backed away, drawing their weapons.
The creature raised its hands, white cloth flowing like heavy robe sleeves below it—reminiscent of curtains fluttering in an abandoned manor. An undeniable theatrics colored its movements like an actor preparing a show.
Janus had fled from Eros, leaving him to his death. Though the danger had been great, though Janus’ life had been threatened, it had not mattered. She should have turned around, braved the flames, and emerged from them with her brother at her side or not at all. It was but one of many regrets pushed onto Des the day her soul had torn itself in two.
Whatever stood in her way, Des was not leaving without Talon. Drawing her blade, she ran forward into the chaos.
22
All
Gemellus was a lying, cynical bastard. But a well-meaning one. And one day, he simply changed, and the man I thought I knew was gone—as if someone else had stepped into his body and taken the reins.
-Professor Aevus’ personal journal
The longer Talon spent in these dim tunnels, the more his memories stirred. His mind wandered as his guard led him away from his cell, imagining fire clinging to the stone, suffocating him. And there was no escape.
The taste of burning caressed his tongue, and the scent of charred wood filled the air. Talon squeezed his eyes shut, repeatedly reminding himself it was not real. The voices drifted over the imagined blaze, chanting.
Fire!
It’s happening again.
He’s going to die.
Talon bumped into his escort, who grabbed his arm and straightened him. Opening his eyes, Talon found himself in a spacious workroom filled with dirty, ragged workers.
