“But-” Janus protested weakly. Felsin wrapped his arms around her, silencing the rest.
The fuzzy pain in Janus’s head dulled, pressed to his warm, damp chest. Normally, the touch of a man’s muscles and their clear outline through wet cloth would occupy most of Janus’ thoughts.
And it certainly occupied a small corner. But the majority of Janus’ mind filled with a rush of blissful calm—as though the pain of yesterday would fade if only she could remain in his arms long enough.
She wished they’d had more time together. Maybe Janus could have slowly become the woman he deserved.
Felsin grabbed her shoulders tightly, pushing her back to look her in the eye. “Stay with Gem, Janus,” He ordered. “I need to find my family.” Turning away, he left her behind.
“Wait!” Janus broke from Gemellus and followed him. She heard her mentor curse, but he did not stop her.
Felsin pushed through the crowd, searching for familiar faces. He halted in the center of the courtyard. “Mother!” He called, running forward.
An Esseg healer in green tweed sat beside Heras, attending to a bloody wound in her chest, just above her heart. The red fabric of her gown rose and fell as she breathed heavily.
Janus’ gaze drifted from Heras to her son. Brand, his tunic torn and singed, stood guard over an unconscious Talon, a bloody welt torn across his forehead.
Felsin tore away from his mother. “Brand. What are you doing?”
“This one tried to kill us.” Brand snarled.
“Talon would not have attacked without good cause.”
“And what, brother, do you consider good cause?”
Janus tried to go to them, but Gemellus pulled her back.
“Let Felsin handle it.” He whispered into her ear. “The last thing you need now is to make a scene.”
“Why?” Janus spat childishly, struggling to escape. “What if they hurt him?”
“Why?” Gemellus hissed. “Because someone just destroyed the theater housing every noble lord from the visiting alliance. He declared war on them, proved their weakness, and fled before they knew if they should blame one another or an outside force.”
His words sank in, and Janus ceased writhing. Heras was gravely injured. Fire had consumed the theater, while Heras was a mere earthborn, capable of shaping dirt and stone singularly. She could not have been to blame for this.
“Nobody at Valeria ever believed Alfaris,” Gemellus whispered. “It was his greatest strength. He could walk beneath all the world’s notice.”
“But. . . why would he do this?”
“To tear the alliance apart.”
“Was all this a last-minute effort?” Janus panted. “Was my death supposed to start it?”
“Maybe.” Gemellus mused. “Fate is not a script, as Alfaris so loves to tell me.”
Before Janus could ask what he meant, Avalon ran to her side, armor dented in a few places and surcoat singed. She pushed her bangs from her eyes. “Janus. Thank the goddess.” She looked up at Gemellus. “What. . . what happened?”
“We were attacked,” Gemellus answered plainly. “By someone with power, the alliance lacks.
“I can’t believe we wasted so much time chasing Heras.” Avalon looked over at the injured High Chief. “The real instigator slipped all our notice.” She pressed a hand to her head. “I’m going to help look for survivors.”
“Be careful.” Janus pleaded as she walked away.
Tightening his grip on her arm, Gemellus tilted his head to look at her. “What happened? When you vanished.”
“I fell into a memory. We both did.” Janus closed her eyes, trying to explain. “I saw that old tower in Thuatia, the one you took Eros and me to see.” She swallowed. “It was so real. I could feel Eros, touch him.”
“Ah. . . “Gemellus breathed in understanding.
