“It’s not bad,” Geist muttered.
“You’re wrong. Something happened to you during the fighting. You haven’t smelled the same since.”
Chills washed over her body in waves.
Where had her illness come from? She grabbed at her left sleeve and pulled it up, revealing her arm. The sight sickened her, and she caught her breath, unable to think. Her gas-damaged skin had splotches of black that ached like deep bruises all the way up to her elbow.
How?
The dogs.
The monster dogs.
It must have been them. The moment she plunged her hand into the beast’s chest, she had felt their terrible corruption. Her arm trembled with each breath she took. Geist held it close, trying not to think of the all the men she’d known who’d lost limbs to war. Trench foot, bullet poisoning, shrapnel lodged into the bone… all amputees now.
“You’re still bleeding,” Vergess said, pulling her back to reality.
Geist glanced to her hip and leg. Bleeding could be fixed. Could her arm ever recover?
“I need to remove the metal.”
Without much fuss, Geist lay down on her undamaged side, wishing she could disappear into slumberland and wake up with all her problems fixed. Her team. Her body. Everything.
“You said you wanted to develop your apex sorcery?” Vergess asked.
Geist nodded.
“Then stay awake. Apex sorcery is the mastery of one’s own body. It improves strength, endurance, toughness—and protects you from illness.”
She took in a ragged breath, a pulse of pain running through her body. Protects me from illness? She wondered if she could use the magic to fight the pox on her arm. “Didn’t you say I needed to meditate?”
“Yes.”
“How can I do that when I’m sick?” Thinking hurts sometimes.
“When I was young, the Kaiser’s Guard forced me and the others to endure infection after infection. They got us sick on purpose, breaking down our bodies until there wasn’t much left.”
The details of his story played in her fever-stricken mind. “They hurt you?” she asked.
“Yes. But those of us who overcame it never got sick again.”
“So I should…”
“Stay awake. That’s how the magic takes hold. You need to be conscious and fight against it with an iron will. Meditation helps with that.”
“All right,” she murmured. “I will.”
Vergess examined her leg, his fingers grazing the tiny holes on her pants. Blood made everything sticky, and the stiff fabric got in the way of the injury. He took a deep breath in and out.
“I’ll need to remove your…” He took a prolonged second to finish. “… Your trousers.”
There was no one else to do it. Cross couldn’t be summoned, and the medics of Chateau Coppens would report her for being a woman.
“All right,” Geist said. Her heart beat fast, but she knew it could be a side effect of the illness. Even the heat in her face was likely just fever.
Vergess’s hands shook as he undid her belt and zipper. He exposed the flesh of her injured leg, keeping the clothing half on and then pulling her button-down shirt to cover anything that he didn’t need to work on.
“You needn’t worry about your… chastity,” he said in an unsteady voice.
“I trust you,” Geist said in a light breath.
He pulled a knife from his belt and examined the puncture wounds from the stray metal. Pieces of grenade remained lodged in her muscle, and Vergess took his time examining each scratch and gouge to find the source of the injury. The bits of jagged copper and brass were tiny, smaller than a fingernail, but Vergess found them regardless.
Each one he plucked from her flesh made her gasp. But Geist didn’t complain. She had gone through worse, but she grasped the edge of the couch with a white-knuckle grip just the same. Vergess used the knifepoint to loosen the metal, never slicing.
He tossed the scrap onto a nearby table, splattering the pristine oak with dots of crimson. “I’m sorry,” Geist said as Vergess examined another wound. “I shouldn’t have risked the operation to save my brother. It was selfish.”
Vergess didn’t look up from his task. “It’s done. Just make sure you know where your loyalties lie the next time it happens.”
“The others still think you were trying to save him.”
“The others can believe whatever they want to believe, but I didn’t leave my nation and my home behind to risk it all over this operation. I don’t care what Blick thinks.”
His tone, his overpowering seriousness… Geist enjoyed the conviction. There could be no more doubt.
“If my brother is here, my father isn’t far off,” Geist whispered, her thoughts set to the future. She gritted her teeth as a large bit of shrapnel came out of her leg.
“Your father…” Vergess narrowed his gaze. “First Lieutenant Markus Cavell.”
“You know him?”
“He’s a special agent for the Royal House Habsburg-Lorraine. An assassin. A dangerous one, too.”
“Th-that’s right.”
Vergess threw the brass bits onto the table and took a moment to meet her gaze. “Will he try to stop you if he finds out you’re here?”
“Yes,” Geist said, no hesitation in her answer. “He’ll try and take me back to Vienna. I can already hear what he’d say.”
He’d say I was worthless. He’d say I was a disappointment. And then he’d force me back into submission. Like always.
Geist continued. “I know he forced my brother to fight. Dietrich… he’s never had the fighting spirit.” She touched the ribbon on her arm. A craft he had made when their father wasn’t looking.
“He reeked of fear,” Vergess said. He pulled a small roll of gauze from his pocket and wrapped it around Geist’s leg, his eyes somehow on the couch cushions, operating from the peripheral.
The way he acted—the restraint, the almost hesitant nature to his touch—Geist couldn’t help but notice it, even through the pain.
“Do you have any family?” she whispered, needing to know more about him.
“House Richter sends their young sorcerers to join the Kaiser’s Guard. There’s no expectation that they’ll ever come back.”
“You were given away?”
“Yes. So I would be less likely to betray the Kaiser. I haven’t seen or heard from my mother and father since I was eight.” Vergess finished his work, his jaw tight. “That’s why I would never betray the Ethereal Squadron. Where would I go after that? I have no one else.”
“We have each other,” Geist said. “You have the squadron.”
Vergess locked his gaze with hers.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Geist said. “We’ll convince them. Dreamer and Battery already believe. And Victory is a man of reason. And once both his brothers agree, Blick will change too. No one will doubt your loyalty.”
Geist spoke quietly but earnestly, and Vergess kept his focus on her, his face neutral, but Geist saw a passion in his blue eyes she hadn’t seen before. For a long moment she waited, counting the beats of her heart.
He leaned closer, his breath on her chin.
And then she couldn’t count the beats.
“Florence,” he said, his voice low, speaking in German, the gruff language softer than anything she had heard before. “I prayed for years to find someone who could understand. When I’m with you, when I imagine us together, life is worth infinitely more than it was before.”
Vergess slid a hand behind her neck, weaving his fingers through her curly hair, which had finally grown out of its former crew cut in the last few weeks.
“When the Abomination Soldiers subdued me in Verdun, when I became a prisoner, I didn’t care if I died. But then some brazen soldier broke into the bunker and took a bullet for me. Some soldier who knew honor like she knew the breath she took. A woman without compare.”
“Vergess…”
His lips pressed against hers for a moment, testing her, w
arning her; his motions smooth and controlled.
Geist grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him closer. Leopold might have kissed her years ago, but there was nothing to remember about it. Vergess—his taste, his hunger, the way his tongue slid along her lower lip, as if asking to take the intimacy deeper—she shuddered, knowing could never forget such sensations.
But she pulled back, taking a deep breath before meeting his confused stare.
“I want you,” she whispered.
Vergess said nothing for a full second. Then he offered the room a short glance. “Here?” He reached for the top buttons of his shirt, his control waning as his fingers shook.
“No,” Geist said.
“Do you want me to—”
“Please understand. We have to finish the operation.”
He nodded, slow and hesitant. “Yes,” he murmured. “I apologize. I… might’ve been too eager.”
Geist shook her head. “No. Not too eager.” She slid her hand to the base of his neck, her grip weak. “Because I really do want you.”
So many contradictions. If there was no war, if she could do whatever she wanted, then she would stay with Vergess and melt away in his arms until they were one.
But duty came first. Duty always came first.
Vergess took her hand and rubbed at her knuckles. She sat up and brought her lips to his, needing—just one more time—to experience that heat again. Vergess gave what she wanted and more, his hand running the side of her body, feeling the curves she kept hidden, setting her skin on fire. Or perhaps she was still very sick. Geist couldn’t tell, and she didn’t want to find out. All she knew was the fervor of the moment, and she enjoyed it.
Vergess broke away, his breathing ragged and his tone husky. “Don’t,” he said. “If we must wait, you can’t tempt me like this.”
Geist rested back on the couch, her body awash in a million sensations. Her stomach twisted, and she knew she had to focus on recovery.
When Vergess stood to leave, she held out a hand. “Stay,” she whispered. “I’d feel safer knowing you were close.”
Although he hesitated, Vergess took a seat on the edge of the couch, his breathing still heavier than before. He avoiding looking at her straight on when he replied, “I’ll watch over you while you rest, but you have to promise me you’ll focus on that and that alone.”
She chuckled. “I’ll try.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
REGROUP
GEIST’S FEVER BROKE WITH WHEN the sun set. The ache of a long-fought battle remained, but Vergess had been right. Staying awake helped. When she was awake and silently meditating, it was as if her body forged itself into something tougher. It was a battle—her will over the sickness—and the longer she fought, the more the fever waned. At the end, she breathed easier, a cold magic lingering in her blood, killing the last of the sickness.
If I master this further, I may be like Vergess one day. Strong and unbreakable.
Sitting up on her couch, Geist winced as she ran a hand down her leg. The shrapnel had been removed, but the wounds remained painful. Her arm, on the other hand, retained a bit of dark bruising, but the coloration had faded. Did the apex sorcery help her with that as well?
“Are you ready to speak to the others?” Vergess asked. “They’ll want to discuss the future of the operation with you. They’ll want to discuss… me.”
She nodded, ready for Blick.
Vergess helped her to her feet, and she secured her belt back around her waist, making sure to keep it loose enough to hide her curves. Together they left the ballroom antechamber and made their way to one of the designated bedrooms for their team.
Geist stepped in, Vergess right behind her.
Free of fatigue, Geist noticed everything. The four men in the room, Battery, Blick, Victory, and Dreamer, had all taken baths. They waited around in their undergarments—or nothing, depending on the man—like they were waiting in a locker room back at Fort Belleville. Geist had seen such behavior before, and she had avoided any long stares or conversations, but the moment felt different, especially after her intimacy with Vergess.
“You look like shit,” Blick said.
She opened her mouth to give Blick a piece of her mind, then stopped short: the man was wearing nothing but his ID tags. His chiseled form, freshly washed, rested back on his bed, one leg kicked up and the other tossed off to the side. The view left Geist flushed and flooded with guilt. He probably wouldn’t be happy to hear I’m a woman. And Vergess—it feels like a betrayal to even glance at the other men now.
Of all the times, she thought, cursing herself. These kinds of thoughts are why I shouldn’t be fraternizing in the first place. Fuck.
Vergess stepped into the room and glared, his hands curled into tight fists at his sides. “Get dressed,” he barked. He positioned himself between Geist and the others, a slight redness to his face.
The others tensed, each giving him a long stare. Geist wanted to motion for him to stop—there was no way to explain away this behavior now—but all she could do was give him a pleading look.
Now isn’t the time for jealousy!
“Our clothes are being washed,” Blick finally said.
Vergess took a step back, his jaw clenched. Dreamer lifted an eyebrow, a smirk on his face, like he was in on a private joke.
Battery fidgeted on the edge of his bed. Unlike the others, he sat around in his long johns. They were for school boys, but Geist knew why he wore them, despite his age. It was easier to hide the opals lining his spine—and all the hideous scars—in long underwear.
“We should discuss what we’re doing.” Battery glanced over to Geist. “Are you feeling any better?”
“I’ll live,” Geist said, her voice little more than a rasp. “I need water.”
Battery reached for a silver pitcher perched on the edge of the nightstand and grimaced. He instead grabbed the pitcher with his left hand, the side spared from flamethrower’s deadly touch, and passed it over to Geist. She took the container and, without pouring a glass, chugged liquid from the spout. The coolness opened her senses, waking her all the way.
“Thank you.”
The guest room in Chateau Coppens, one of many, had the comfort of its occupants in mind. There were wide beds, though the mattresses had been taken, cushioned chairs on par with thrones, rugs made of vibrant cloth, and electric lighting hanging from the ceiling. A fire crackled in the fireplace at the far end of the room, keeping the place warm.
“We need to clear the air,” Victory said as he stood over the washbasin. He still wore the eyepatch from the battle with the U-boat, and he seemed to be avoiding getting it wet. Instead, he ran a damp cloth across his bare shoulders, lines of water dripping down his chest and soaking into the waistband of his drawers. Geist averted her gaze, hating how naturally her eyes followed the path of the water downward.
I wouldn’t be a lady if I stared at Cross’s man when he was half dressed.
Vergess took a seat on edge of a chair, his body tense and his glare lingering. He couldn’t say another word about their clothing, not without explaining, but it was clear he hated the situation. He glanced to Geist every few seconds, never meeting her eyes, but obviously watching where she looked.
Dreamer waved his hand and clothing appeared across his body before Geist could see what lay beneath. His illusions were a wonderful thing, and Geist almost asked him to dress the others. Instead, she remained quiet—fascinated with the ceiling above her.
“I agree,” she said. “Let’s clear it, then.”
The others gave her their full attention.
Geist continued. “We can’t charge a man with a crime he didn’t commit. Vergess has done nothing wrong.”
Blick scoffed. “He has motive to betray us. See bloody reason.”
“I agree with Geist,” Dreamer interjected. “Vergess’s treachery is but a possibility—a possibility, I should point out, that is available to all men involved in this operation. House Hami
lton has ties to Germany through marriage. And I am but a man from the desert. My loyalty has always been in question.”
“Where’re you going with this?” Blick demanded.
“I’m saying our doubts must be set aside to accomplish our mission. Vergess’s situation is not so unique that we must throw all trust to the wayside.”
Geist smiled. I need to remember to thank the man.
Battery scooted to the edge of his seat. “Look, I’ve worked with Vergess before. And so has Geist.”
Blick stood. “So you’re all against me, is that it?” He turned to Victory. “What about you? You’re always telling me you see horrible futures with that sorcery of yours. Does Vergess betray us in any of them? Huh?”
“I can’t tell for certain,” Victory said. “It’s too blurry. Sometimes I die. Sometimes you die. Sometimes the whole operation fails. But there are many instances where we win, which means he must be trustworthy… at some level.”
“Look, I’m not saying we have to kill him.” Blick threw an arm into the air. “We send him back to Verdun. We tell the commander he let an enemy sorcerer go free.” He glanced over to Geist. “That’s the safest bet, isn’t it? Then he can’t betray us.”
To her surprise, the conversations in the room ceased. The others turned to face Geist with hard-set gazes and intense looks. She was, after all, the one in charge of the operation.
“I agree with Dreamer,” Geist stated. “Vergess has done nothing wrong—sending him away now would be folly. Besides, if Vergess was planning to betray us, it would be easier to do so once he left us. He could ambush us in the dead of night or pick us off from a distance. It’d be better to keep him with us at all times.”
“He can’t attack us if he’s dead,” Blick snapped.
Battery tucked his hands into his armpits. “We aren’t killing one of our own. What’s your problem?”
Before anyone else could speak up, Victory gave a curt nod. “I second Geist’s decision. We can’t charge people for crimes before they commit them, and we sure as hell don’t kill our own. You’re out of line, Blick. If anything, we should send you home. You’re too quick to anger.”
Blick gritted his teeth and turned away.
The Ethereal Squadron: A Wartime Fantasy (The Sorcerers of Verdun) Page 26
