Storms of Lazarus (Shadows of Asphodel, Book 2)

by Karen Kincy

  “Prussia?” he said. “I doubt they are ready for me.”

  On its final descent, the USS Jupiter glided low over the lagoon. It hovered over a pebbled beach and silenced its engines. Landing lines dropped, and men on the ground walked the airship into an immense shed.

  Ardis and Wendel disembarked from the airship together. Krampus perched on Wendel’s shoulder. The raven gurgled like a pigeon, the feathers at his throat bristling. Konstantin halted them at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Your minion stays outside,” Konstantin said.

  Wendel managed to look worthy of a halo. “Who? Krampus?”

  A crimson blush colored Konstantin’s face. He jabbed his finger at the raven, but Tesla strode down the stairs on his lanky legs.

  “Mr. Tesla!” Konstantin said. “Ready for the tour?”

  Tesla smiled. “Quite.”

  When they stepped from the airship shed, a bitter wind whipped their hair and stung their eyes. Ardis squinted and lowered her head. Krampus leapt into the air and sliced sideways through the wind. The raven vanished in the trees. They hurried across a gloomy field to a shipyard on the lagoon. A giant industrial building dominated the scene. As they walked closer, Ardis realized it had to be a roofed drydock.

  Two guards bundled in furs saluted them at the doors.

  “Archmage,” one of the guards said. “Welcome back.”

  Konstantin squared his shoulders. “Mr. Tesla will be touring the facilities.”

  The guards hauled open the door with the groan of heavy steel. Tesla glanced at Ardis and waved her onward like a gentleman. She stepped into the drydock, but she didn’t make it far before she stumbled to a halt.

  A gargantuan automaton dominated the space.

  It towered over thirty feet tall, its massive metal feet planted on the concrete, its hollow head nearly bumping the rafters. A sputtering of sparks glittered from the automaton’s face as an engineer welded steel in the cockpit. It looked like a brutally effective work of engineering, still all raw wires and rough steel.

  Tesla stroked his mustache. “Remarkable!”

  “Isn’t it?” Konstantin said.

  The archmage ran across the floor, his coat flying behind him, and patted the automaton’s foot like an adoring father.

  “Our latest automaton prototype,” Konstantin said.

  Wendel sneered at the automaton with obligatory disdain, though the widening of his eyes betrayed his wariness. Ardis judged Wendel to be six feet tall, but his head had no hope of reaching the automaton’s knee.

  Tesla stood with his hands on his hips and looked the automaton up and down.

  “Is this prototype operational?” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” Konstantin said. “Care for a demonstration?”

  “Please.”

  Konstantin sprang into action. He signaled for the engineer to stop welding in the cockpit, then flagged down another underling.

  “Find Commander Volkova,” Konstantin said.

  The underling saluted and scurried away.

  “Pardon me,” Wendel said, “but isn’t Volkova a Russian name?”

  Konstantin glared at the necromancer. “Natalya Volkova has worked for the archmages for years. Her loyalty is absolute. She would never sabotage the prototypes, not even to protest an army of mechanical men.”

  Wendel coughed, since he had done exactly that.

  “Wait,” Ardis said. “Natalya Volkova?”

  She couldn’t say she actually wanted to find Natalya, not after fighting her in the cemetery. Or fighting her on that ship to London.

  “Speak of the devil,” Wendel said.

  Cursing her luck, Ardis gritted her teeth and turned around.

  Natalya Volkova advanced on them. She had a tailored black uniform, a rapier, and a look colder than a glacier. Her blonde hair gleamed blue beneath the fluorescent. Her hand closed on the hilt of her rapier.

  Ardis touched her cheek, remembering that blade’s paralyzing sting.

  “Archmage.” Natalya saluted somewhat casually. “Reporting for duty, sir.”

  Konstantin returned the salute. “Commander Volkova.”

  “Why is she here?” Natalya challenged Ardis with a stare. “Are you lost, darling?”

  Damn. This wasn’t going to be easy, was it?

  “I’m here to work for you, Commander,” Ardis said. “Archmage Margareta assigned me to be an automaton test pilot.”

  Natalya flicked her eyebrows upward, then threw back her head and laughed.

  “You?” she said. “Working for me?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Konstantin smoothed his hair. “We don’t want to keep Mr. Tesla waiting. Natalya, I want you to pilot the prototype.”

  “Which one?” Natalya said.

  “The Colossus.”

  Natalya had a crooked smirk. “Yes, sir.”

  Commander Volkova swaggered to the prototype, climbed a stairwell in the scaffolding, and crossed a gangway to the cockpit. Konstantin sat in a chair and wheeled himself over to a desk with a wireless telegraph.

  Tesla clasped his hands behind his back and bent over the archmage’s shoulder.

  “How do you control the automatons?” he said.

  “Technomancy.” Konstantin’s face reddened. “Though the control systems in the automatons still have a slight issue with interference. As a consequence, we can’t operate more than one prototype at the same time.”

  Tesla gazed at the Colossus. “And the power?”

  “Hybrid,” Konstantin said. “Electricity and technomancy.”

  With a rumble, the Colossus automaton hummed to life. A light shone inside the barebones cockpit, illuminating Natalya’s face. Konstantin telegraphed a message and held the wireless receiver to his ear.

  “Ready?” Konstantin said. “Everyone clear the way.”

  Ardis hurried to stand by the archmage. Wendel lurked behind Tesla.

  Pneumatics hissing and steel groaning in protest, the automaton disengaged from the scaffold. Its first footfall boomed against the concrete. The automaton crossed the room in three easy strides and towered over them. Ardis backed away out of instinct. The automaton saluted, the naked gears whirring in its arm.

  High in the cockpit, Natalya waved down at them.

  “A most impressive demonstration,” Tesla said.

  Konstantin’s face flamed. “Thank you,” he stammered. “It would be my pleasure to show you more of Project Lazarus.”

  Tesla nodded. “I’m particularly interested in your control systems.”

  Konstantin fished a pocketwatch from his coat and clicked open the case.

  “Perhaps we might talk more at the castle?” he said.

  “Certainly,” Tesla said.

  His eyes shadowed, Wendel stepped between the two of them.

  “The castle?” he said. “Why?”

  Konstantin picked at a thread on his sleeve. “We were invited to dinner.”

  “We were?”

  “Everyone, that is, except you.”

  Hurt flashed across Wendel’s face.

  “Your family still believes you to be dead,” Konstantin said. “You should be the one to inform them of the truth.”

  Wendel stared at his boots and failed to find a sarcastic retort.

  ~

  Night fell on Königsberg. Hail bounced off the cobblestones and rattled on the roof of their sleek black automobile. Ardis peered out the window at the brick buildings, wrought-iron lampposts, and townspeople shielding their heads with umbrellas or newspapers. It hardly looked like a city under threat of invasion.

  Wendel sat with his eyes shut, his cheek resting against the leather of the seat.

  Ardis admired how handsome he looked in a black swallowtail coat and white waistcoat. They had both bought eveningwear suitable for tonight, though she was less fond of her gown. She smoothed the tangerine silk across her lap, then tugged her shawl around her shoulders. Gowns always felt too flimsy. She hadn’t bothered with gloves, j
ewelry, or heeled shoes, but she had brought her sword in its scabbard.

  To hell with the latest fashion.

  “How close are we to the castle?” Ardis said.

  Wendel didn’t even look. “Close.”

  “Don’t be sarcastic.”

  Wendel’s jaw tightened, and he opened his eyes to give her a cool look.

  “Go on without me,” he said.

  Ardis snorted. “You know Konstantin won’t like that. And he won’t leave you alone with Project Lazarus. Not after last time.”

  Wendel glared out the window. “You know why I did it.”

  “That doesn’t make it right.”

  He drummed his fingers on his knee. “Sabotaging the automatons accomplished nothing. I was foolish to think it would slow the war.”

  “With the Russians knocking,” she said, “now we need the automatons.”

  “Need?” He stared into her eyes. “Do we need to find new ways to die?”

  She didn’t look away. “That’s bleak even for you. I prefer to think of ways to survive.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  “Breathe,” she said. “Tonight won’t kill you.”

  Wendel worked his jaw like he was chewing on his words.

  “I don’t want to go home,” he said. “It isn’t home anymore.”

  She reached across and clasped his hand. “I know.”

  The automobile rolled to a stop. They glanced out the window.

  Königsberg Castle loomed over the city. Its towers disappeared in the underbelly of the clouds. Ardis almost expected lightning to flash. The driver opened the door of the auto, and they stepped into the wind and the hail.

  Ardis tucked her sword into the sash of her gown and faced the weather.

  “There’s Konstantin,” she said.

  The archmage hurried toward the doors of the castle. Himmel and Tesla followed him.

  “Pardon?” Wendel said by her ear.

  He obviously hadn’t heard her over the weather. She grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the castle’s doors. The closer they walked, the tighter his grip became. Finally, she twisted her fingers free and winced.

  Wendel didn’t notice, his stare locked on the castle. He faltered by the door, then pressed his hand to the wood and pushed it open. He held the door for Ardis. She stepped into the castle, glancing at him as she passed.

  She could see it in his eyes—the urge to run and not stop running.

  “Wendel,” she said.

  He blinked, lowered his head, and followed her into the castle. The door shut behind them with a resounding thud.

  When Ardis looked around, she gasped.

  She had been in one or two castles before, but none nearly so grand as Königsberg. The entrance hall stretched before them with darkly paneled walls and richly carpeted floors. Candles glowed like a constellation of stars. The air felt warm on her rain-chilled skin, scented with beeswax and an aroma like faded rose perfume.

  “What a beautiful castle,” Ardis whispered.

  “Why are you whispering?” Wendel said. “This isn’t a church.”

  He glanced around with supreme disinterest. But even with his scars and his ragged hair, she could see that he had belonged here once, long ago. It wasn’t hard to imagine him as a prince, wearing a prince’s regalia.

  Wendel’s eyebrows descended. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  Ardis didn’t know how to tell him any of it without sounding hopelessly sad. He touched her arm with his fingertips.

  “Are you all right?” he said.

  His concern, and his complete disregard for his own feelings, made her smile.

  “Don’t worry about me,” Ardis said. “We have to find the dining room.”

  Wendel didn’t seem convinced, but he looked away.

  “The castle has more than one dining room,” he said.

  “I should have known.”

  “We should go to the drawing room. Guests gather there before dinner.”

  Wendel turned right and walked down a hallway guarded by suits of armor. Ardis traced her fingers over the engraved and gilded armor. It must have cost a king’s ransom only a few centuries ago. Wendel halted outside a closed door. Light slivered through the crack under the door and shone on the toes of his shoes.

  Ardis tilted her head toward the murmur of conversation.

  “I hear them,” she said.

  Wendel’s hand closed on the doorknob. He stood that way for a silent moment, his eyes distant, and rubbed his thumb over the polished brass. Then he opened the door and stepped aside with a bow of his head.

  “Ladies first,” Wendel said.

  Ardis rolled her eyes. “I’m hardly a lady.”

  She tugged her shawl straight and walked into the drawing room.

  A chandelier shimmered like a cascade of crystal from a ceiling adorned with plasterwork angels. Tesla leaned against an ornate fireplace, his elbow on a dragon carved from granite. Konstantin and Himmel sat shoulder to shoulder on a gilded loveseat, talking with a raven-haired lady in a tiara—Juliana, Princess of Prussia. Wendel’s sister. Behind her stood Wolfram, Prince of Prussia. Wendel’s little brother.

  Wendel lingered on the threshold. All but invisible to his family.

  “Introduce yourself,” Ardis murmured.

  Wendel sucked in a slow breath, then strode into the center of the drawing room and brought the conversation to a halt.

  Perhaps that wasn’t such a good suggestion.

  “Good evening, everyone,” Wendel said. “I’m back.”

  A glass shattered. Wine darkened the floor like a bloodstain. Juliana sprang to her feet as if stung, her earrings swinging.

  “How are you still alive?” Juliana said.

  Wendel sneered. “Pardon?”

  “You burned that ballroom in Vienna to the ground.”

  “I walked away.” Wendel spread his arms. “Don’t look so disappointed.”

  Wolfram clutched the back of a couch, then walked to Wendel and held out his hand. Wendel stared down at Wolfram, who wasn’t quite as tall, then grabbed his little brother’s hand and dragged him into a crushing hug.

  “I knew you would come back,” Wolfram said, his words muffled.

  Wendel’s face tightened, and he closed his eyes for a moment. Then he stepped away and clapped his brother on the back.

  “Where are Mother and Father?” Wendel said.

  “You didn’t tell them you were coming, did you?” Wolfram whistled. “Christ, Wendel.”

  Behind Ardis, a breeze drafted from the door. Someone cleared their throat.

  Ardis sidestepped. “Sorry.”

  A lady regarded Ardis with jade green eyes and a flawless smile. Diamond earrings quivered by her slender neck. Silver glinted throughout her black hair, the color echoed in her shimmering gown of silk and lace.

  “Are you here for the dinner?” said the lady.

  She spoke English with an accent reminiscent of British royalty.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Ardis said. “I should be the mercenary on the guest list.”

  The lady inclined her head. “Lady Cecelia. Welcome to Königsberg.”

  Wendel stared at the carpet like he wished for nothing less than invisibility. His face was no more than a blank white mask.

  Cecelia frowned at him, then touched her gloved fingers to her mouth.

  “Oh, good God,” she whispered.

  Wendel looked at her with a distant sadness in his eyes.

  “Mother,” he said. “It’s me.”

  With a quivering smile, Cecelia reached for him. Wendel’s shoulders stiffened, but he allowed her to embrace him. He stooped to her height, patted her shoulder like she was porcelain, and retreated from her touch.

  “My poor Wendel.” Cecelia touched his cheekbone. “What have they done to you?”

  Wendel closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he had buried his emotions deep. He stared at his mother with nothing but haughty disinterest on his face. L
ike he didn’t give a damn what she thought about him.

  “You know what they did to me,” Wendel said. “You sent me there.”

  Cecelia sighed. “Wendy, dear, we had no choice.”

  “Please don’t call me that.” His fingers curled into fists. “Wendy died a long time ago.”

  Cecelia flared her nostrils, her chest heaving against her corset. She seemed to be struggling to keep a stiff upper lip.

  Ardis coughed, aware of everyone in the room staring at them.

  The door swept open, and a man marched into the drawing room. Uniformed in Prussian blue, he had polished boots and a salt-and-pepper beard. A plethora of ribbons and medals decorated the front of his jacket.

  He stopped dead and stared at Wendel. The color drained from his face.

  “My God,” the man said.

  “Waldemar,” Cecelia said. “Our eldest son has returned.”

  Waldemar’s mouth hardened. “He wasn’t invited.”

  “Isn’t this my home?” Wendel said. “No, wait, I’m sorry. For one heartwarming moment, I forgot I was disinherited.”

  Father and son stared at each other with eyes cold enough to rival the winter.

  Konstantin climbed to his feet and cleared his throat. His hands looked a little shaky, and he clasped them behind his back.

  “I must apologize,” Konstantin said. “I have neglected my introductions.”

  Waldemar looked at Konstantin, who quailed under his glacial stare.

  “Archmage,” Waldemar said. “Were you the one who invited him here?”

  “Yes, your highness,” Konstantin stammered. “Wendel has agreed to work with the archmages on Project Lazarus.”

  “Explain.”

  Konstantin dipped his head. “His necromancy has proved invaluable.”

  “Has it?”

  Waldemar curled his lip, looked Wendel up and down, then turned his back on him.

  “Dinner is served,” Waldemar said.

  He offered his arm to Cecelia with stiff formality. The couple swept from the drawing room, and their guests followed suit.

  They crossed the hall to a dining room. It looked even grander than the drawing room, with walls paneled in carved mahogany, but Ardis found it hard to appreciate the furnishings. Wendel had a dark look in his eyes, and she hoped he didn’t intend to do something drastic. She touched the taut muscles in his arm.