Shadows of Asphodel

by Karen Kincy

  Ardis had never been kissed like this before. It made her tremble. It made her weak.

  Wendel broke away from her with a gasp. He pressed his hand to his chest and swore under his breath.

  “Did I hurt you?” she said, pretending not to grab the railing for support.

  He shook his head. “I hurt myself. Forgot about the wound.”

  “Wendel,” she said.

  There was stark honesty on his face. “I didn’t think you looked at me like that.”

  He came closer to her, even closer than they already were, and lifted his hand to her face. He hesitated, not touching her.

  “It’s still strange,” he said.

  “What is?”

  “To know you want me to touch you.” He bit his lip. “Am I an idiot?”

  “Not unless you don’t kiss me again,” she said.

  Wendel didn’t need to be told twice. When he kissed her, this time it was with a slow gentleness. The sweet pain of desire cut through her. Her knees turned to liquid, and she hooked her hands behind his neck. He kept her from falling, but inside she felt her thoughts falling to pieces. All she could do was hold on.

  “Ardis,” he said, his voice more gravel than honey, and he rested his forehead on hers.

  She swallowed hard. She couldn’t believe how close she was to a necromancer. He felt very much like a man, but there was that shivering electricity of his skin on hers. The icy fire of it tightened her throat, and she retreated.

  “What is it?” he said.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “What am I feeling, when you touch me?”

  Wendel averted his eyes. His hands slipped away from her back, and the warmth of their imprint faded into the winter air.

  “I apologize,” he said. “I’m not always able to hide my necromancy.”

  She rested her hand on his arm, and waited for him to meet her eyes.

  “Don’t apologize,” she said.

  He had a shadow of a smile. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  She smiled back, but she hoped that the truth wasn’t plain in her eyes. His power over death both thrilled and terrified her.

  He ran his hand down her hair. “Do you still want this?”

  She didn’t have to think to reply.

  “Yes.”

  He leaned in closer, so she could hear his murmur over the wind. “We have at least three hours before we arrive in Vienna.”

  Her heartbeat leapt into a higher gear. “And?”

  “I still like your earlier idea,” he said, “of returning to bed.”

  His breath whispered in her ear. When Ardis shivered, it couldn’t be blamed entirely on the cold. But at the same time, a knot tightened in her throat. Three hours. Was that all the time he would give her?

  “It was Vienna all along,” she said.

  “Vienna?”

  She crossed her arms and rubbed her elbows. “Your cue to disappear into the night.”

  “Ah.” Wendel shook his head, but his eyes betrayed his wariness. “Allow me to remind you of the terms of my fealty.”

  “So you save my life, and then you leave me.”

  He stared at her for a moment that stretched on far too long.

  “I see,” she said.

  He furrowed his brow. “You expected more?”

  She sighed, and realized how weary she was. “Men always make assumptions about women who work as mercenaries. You think you can seduce me and skip town. Well, I’m not that desperate for male attention.”

  “Desperate?” he said mockingly. “Was I near the bottom of your list?”

  “Definitely,” she deadpanned. “You think I have no standards? Besides killing people for money, I work as a courtesan on the side.”

  Well, she was the daughter of a courtesan, but she wasn’t about to admit that her mother profited from lust.

  “Of course,” Wendel said. “Only courtesans tolerate necromancers.”

  She glared at him, but she had to bite back a smile. “You aren’t that tolerable.”

  Wendel laid his hand over his heart and pretended to wince. “A mortal wound to my pride.” His smile was devilish. “Nothing I could say would convince you that we should spend those three hours wisely?”

  “There’s nothing wise about it,” she said. “Reckless, maybe.”

  He stepped close enough to touch. “There’s no shame in recklessness.”

  “Wouldn’t I be disappointed?” she teased.

  “I very much doubt that.”

  “Oh? Aren’t you wounded?”

  Wendel leaned into the curve of Ardis’s neck and sighed. His lips brushed her skin and sent a jolt of lust through her blood.

  “Not too badly,” he murmured.

  She doubted that, logically, but it was hard to remain logical with him so close.

  “Liar,” she said, breathless. “You should stay. Recover your strength.”

  He met her gaze, his eyes sharp, the amusement gone from his face.

  “Ardis,” he said, “I can’t.”

  She leaned back to give herself room to breathe. “Why?”

  Wendel wouldn’t look her in the eye. He retreated from her with stiff shoulders, backed into the opposite corner of the platform, and leaned there in an artificially casual way. She edged closer to him, but not too close.

  In the distance, the skyline of Budapest grew closer against the clouds.

  Ardis looked sideways at him. “Why are you running from the Order? Konstantin called you one of their favorite minions.”

  “Minions?” Wendel laughed darkly. “That presumes they can control me.”

  She felt an ambiguous thrill slither through her belly. She had thought the necromancer worked willingly for the Order of the Asphodel, but then why would he want to leave his family forever as an eleven-year-old boy?

  “You want revenge,” she said.

  He arched his eyebrows. “Is it that obvious?”

  “I understand the feeling.”

  He studied her face for a moment, clearly judging how much he wanted to tell her. Then he shook his head, his mouth a thin line.

  “I doubt that,” he said.

  “Is this the first time you have disobeyed them?” she said.

  “No.” With a grimace, he rubbed his hand over his eyes like he wanted to erase everything he had seen. “Far from it. But never anything this serious. They always expect me to come crawling back like a whipped dog.”

  Ardis stared at his shaking hands, and she resisted the urge to hold them until he calmed.

  “You’re wrong,” she said. “I do understand.”

  “I’d rather not share my life story,” he said glibly.

  She ignored his sarcasm. “I’m an outlaw in America,” she said. “I’m wanted for the murder of a powerful man. He was so rich he thought I wouldn’t refuse him. I didn’t stick around to hear what the police thought.”

  Wendel’s eyebrows descended. “That was the first man you killed?”

  “Yes,” she said. “And I still escaped my past. I left it all behind.”

  “Did you?” he said, and he didn’t look convinced.

  Wendel slipped the black dagger from his coat pocket. He ran his thumb along the flat of the blade, then polished it on his sleeve.

  He spoke with a quiet intensity. “I worry only death will stop the Order.”

  Ardis wanted to tell him that killing was never the only way, but knew she would sound like so much of a hypocrite. She wished she weren’t a mercenary, and he weren’t a necromancer. She wished she could save him.

  “Wendel,” she said.

  He pressed his lips together. She rested her hand on his shoulder, but he retreated from her touch and returned Amarant to his pocket.

  “Let me help you,” she said.

  Wendel narrowed his eyes. “You think of yourself as a hero, don’t you?”

  “As if you are,” she said, blushing.

  His lips parted in a sneer. Wonderful. He thought she was being sanc
timonious again.

  “Forgive me,” he said, “if I don’t believe in the redemptive power of love. It sounds too much like fairytales to me, and all the fairytales I ever heard ended badly.” He waved at himself. “Three hours. That’s all I can promise.”

  Her face flamed. Did he have to be such a bastard?

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” she said. “It was nice knowing you.”

  His forehead tightened. “I didn’t—”

  The door behind them swept open, and they both flinched back as if caught doing something indecent in broad daylight.

  Konstantin regarded them both with sharp blue eyes. Wind ruffled his curly hair.

  “May I have a word with you?” he said.

  Ardis stepped forward, but Konstantin shook his head.

  “Not you,” he said. “Him.”

  “Me?” Wendel’s expression vanished behind its usual sarcastic mask. “What have I done to deserve this honor, archmage?”

  Konstantin shook his head. “Follow me.” He held the door open.

  Ardis opened her mouth to speak, then pressed her lips into a hard line. Had the archmage seen her kissing the necromancer? She felt giddy and frightened at the same time. Surely what she had done was forbidden in some way.

  Wendel glanced back at her, questions in his eyes, but said nothing.

  She watched the two of them walk back inside. For a second, she hesitated, but then she caught the door and followed them.

  ~

  Ardis leaned against the wall outside Konstantin’s cabin. She figured it was smart to stay close, since a meeting between the necromancer and the archmage had a high chance of ending badly. And of course she wanted to eavesdrop.

  “…clear to me that you are in danger.”

  “And how does this concern you?”

  That was Konstantin, then Wendel.

  “This concerns more than….”

  A conductor strode down the passageway, rapping on doors with gloved knuckles. “Ladies and gentleman, we will be arriving in Budapest shortly. Please gather your belongings and make your way to the doors.”

  Ardis nodded at him and leaned against the wall.

  “…a place among us,” Konstantin said.

  A pause. Ardis strained to hear their indistinct words. She missed Wendel’s reply, muffled by the door of the cabin.

  The brakes of the train whined as it slowed on its approach to Budapest. Outside the windows, patchwork fields yielded to city streets punctuated by clock towers and church spires. A grand train station loomed ahead.

  “It isn’t impossible,” Konstantin said.

  Either Wendel remained silent, or Ardis couldn’t hear him over the puffing of the train and the chatter of disembarking passengers.

  “Welcome to Budapest,” said the conductor. “Please watch your step as you exit.”

  A gentleman in a top hat elbowed Ardis as he passed, and she recognized him as the gray-bearded man who had been rude to her earlier, while Konstantin repaired the Hex. She made sure to glare at the back of his head.

  “Ma’am?” said the conductor. “Is this your stop?”

  “No,” she said.

  He nodded and swung the door shut again. The train shrieked its whistle, then chugged from the station again after scarcely two minutes in Budapest. Ardis frowned at the clattering and stared out the window.

  Wendel laughed derisively. “You surprise me, archmage.”

  “Is it surprising?” Konstantin raised his voice, but he sounded amused. “I have never met anyone with your singular talent.”

  Ardis raised her eyebrows. What were they discussing?

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a grizzled man approach. He wore unusual clothing, a gray cloak over an outdated suit. At his belt he wore a scabbard for a long curving sword—a scimitar from the Orient, by the looks of it.

  “Excuse me,” the stranger said, his words quiet but unmistakable.

  Ardis pressed against the wall to let him pass, not bothering to hide her curiosity.

  “Could you help me?” The stranger spoke with an accent she couldn’t place. “I’m looking for a man named Wendel.”

  Ardis’s mouth went dry. “I’m sorry. Maybe ask a conductor?”

  The stranger’s stare lingered on her. His mouth twitched, and he nodded. Without thanking her, he strode down the passageway.

  The Order of the Asphodel. Who else would be looking for Wendel?

  Ardis waited until she was sure the stranger had gone, then knocked on Konstantin’s door. The archmage answered it with a look of faint irritation.

  “What is it, Ardis?”

  “Didn’t you hear? A man is looking for Wendel.”

  The necromancer leapt from his seat. “Who?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “But I think you might.”

  Wendel bowed his head and covered his face with his hand. He sighed, then let his fingers slide down. His eyes looked distant.

  “He went left or right?” he said.

  Ardis hesitated. “Right. Who is he?”

  Wendel said nothing, his expression emotionless. Konstantin took the necromancer by the shoulder and caught his eye.

  “Consider my offer,” Konstantin said.

  Wendel shrugged off his hand. “Not now.”

  He strode straight down the passageway in pursuit of the stranger. He kept his head down, his hands clenched at his sides.

  “Ardis,” Konstantin said. “Keep an eye on him. Report back to me.”

  She nodded and followed Wendel. Her heartbeat drummed in her chest, and she double-checked that Chun Yi was at her side.

  Without looking back, Wendel spoke. “Let me do this.”

  “Do what?” she said.

  He said nothing, and slid open the door separating this sleeper car with the next.

  The stranger stood with his back to them, near the end of the car. His hand on the hilt of his scimitar, he turned to face them.

  “Wendel,” he said. “There you are.”

  The necromancer tilted his head. “An assassin, I presume.”

  “Correct,” said the stranger. “You can call me Sven. You know who sent me.”

  Silence stretched between the two of them. Shadows hid the expression on Wendel’s face.

  “What do they want?” he said.

  “You.” Sven slid one foot closer to Wendel, then another. “You failed to report back after the battle at Petroseni. They thought you had been killed.” He paused. “The lack of a body didn’t convince them otherwise.”

  Ardis arched her eyebrows. So they thought he could have returned from the dead.

  Wendel thinned his lips, then spread his arms at his sides. “Sorry to disappoint. As far as I can tell, I’m still breathing.”

  Sven gave him a gravelly laugh. “Not for much longer, boy, unless you come with me.”

  “That’s a pathetic threat,” Wendel said. “We both know the Order prefers me alive.”

  With a sigh, the assassin rubbed the stubble on his jaw.

  “A word of advice, boy,” Sven said. “You might want to work on your story before they see you. Last time I spoke to them, they were none too happy about your little stunt. Now get over here.”

  Wendel sighed and held both of his hands in front of him. “The usual?”

  Sven took a pair of handcuffs from his belt and advanced on the necromancer as if cornering a wounded animal.

  Wendel glared venomously at Ardis. “Stop staring like that. Never seen a man arrested?”

  So he wanted her to pretend like she didn’t know him? Not a great idea. She knew her weaknesses, and one of them was bluffing.

  Sven sized her up. “One of your lady friends?”

  One? Well, Wendel as a womanizer was hardly surprising.

  “Didn’t know you went for that type,” Sven added.

  Ardis narrowed her eyes and resisted the urge to reply.

  Wendel shrugged. “I take what I can get.” He waved him closer impatiently. “It’s a
long way from Vienna to Constantinople.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have taken the wrong train,” Sven said. “Tell that to the Order.”

  Wendel stared at the ceiling and waited. The assassin grabbed his wrists, roughly enough that he stumbled, then snapped the handcuffs shut.

  “Where’s your fancy dagger?” Sven said. “Lose it?”

  “In my pocket,” Wendel said. “I know, don’t tell me, it’s worth more than I am.”

  “Damn right.”

  The assassin yanked open the necromancer’s coat and patted him down. Wendel’s eyes connected with Ardis’s for a split second.

  What did he want?

  Sven grunted. “Here we—”

  Wendel swung his arms over Sven’s head and lunged behind him in a stranglehold. The chain between the handcuffs choked the assassin’s neck. Sven ran backwards and rammed Wendel against the wall. Savagely, Wendel wrenched the handcuffs even tighter. The assassin rammed into the wall again but didn’t shake him.

  His face crimson, Sven drew his scimitar.

  “Wendel!” Ardis said. “His sword—”

  “Disarm him,” Wendel said. “Do it!”

  Ardis didn’t have time to think. She drew Chun Yi and swung at Sven. Sword clashed with scimitar. She angled her blade so it slid down his and locked at the crossguard. Sven bared his teeth and lunged, driving her back, but she twisted Chun Yi and knocked his scimitar clean out of his hands. It flew sideways and clattered on the floor.

  “He’s disarmed,” Ardis said.

  Wendel kept choking him. “Good.”

  Sven’s face darkened to purple. He dropped to his knees and tried to throw Wendel overhead, but he was too weak. The assassin’s eyes flickered shut, and he slumped, supported only by the chain around his neck.

  “He’s out cold,” Ardis said.

  But the necromancer gritted his teeth and didn’t let go.

  “Wendel,” she said, “you can stop.”

  He looked at her with shadows in his eyes, and still he didn’t let go.

  “Wendel.”

  Still.

  “Wendel!”

  At last, he released the assassin. He pressed his fingers to Sven’s neck as he fell. Checking his pulse, she thought.

  Until Sven sat upright.

  “Free me,” Wendel said.