Shadows of Asphodel

by Karen Kincy

  Ardis leaned onto the bar. “Did the American buy them?”

  “Not yet. He plans to meet with the American at a ball tonight.”

  Wendel cocked his head. “A Viennese ball. Let me guess. You expect me to sweet talk my way inside without an invitation?”

  “I do have an invitation,” Konstantin scoffed.

  “Then why not do this yourself?”

  “Because I already tried. Lord Adler won’t bother with me for a second time, not when he has American dollars in sight. And then the energy gun will be the plaything of some tycoon with too much time on his hands.”

  Wendel frowned into his empty shot glass. “You think the baron will sell them to me?”

  “I have the money,” Konstantin said. “And if the American has more, then you will have to secure the blueprints another way.”

  “You mean steal the blueprints?” Wendel laughed. “Archmage, consider me shocked.”

  Konstantin blushed, though he did look flattered.

  “Lord Adler,” he said, “allows his greed to impede the innovation of technomancy. Did you know I helped him solve a very tricky problem with harmonic charms, and he didn’t even give me a footnote in a journal?”

  “So not so much eccentric,” Ardis said, “as egotistical?”

  Konstantin pursed his lips. “Precisely.”

  “This makes much more sense now.” Wendel looked delighted. “Revenge, I understand.”

  Ardis raised her hand. “I’m American. Let me talk to the buyer and distract him while Wendel persuades Lord Adler to reconsider.”

  Konstantin stroked his chin and nodded. “The invitation does allow for a guest.”

  Wendel sized up Ardis with a devilish smile.

  “Archmage,” he said, “it’s a brilliant idea. The American will be more than distracted by a beautiful woman in a beautiful gown.”

  Ardis blushed. “Do I look like I own a ball gown?”

  “Honestly,” Wendel said, “they wouldn’t let you inside in those clothes.”

  She glanced down at her trousers, though she didn’t admit he was right.

  Konstantin cleared his throat. “I would of course be willing to compensate you both. Name your price, and we can negotiate.”

  Ardis bit the inside of her cheek.

  “When I said I was on leave,” she said, “I didn’t mean I’m on vacation.”

  The archmage furrowed his brow. “Oh?”

  Clenching her sweaty hands, she forced herself to look him in the eye.

  “I was the one who guarded Diesel,” she said, “on the steamship to England. I was the one who failed. Only I found out later that the mission—the real mission—had been a success, and I was no more than a dummy.”

  Recognition flickered on Konstantin’s face. “Margareta never told me that.”

  “Why would she?” Ardis grimaced. “I spoke my mind, and now I’m out of work.”

  The archmage shook his head. “That’s hardly fair. Help me with the blueprints, and let me have a talk with Margareta.”

  “I will.” Ardis squared her shoulders. “Thank you.”

  Wendel flicked a hazelnut with his finger. “And what could you possibly give me?”

  “Ah,” Konstantin said, and for some reason he seemed uneasy. “I know you have unfinished business in Constantinople.”

  “Yes,” Wendel said slowly.

  Ardis glanced between them, and wondered how much the necromancer had confessed.

  “I happened upon a secret,” Konstantin murmured, “that may help you.”

  Not even looking, Wendel toyed with his glass. “A secret? About?”

  “The Grandmaster.”

  When Wendel lifted his head, the smoldering in his eyes flamed. The angles of his face looked shadowed in the lamplight.

  “Archmage,” he said in a velvety voice, “you know I could never say no.”

  Konstantin smiled, but doubt wormed through Ardis’s stomach. She knew the journey to Constantinople was inevitable.

  She hoped only they would both come back.

  ~

  Night tossed thousands of glittering stars across the cold clear sky. Ardis breathed shallowly, her ribs imprisoned by the steel boning in her corset. The silk sleeves of her ball gown fluttered in the wind. She shivered.

  “Take my jacket,” Wendel said.

  She shook her head, again, and glanced sideways at him. He looked stunning in a black tailcoat and ivory waistcoat, everything tailored handsomely to the lean lines of his body. She wished her own dress were half as practical, though she secretly loved the gown’s froth of golden lace spilling over emerald green silk.

  Not that she, a mercenary, would ever admit to such a thing.

  “I insist,” Wendel said. “Before you die of hypothermia.”

  She blinked at a sudden memory. I didn’t drag your lifeless body all the way back to camp just so you could die of hypothermia.

  Was it strange that this felt more surreal than the battlefield?

  “I may be dressed like a lady,” Ardis said, “but that doesn’t make me delicate.”

  Wendel laughed, but his amusement faded as fast as it had come. He quickened his step, his hand tightening on her elbow.

  “You look lovely,” he said. “Though that is the trouble.”

  “Trouble?” she said.

  “I’m tempted to see you naked, and here we are in the middle of the street.”

  “Wendel!” She laughed, then touched her fingers to her mouth. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.”

  He captured her in a fierce kiss. Breathless, she pressed against him and savored the lean length of his body on hers. His skin burned beneath her touch, and she could feel his impatience in the tautness of his muscles.

  He moved, his mouth by her ear. “But I can wait until later tonight,” he rasped.

  “You are so unbelievably—”

  “Seductive?” he said.

  Tension wound tighter below her stomach. “Bad.”

  “I think you mean naughty.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Naughty makes me think of schoolboys.”

  “Then you will have to educate me on the appropriate adjectives.”

  “Later,” she said.

  “Like I said.”

  He kissed her again, below her ear, when they started walking again. She glared at him, though that only made him smile.

  “I already feel naked,” she said, “without my sword.”

  “I should remember that.”

  She tried to think of a reply, something scathingly clever, but they had arrived at the ball.

  Light spilled from the high windows of the Sofiensaal and illuminated the dance hall’s ornate stucco façade. Ladies and gentlemen sashayed from gleaming autos and carriages. Horses snorted mist into the chilly night.

  Giddy, Ardis wavered as they climbed the Sofiensaal’s steps.

  “Let me catch my breath,” she said, clutching Wendel’s arm.

  He cast a sharp glance at her. “What’s wrong?”

  “This corset,” she said.

  Her nerves weren’t helping. A wave of unease prickled over her skin and left goosebumps in its wake. She glanced around the street, her eyes distracted by the resplendent confusion of women as bright as exotic birds.

  “Don’t worry.” Wendel squeezed her hand. “Follow my lead.”

  She forced herself to look mildly disinterested as they stopped outside the Sofiensaal.

  “Good evening,” the doorman said.

  Wendel nodded and slipped the invitation from his coat pocket. He handed it to the doorman with a lofty look. The doorman flipped open the invitation, gave it no more than a cursory glance, then let them inside.

  The inside of the Sofiensaal glittered with chandeliers, gilding, and gemstone necklaces on many ladies. Ardis touched her own bare neck and hoped she didn’t look like an imposter, though she certainly felt like one.

  “What did the invitation say?” she murmured.

/>   Wendel scanned the ballroom. “What do you mean?”

  “Who are we supposed to be?”

  “Oh, I didn’t read the invitation,” he said blithely.

  “Wendel!”

  “Neither did you, from the sound of it.”

  She sighed and let him lead her around the outskirts of the ballroom. Dancers waltzed under the chandeliers to the music of Strauss. Beyond the orchestra, they climbed stairs to a dining area with buffet tables. Centerpieces of fruit and flowers towered above silver dishes offering a feast of Viennese cuisine.

  “Who are we?” Ardis said. “Or do we have no cover story?”

  Wendel tilted his head. “I’m a penniless Prussian viscount. You can be a wealthy American heiress aiming for my title.”

  She laughed. “A viscount? I would aim higher than that.”

  “Would you?” His eyes gleamed. “Anything higher than a viscount, and we will have to answer too many questions.”

  “True.”

  He helped himself to a glass of champagne and meandered along the buffet.

  “Any sign of Lord Adler?” he said.

  “I don’t know what he looks like,” she said. “And I’m looking for the American.”

  Not that Konstantin had done a good job of describing him. He had told her the man’s name was Jesse Howland, and given her a newspaper clipping with a group photograph where Howland’s face was a blurry smudge.

  “Is Howland blond?” Ardis said. “Do you remember what Konstantin said?”

  Wendel didn’t reply. Did he really pay so little attention? Sighing, she turned to face him.

  He was gone.

  “Wendel?”

  Ardis’s heart leapt into her throat. She glanced around the ballroom, but she couldn’t see beyond the swirl of dancers.

  “Excuse me!” said a young man.

  She whirled to face him. Barely older than a boy, really, his black hair slicked smooth over a face he hadn’t grown into yet.

  Something about the sharpness of his cheekbones…

  “That man with you,” he said, breathlessly. “Where did he go?”

  Ardis froze, her stomach in a knot, and rearranged her face into a smile. Could this stranger be from the Order?

  Though it did seem too obvious to simply walk up and ask for Wendel.

  “Sorry?” she said.

  “He was with you a moment ago,” he said, “but then he vanished—”

  “Men often vanish at a ball,” said a lady, “when they tire of dancing.”

  She slipped from the crowd and smiled at them. Her silk gown shimmered, dusky pink embroidered with ornate silver brocade, with long silver lacework sleeves in a fashion that evoked the Orient. The lady, too, looked like she had come from afar, with dark hair and eyes that reminded Ardis of her own.

  “Lady Maili,” the stranger said, and she held out an elegantly gloved hand.

  The young man kissed the air above her fingers. “I remember.”

  “You might want to introduce yourself,” Lady Maili said, “for her sake.”

  “My apologies.” He dipped into a quick bow, his black hair shadowing his eyes. “Prince Wolfram of Prussia.”

  Ardis arched her eyebrows and decided to mimic Lady Maili’s charm.

  “A prince?” she said. “This will sound very American of me, but I must say I am surprised. I never met a prince before.”

  Wolfram’s eyebrows angled in a frown that looked terribly familiar.

  “Never?” he said. “But that man—I’m certain of it.”

  “Certain of what?” Ardis said.

  “He was my brother.”

  When Wolfram looked at Ardis, his eyes glimmering, she sucked in her breath. She couldn’t deny the resemblance.

  “Another prince?” Lady Maili laughed. “This ball is turning out all right.”

  Wolfram shook his head.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “I haven’t seen him for years. He left when I was very young. I may have my hopes up too high.”

  “What was his name?” Ardis said faintly.

  “Wendel.”

  Ardis felt like he had punched her in the gut. Prince Wendel of Prussia? How had he hidden a lie so large from her for so long?

  “That’s awful,” Lady Maili said, with a sympathetic frown.

  “Sorry.” Wolfram bowed again. “I should return to my sister.”

  Wendel’s sister. Princess of Prussia, no doubt.

  Ardis blinked fast. “Wait,” she said.

  Wolfram hadn’t heard her, so she grabbed his elbow. He gawked at her—probably commoners didn’t touch princes—but she held on.

  “Wendel is here,” she said, “but I don’t know where.”

  Wolfram’s eyes lit up.

  “Is he? God, you have to let me see him. Please, I hope it’s him. I thought he was dead.”

  Ardis grimaced at the sad desperation in Wolfram’s voice. Wendel must have abandoned her the moment he saw his brother. She hadn’t thought of Wendel as a coward, but it seemed like such a cruel thing to—

  “Ardis!”

  Wendel lunged from the crowd. His hand clamped on her arm. Before anyone could speak, he shook his head hard.

  “We have to leave,” he muttered hoarsely. “Now.”

  Ardis’s hand darted to where her sword should be, but of course she had left Chun Yi locked in their room at the hotel.

  Wolfram stepped forward. “Wendel?”

  The two brothers locked gazes, their eyes glittering. Wendel’s jaw hardened. Ardis could see him closing his emotions away.

  “Wolfram,” Wendel said, his voice remarkably level, “are you here with Juliana?”

  “Yes.”

  “Find her and make sure she leaves. It isn’t safe here.”

  Wolfram’s face crumpled. “You can’t—”

  “What isn’t safe?” Lady Maili fanned herself. “What are you talking about?”

  Wendel held Ardis’s arm so tight it hurt. She twisted out of his grasp.

  “The Order?” she said.

  He nodded.

  Ardis stared at him. “But the assassins in the catacombs—you interrogated them.”

  “I did.”

  “You said the dead never lie!”

  “I was wrong,” he said. “That was all they knew, and they never knew the truth. More, so many more, assassins have hunted me here.”

  Lady Maili dropped her fan. “You must be mad.”

  Wendel clenched his hands and glanced around the ballroom. “If they see me talking with you—I can’t stay much longer.”

  “Don’t leave.” Wolfram straightened, not quite as tall as his brother. “I won’t allow it.”

  Wendel laughed, a broken sound.

  “Wolfram,” he said, “do as I say and keep Juliana safe.”

  “No.”

  “I outrank you.”

  “Not anymore.”

  Wendel glared at him. “I’m still your older brother.”

  His eyes burning, Wolfram wouldn’t back down.

  “My older brother is dead,” he said. “That’s what they told me. I never believed them.”

  “Wolfram.” Wendel softened his words. “Wolfie. Please.”

  A moment hung suspended in the air like an eternity, and then Ardis glimpsed a flash of gray—a man running along the edge of the ballroom. Wendel’s face hardened, and as he retreated from them, he drew his dagger.

  “Run,” he said.

  Wolfram reached for him, but Wendel stepped backward and slipped into the crowd. Lady Maili looked to Ardis, her face pale.

  “Where is your sister?” Ardis said. “Juliana?”

  “I don’t know,” Wolfram said.

  “We need to find her, and we need to get out of here.”

  Wolfram frowned, then nodded. “She should be dancing.”

  Ardis scanned the ballroom. Near the back, Wendel stalked along the wall, but there weren’t enough shadows for Amarant to hide him. As the music floated into its finale, the la
dies and gentlemen halted their waltz.

  Polite applause echoed beneath the high arched ceiling.

  “There.” Wolfram pointed. “Juliana.”

  An elegant brunette in silver silk laughed at her dancing companion. A tiara twinkled on her head. She certainly looked like a princess.

  Ardis hoped only that this princess would take orders.

  She wove through the crowd and touched Juliana on her gloved hand.

  “Excuse me,” Ardis said. “Milady?”

  Juliana tilted her head at Ardis with a faint sneer.

  “I’m afraid we haven’t been introduced,” she said. “And the correct form of address for a princess is ‘your royal highness.’”

  Wonderful. Juliana was just as arrogant as Wendel, if not more so.

  “I’m here to escort you from the premises,” Ardis said. “Your royal highness.”

  “Escort?” Juliana narrowed her eyes. “Wolfram, who is she?”

  The prince stepped forward. “She’s with Wendel.”

  Juliana, already pale, became even paler. She touched her fingers to her mouth, then shook her head and laughed.

  “That’s a cruel joke,” she said.

  Wolfram clenched his hands at his sides.

  “It’s no joke,” he said. “Wendel is here, but he is being hunted.”

  “Hunted?” Juliana said. “By whom?”

  Wolfram glanced at Ardis. “Assassins. He asked us to leave.” He reached for his sister’s hand. “We have to trust him.”

  Juliana’s eyes flashed. “I will trust him after I have spoken to him.”

  She swept from the dance floor and glided along the wall, her head held high, in search of her long-lost brother. Ardis didn’t think Juliana would find him. She had lost Wendel herself, in the crowd, and he didn’t want to be found.

  She did, however, see the assassins from the Order of the Asphodel advancing.

  Through the crowd, she glimpsed gray cloaks and the unmistakable glimmer of chainmail—enough armor to make a man nearly invincible in unarmed combat. Though they were, of course, armed. An assassin’s cloak billowed away, baring the steel of his scimitar and the throwing knives sheathed at his belt.