Shadows of Asphodel

by Karen Kincy

  Konstantin let them inside, then hesitated at the bottom of the stairwell.

  “Good?” he said, looking at Wendel.

  Wendel gave him a thumbs up and a sarcastic glance. Konstantin bounded upstairs, and they followed at a somewhat slower pace. The archmage jangled his key ring, searching for the right key, then unlocked the door.

  “Let me get the lights,” Konstantin said.

  He flicked on a switch, and electric lamps blinked awake. Curious, Ardis looked around the archmage’s apartment. Small and cluttered, with overflowing bookcases and glowing technomancy apparatuses that looked liked they belonged back in the laboratory. The corner of her mouth curled in a smile. She wondered how much luggage he had brought to Vienna, and how chaotic it had been when he unpacked.

  Konstantin patted the back of a couch. “Please, make yourself at home.”

  Wendel lingered by the door, wariness plain on his face, like he didn’t trust that much technomancy in such a little space.

  “You should sit down,” Ardis said, “before you fall down.”

  Wendel looked mildly insulted, but it motivated him enough to walk to the couch. Konstantin bustled off to the kitchen and began banging open cabinets. When the archmage stopped looking, Wendel dropped onto the couch and sank into the cushions. He closed his eyes, and the tension left his muscles.

  “Tea?” Konstantin called from the kitchen.

  Wendel nodded without opening his eyes.

  “Yes, please.” Ardis settled in a battered old chair. “Wendel, too.”

  A clock with gleaming naked gears caught her eye. This was bizarre—teatime at two o’clock in the morning, with a necromancer and an archmage. She laughed quietly, feeling the drunkenness of extreme fatigue.

  Wendel cracked open an eye and tried to speak, then caught himself.

  “Are you hungry?” Konstantin said.

  “A little,” Ardis said.

  “Good!”

  Konstantin sounded happy to have guests. He returned to the living room balancing a platter piled with sausage, half a loaf of dark bread, a stick of butter, and a little jar of mustard. He delivered it all to the coffee table, ducked back into the kitchen, and brought each of them mismatched plates and silverware.

  “Here you are,” Konstantin said. “Now you can refuel.”

  Ardis smiled at his analogy.

  The only seat left was on the couch next to Wendel. The archmage hesitated, then sat as far away from the necromancer as possible. Wendel straightened, completely alert now, and pantomimed writing in the air.

  Konstantin jumped to his feet and fetched a notebook.

  Wendel wrote, and Ardis tilted her head to read his words. Thank you for saving me.

  Konstantin blushed to the roots of his hair. “We couldn’t leave you there in the laboratory. Or in the coffin factory, for that matter.”

  Wendel arched one eyebrow. You could have.

  “Please,” Ardis said. “What kind of people do you think we are?”

  Wendel realized she was joking, and bit his lip to fight a smile.

  “And thank you for inviting us here, Konstantin,” she said. “It was very kind of you.”

  “You’re most welcome.”

  Konstantin cleared his throat, still blushing, then sat down again next to Wendel.

  They ate together in a companionable silence. Ardis helped herself to a second sausage and liberally applied mustard. She hadn’t realized just how hungry she was until now, or how much being here cheered her spirits.

  “So,” Ardis said, “a Prince of Prussia?”

  Wendel winced.

  Konstantin glanced between the two of them.

  “Who?” he asked.

  Ardis surreptitiously pointed to Wendel, and the archmage’s eyes widened. He fumbled with the bread he was buttering, almost dropping it, and his face went crimson. He seemed to be having trouble deciding how to act.

  “You should have said something!” He blushed redder. “I mean, when you could speak.”

  Wendel covered his face with his hand. He reached for the notebook.

  Too late, he wrote. Disinherited a long time ago.

  Konstantin leaned closer to Wendel to read what he had written. Their arms bumped, and the archmage retreated like he wasn’t allowed to touch royalty. Still blushing spectacularly, he buttered his bread so hard it crumbled.

  “I should have known,” Ardis muttered.

  Wendel cocked his head.

  “With that kind of arrogance?” she said. “Of course you were a prince.”

  Wendel’s eyes glinted, but he cringed and rubbed his mouth. He couldn’t even laugh. Worry wormed in Ardis’s stomach. When she looked at Konstantin, she saw the same in his eyes. The mood in the room darkened.

  Wendel toyed with the pen for a moment. How did you find me?

  Konstantin brightened. “The automatons!”

  Wendel cocked his head and waited for him to explain.

  “I rewired the control systems,” Konstantin said, “and used the interference to triangulate your location in the coffin factory.”

  If the archmage was waiting for a compliment, he wasn’t going to get one.

  I see. Wendel clenched his jaw. The automaton was not what I expected.

  “What do you mean?” Konstantin said.

  Wendel tilted his head and hunched over the paper as he wrote. Then he leaned back and slid the notebook closer to them.

  You killed those assassins like insects.

  Konstantin’s eyes flickered as he read and reread the words.

  “Killing efficiently, Wendel?” Ardis said. “That bothered you?”

  Wendel locked gazes with her. Something unnamable burned in his eyes. He touched a napkin to his mouth, and it came away red with blood. He wanted badly to speak, so badly that he couldn’t stop himself from trying.

  “The Hex will not last forever,” Konstantin said. “We need Project Lazarus.”

  Not even the archmages believed in the architecture of their peace.

  “Wasn’t that the plan?” Ardis said.

  Konstantin pressed his mouth into a grim line.

  “I may be the youngest archmage in Vienna,” he said, “but I’m not the most naïve. Removing gunpowder from the equation might buy us another year, two at most, but that hasn’t stopped Romanian rebels from fighting Austria-Hungary for control of Transylvania. We have been on the brink of war for months.”

  Ardis nodded. “I know. I was a peacekeeper there. It’s anything but peaceful.”

  Wendel’s pen scratched quickly across the notebook. And you think an army of automatons will help with peace?

  Konstantin frowned. “Austria-Hungary’s safety depends on the strength of her army.”

  An army of metal men. You don’t intend to give your enemies a fighting chance.

  “Isn’t that the point?” Ardis said. “We win this war as fast as possible.”

  His eyes shadowed, Wendel looked away. He tore the page from the notebook, crumpled it in his fist, and tossed it into the fireplace.

  The teakettle shrieked. Konstantin leapt to his feet like a wasp stung him.

  “Wendel,” Ardis said quietly. “Now isn’t the time to argue with the archmages.”

  Wendel looked into her eyes, a crease between his eyebrows, and she couldn’t decipher the complexity of his emotions. There was something like disappointment there, and a desperation that some people called hope.

  Konstantin returned with a chipped teapot. He poured them each a cup.

  “Enough about the Hex,” he said. “I have been thinking about Wendel’s curse.”

  Wendel cupped his teacup in both hands, and Ardis knew he was listening intently.

  “It might be impossible.” Konstantin paced around the table. “It might even be too late. But theoretically, if we can work out all the technicalities, Wendel should be able to resurrect Hieronymus and countercurse himself.”

  Wendel straightened, the fire in his eyes rekindled, and
reached for the notebook.

  Constantinople, he wrote. The Order will send his body to Constantinople for a funeral.

  “When?” Ardis said.

  Wendel frowned. Hieronymus was Greek. They never bury the dead on Sundays. His funeral will be Monday, at the earliest.

  Of course a necromancer would know so much about funerals.

  “Monday,” she repeated. “The day after tomorrow. Is that enough time, Konstantin?”

  Konstantin smoothed back his hair and looked toward his overflowing bookshelves.

  “If we hurry,” he said.

  ~

  Magic remained a mystery to Ardis. She tried her hardest to decipher the thick books on curses and countercurses, but after half an hour, the symbols swam through her head in a soup of nonsense and impossibilities.

  “Sorry,” she said, stifling a yawn. “I’m better with swords than sorcery.”

  Konstantin leaned back on the couch and stretched so that his spine cracked.

  “You look exhausted,” he said, as if he weren’t himself. “I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I didn’t offer you the bedroom.”

  Konstantin’s bedroom? Her cheeks warmed.

  He held up his hand. “Please, I insist. There shouldn’t be too many books on the bed.”

  She smiled and shoved her chair from the table.

  “Good night,” she said.

  Wendel glanced sideways at her, and she could see the unspoken words in his eyes. She wondered what he wanted to say. She waved at them both, then wandered down the hall to Konstantin’s bedroom. The archmage wasn’t joking about the books on his bed. Ardis had to haul away several hefty textbooks on technomancy. She unbuckled her sword, kicked off her boots, and stretched out on the bed.

  With a sigh, she shut her eyes and let herself sink into sleep.

  Darkness invaded her dreams. She was chained to the wall in the coffin factory. Blood slicked her mouth and spilled from her wrists. She snapped her chains, but Hieronymus and the faceless Grandmaster blocked her way. Time tortured her with its slowness, favoring her enemies, and left her helpless as they advanced.

  Ardis jolted awake, disoriented, and thrashed against the sheets tangled around her legs.

  Then she remembered where she was—the archmage’s apartment. Konstantin’s words murmured through the wall.

  “You don’t need to keep suffering in silence,” he said.

  Konstantin sounded bland, almost clinical, but there was a strange rasp to his voice.

  Barefoot, Ardis crept from the bedroom and peered around the corner of the hall. Konstantin and Wendel sat together on the couch, nearly close enough to touch, but she saw the tension in their shoulders.

  “I could give you laudanum for the pain,” Konstantin said.

  Wendel cocked an eyebrow, then shook his head.

  “But not temporal magic.” Konstantin bit his lip. “They hurt you with it, didn’t they?”

  Wendel’s jaw hardened, and he scribbled his reply on a piece of paper. Konstantin read it, then locked gazes with Wendel.

  “You know why I care,” he whispered.

  Wendel wrote quickly. He leaned across to press the paper into Konstantin’s hand.

  Konstantin stared at the paper, then clenched it in his fist.

  “Why?” he said. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

  Wendel looked down, his eyelashes shadowing his cheeks. He ran his tongue over his lip and leaned closer to Konstantin, as if whispering a secret, but of course he could only be silent. His eyes glimmered in the lamplight.

  Ardis leaned against the wall, holding her breath, and couldn’t look away.

  When Konstantin tilted his face, Wendel met him halfway. Their lips crashed together. Ardis stifled her gasp with a hand pressed hard to her mouth. Wendel kissed Konstantin with breathtaking fierceness, backing him down against the couch, his fingers twisted tight in his curls. A startled noise escaped from Konstantin’s throat. Trembling, Konstantin traced his fingertips along Wendel’s sharp cheekbones.

  Then, abruptly, Wendel retreated.

  Konstantin staggered to his feet, and Wendel stood watching him. They stared at each other, both of them breathing hard.

  It felt like the bottom dropped out of Ardis’s stomach. She had to be dreaming.

  “Wendel,” Konstantin said huskily.

  Without a backward glance, Wendel walked to the door. His hand closed on the doorknob.

  “Don’t go,” Konstantin said. “Please.”

  Wendel strode out of the apartment and let the door slam behind him.

  Numb, Ardis backed into the bedroom. She tugged on her boots, buckled her scabbard to her belt, then returned to face the archmage.

  “Konstantin,” she said. “What happened between you and Wendel?”

  He smoothed back his hair with shaking hands, his face remarkably pale.

  “We—we had an argument,” he stammered.

  “About?”

  Konstantin wouldn’t say.

  Ardis started toward the papers on the table, the ones Wendel had written on, but Konstantin beat her to it and snatched them up. With shaking hands, he tore them into tiny pieces and let them drift into the fireplace.

  Ardis forced herself to take a calming breath. Her pulse pounded in her temples.

  “Konstantin,” she said. “Tell me what happened.”

  “Nothing happened.”

  Glassy-eyed, he lit a match and dropped it onto the shredded papers. Wendel’s words curled and blackened into ashes.

  “Then why are you burning the papers?” she said.

  “Nothing. Happened.”

  Ardis closed her eyes for a moment. “I saw you kissing.”

  Konstantin flinched. He licked his lips, then spoke in a remarkably level voice.

  “A mistake,” he said.

  “And before that?” she said.

  Konstantin looked into her eyes, breathing a bit too hard, and shook his head.

  “Nothing,” he said.

  Wendel had promised to help him for three days, but what had happened those three nights? Konstantin could never openly admit to being with him. In most countries, a man convicted of sodomy would face death.

  “Fine,” she said. “I’ll ask Wendel myself.”

  Her heartbeat thundering in her ears, she stormed out of the apartment.

  “Ardis.” Konstantin followed at her heels. “Wait!”

  She stopped, her hands clenched in fists, and bared her teeth.

  “I’m tired of waiting for the truth,” she said.

  Konstantin stood outside the door, rummaging through his pockets. He patted down his coat, looking increasingly panicked.

  “Where are my keys?” he said. “I can’t find my keys. Damn it, he took them.”

  Wendel had picked the archmage’s pockets. Ardis felt a flicker of relief. The kiss could have been a distraction, nothing more.

  “Why would Wendel want your keys?” she said.

  Konstantin sucked in his breath.

  “Because now he has the key to the laboratory,” he said.

  “But why…?”

  Wendel’s argument against Project Lazarus. An army of metal men. You don’t intend to give your enemies a fighting chance.

  They shared a glance, then started running down the hall.

  Through the thickening snow, they ran from the apartment to the Academy of Technomancy. Arms swinging, legs pumping, Ardis gulped air as she ran, nearly sprinting to keep up with Konstantin’s long strides.

  They jogged to a stop in the alleyway, and Konstantin rattled the door.

  “Locked,” he said.

  “Maybe he isn’t here yet,” Ardis said.

  Konstantin’s breath steamed the air. “Maybe he locked it behind him.” He waved her onward. “The service elevator. Quickly.”

  They dashed down the alleyway and turned the corner. Konstantin jabbed the call button.

  “God,” he said, panting, “I hope—he didn’t—lock the laborator
y door.”

  Ardis sucked in a breath. “What do we do then?”

  He shook his head.

  The elevator doors clunked open. They jumped inside. When the doors shut, Konstantin stared at the ceiling, his cheeks pink. Ardis was still breathing hard, and she wasn’t sure it was entirely from the exertion.

  “I won’t tell anyone,” she said. “About the kiss.”

  He kept staring at the ceiling. “You won’t?”

  “I’m half-Chinese. My mother and my father broke the law to be together.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ardis, it never went that far. On my honor. There was one kiss, before, when we both had too much to drink. We wanted to celebrate finishing the automaton’s control systems. Halfway through the bottle, I thought he might be flirting with me. I kissed him, and he kissed me back.”

  She rubbed her forehead as if this would help her brain digest these thoughts faster.

  “Just kissing?” she said.

  “Yes.” He sighed. “I thought he would never be with a woman. I was wrong.”

  “We were both wrong.”

  He glanced sideways at her. “I’m sorry. I never would have done it, if I had known. Clearly he chose to be with you.”

  “Don’t apologize,” she said. “Wendel is the bastard here. As usual.”

  It was easier to joke about it, and pretend that her throat didn’t ache with anger.

  The elevator shuddered to a stop. Before the doors opened halfway, Ardis and Konstantin bolted through and ran toward the laboratory. Konstantin leaned against the door to the laboratory, and it swung open under his touch.

  The battered automaton they had taken out that night lay on the trolley. A panel on the front had been pried off, and a thick fistful of wires trailed from the automaton’s insides like it had been disemboweled.

  “No,” Konstantin said, and it became a chant. “No, no, no.”

  Deeper in the laboratory, the screech of bent metal echoed off the walls.

  Ardis held her finger to her lips. “He’s still here.”

  Konstantin bared his teeth, then grabbed a monkey wrench. He sprinted toward the sound of the dying automaton.