Shadows of Asphodel

by Karen Kincy

  The automaton stood against the wall like a silent metal man. Wendel leaned across the automaton, reached into its guts, and clutched a fistful of wiring. He yanked it savagely and tossed it over his shoulder. Then he stabbed a screwdriver inside the automaton and pried out a piece of technomancy machinery.

  A strangled sound escaped Konstantin. “The control systems.”

  Wendel hefted the piece of technomancy machinery, then hurled it on the floor and smashed it beneath his boot.

  “No!”

  Konstantin lunged and swung the monkey wrench at the necromancer’s head. Wendel stepped into the attack, gripped Konstantin’s arm, and threw him on the concrete. Konstantin landed hard on his back. That knocked the wind out of him. Wendel twisted the wrench from his grasp and hurled it out of reach.

  “Stop,” Ardis commanded. “Step away from him.”

  Wendel tossed the stolen keys onto Konstantin, then slipped his hand into his pocket and vanished into the shadows.

  “God, I hate that dagger.” She clenched her fists. “Wendel!”

  His footsteps echoed down the length of the laboratory. She chased him to the stairwell and sprinted upstairs. His boots hammered the steps, echoing off the concrete, and he flung open the door. She skidded on the snowy cobblestones and searched the darkness, her breath clouding the air, but she had lost him to the shadows.

  “Wendel!” she shouted.

  Silence. Ardis swore under her breath. All he had to do was hide.

  Footsteps crunched the snow. She whirled around. Warm fingers touched the back of her wrist, then pressed a scrap of paper into her hand. Her heart thumping, she backed against the wall and stared at the paper.

  A tram ticket? It had been punched already.

  “Wendel?”

  The falling snow erased his footsteps. He was gone.

  Ardis clenched her hands into fists and returned to the laboratory. Konstantin crawled on his hands and knees, picking up the scattered pieces of broken machinery. He had bloodshot eyes and utterly untamed hair.

  “I can’t believe he did that,” he rasped. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Konstantin,” she said.

  “Is he gone?”

  A droplet splashed on the floor, and she realized it was a tear. She stiffened, not sure what to say to the archmage.

  “Gone,” she said. “How bad is it?”

  Konstantin kept his head down. He concentrated on some especially tiny fragments.

  “Bad,” he said. “I don’t know if I can fix it.”

  Ardis knelt and helped him pick up the pieces of the automaton. He cleared his throat and rubbed his nose on the back of his hand. She thought about offering him her handkerchief, but she wasn’t sure if that would insult him.

  “Damn.” He dried a tear from a technomancy component. “Corrosion.”

  Ardis touched his arm. “Konstantin.”

  He glanced at her and smiled miserably. “Yes?”

  She handed the tram ticket to him. His smile faded.

  “The 71 tramline,” he said. “But it’s an old ticket.”

  “Wendel gave it to me.”

  His glanced sharply at her. “Did he?”

  “Yes.”

  Konstantin sat back on his heels and studied the ticket.

  “Ardis,” he said. “Have you heard anyone talk about taking the 71?”

  She shook her head.

  “It’s a euphemism for death,” he said. “The 71 line has a terminus in the Zentralfriedhof. The grandest cemetery in Vienna.”

  Ardis’s blood chilled. So the ticket could be a threat or a promise.

  “Then that’s where I’m looking for Wendel,” she said.

  Konstantin’s face tightened with a curious mix of hope and despair.

  “Ardis,” he said. “I won’t stop you, but I must warn you—Wendel has made an enemy of the archmages. And if you side with him, I can’t guarantee your safety. So consider that carefully before you do anything regrettable.”

  Faced with his honesty, her heartbeat stumbled.

  “You know what I would regret more than anything?” she said. “Leaving Wendel to die, knowing I could have saved him.”

  Konstantin looked at her with quiet resignation. “I understand.”

  Ardis swallowed past the ache in her throat. She removed the edelweiss pin from her lapel and handed it to Konstantin.

  “Since I’m no longer acting on behalf of the archmages,” she said.

  Konstantin’s fingers closed around the edelweiss. “Are you sure?”

  She let her breath escape her lungs. “Yes.”

  “I won’t lose it.” He smiled. “I promise. It will be right here when you return.”

  Ardis didn’t tell him that she might never return. She wasn’t sure she could survive another year as a mercenary.

  “Thank you again,” she said.

  “You’re welcome.” Konstantin caught her gaze. “And what I said earlier still stands.”

  “What was that?”

  “Stay alive.”

  ~

  Vienna floated in mist, the highest of its towers and spires lost to the walkers below. Snow sifted from the sky. It was a day close to Christmas. Ardis sat near the back of the 71 tram, swaying as it clattered along the tracks. She hadn’t slept since her nightmare in the apartment, but a cold clarity sharpened her senses.

  The 71 whined to a halt at its terminus.

  She leapt out on stiff legs and looked around. Just shy of six hundred acres of land sprawled before her, populated with the dead. More dead than any other cemetery in all of Europe. This was the Zentralfriedhof.

  “I hope you’re here,” she whispered to herself. “I hope you’re waiting for me.”

  Even Wendel couldn’t be cruel enough not to say goodbye.

  Her sigh fogged the frigid air. Starkly black trees veined the sky. Gravestones reached from the snow and tried to touch the heavens. The sun arced in its short-lived flight above the earth, and she knew the light would die at four o’clock. She had only a short day to find Wendel, before the darkness overtook them.

  A crow flew overhead with a rowdy caw. A second crow, and a third, rushed above her on the rustling of wings. Crows foreshadowed necromancers. She had seen it herself. Ardis chased the birds deeper into the cemetery.

  Snowfall erased angels and monuments, white on white, but couldn’t diminish an ancient gnarled oak. The crows perched in its branches, blinking at her with their black glittering eyes. She circled the tree and tried not to hope.

  A man in black left the shadow of a mausoleum and walked down a row of graves.

  Wendel.

  The necromancer strode through the snow, and the crows fled from the tree like ragged scraps of black. He mouthed her name before licking blood from his lips. He was still cursed, still unable to speak.

  Ardis wasn’t sure which of the emotions battling in her chest would win.

  “Why is it,” she said, “that I’m always finding you in the snow, alone, bleeding?”

  He shrugged with a smile more pained than sarcastic. Then he stepped close enough that he could have touched her, but he didn’t. He reached into the pocket of his long coat and withdrew a letter without an envelope.

  She read the letter with a pounding heart.

  Ardis,

  This letter must be my apology, and my goodbye. I am sure you have more questions than I can answer, but I will try my best. I kissed Konstantin to steal his keys, but I am sure you have already guessed this. I knew it would work because he had kissed me once before, with an awful lot of alcohol involved, and I saw an advantage to be taken. Yes, I have kissed other men before. It isn’t a crime in Constantinople. I have also kissed other women. Yes, I am very far from a saint, though I think you know that by now.

  Wendel had blacked out a sentence or two. She skipped to the next legible line.

  I meant to tell you the truth when I could still speak. That night in Vienna, when I found you again, I meant what I sa
id—if you can believe a liar. I was a coward the morning after. But it is too late for me to say it now. It was always too late for me to promise you anything forever. It would be cruel of me to tell you how I feel now. I must go to Constantinople. Until they die, or I die, you will never truly be safe.

  I am not sure how to end this letter. Sincerely? As sincerely as I can? I hate endings.

  Wendel

  Ardis stared at the letter until the words blurred.

  “You meant what you said that night?” she said huskily.

  Wendel looked into her eyes. His own were such a luminous green that she could see the depths of his emotions clearly. He was guilty, and regretful, and yes, he still loved her. Even though he thought he would lose her.

  Her heart hurt so savagely that tears stung her eyes.

  The letter crumpled in her hands. She ripped it down the middle, sighing at the destructive satisfaction, and watched his words drift into the snow. Then she met his eyes, and smiled at the shock on his face.

  “I hate endings, too,” Ardis said. “This isn’t goodbye.”

  Wendel closed his eyes. He kissed first on her forehead, then on her mouth. She tasted his blood on his lips, bitter with iron. He broke away. She saw his face, and knew he was ashamed to be bleeding from the curse on his tongue.

  Fiercely, she hooked her hand behind his neck and kissed him again.

  She didn’t care. She didn’t care how angry she was with him, or how afraid she was that she might never hear him again. She just wanted to know that there was someone in this world who still loved her despite everything.

  Ardis opened her eyes. “Wendel.”

  He looked at her with parted lips, waiting. Then his eyes narrowed, and he backed away, his hand still locked on her arm.

  “What is it?” she said.

  He shook his head, then yanked on her arm to swing her around.

  Natalya stood in the snow. Her blonde hair gleamed golden in the sunlight. She had a rapier in one hand, a dagger in the other, and a smile that said Ardis had brought her exactly what she wanted most—Wendel.

  “Thank you, sweetheart,” Natalya said. “I can take it from here.”

  Wendel raised an eyebrow. God, Ardis hoped he took Natalya seriously. He couldn’t afford to be cocky with a mercenary this good.

  “Hello, Natalya.” Ardis reached for her sword. “Tired of waiting tables?”

  The blonde’s smile widened. “The archmages sent me. You just kissed a wanted man.” She tilted her head. “I have to say, you are an adventurous woman. I don’t think I could sleep with a man with a thing for necrophilia.”

  Wendel sneered at Natalya like she had crawled from a cesspit.

  “Not very clever,” Ardis said, “even for you.”

  Natalya shrugged and let the tip of her rapier rest on the snow. Squinting, Ardis eyed the dagger in Natalya’s left hand. She doubted Natalya would hunt a necromancer with such simple blades. The dagger was probably enchanted.

  There was only one way to find out.

  “Honey,” Natalya said, “if you leave the necromancer now, I won’t have to hurt you.”

  Ardis scoffed. “That was my line.”

  With an impatient sigh, Wendel drew his dagger.

  “Wendel.” Ardis stopped him with her hand. “I have a vendetta against this bitch.”

  He nodded and stepped back. Of course he understood revenge.

  Ardis unsheathed Chun Yi and let flames ripple down its length. Natalya’s shoulders tightened, almost imperceptibly. Ardis licked her lips, then tensed her legs and charged. She swung Chun Yi high. Natalya deflected the blade with her dagger. Ardis angled her sword into a counterattack. She drove the dagger away and hacked at Natalya’s neck. The mercenary dodged and backed against the mausoleum.

  “Too flashy,” Natalya said.

  Ardis arched her eyebrows. “What?”

  “Beheadings are too flashy.”

  “Oh? Always worked for me.”

  Ardis pressed her advantage, swinging at Natalya’s shoulder, forcing the mercenary to defend with her dagger. Natalya kicked Ardis in the stomach. Ardis staggered back, winded, and Natalya’s rapier whipped through the air.

  A cut slashed across her cheek. It burned like a wasp’s sting.

  “Don’t toy with me,” Ardis said, and her words slurred.

  She retreated and touched the wound on her cheek. Her skin felt numb. A strange kind of numbness, one she had felt before.

  The dagger wasn’t enchanted. The rapier was. With paralysis magic.

  Ardis heartbeat thundered. The numbing poison pulsed outward through her blood. She knew she couldn’t rely on strength or skill to win this fight, not anymore. But deception seemed to be the plate of the day.

  With exaggerated clumsiness, Ardis stumbled to her knees and clutched Chun Yi. Natalya edged nearer. Out of the corner of her eye, Ardis glimpsed Wendel striding into the fight. Natalya’s attention shifted to him.

  Good.

  Ardis surged to her feet and swung Chun Yi. She chopped Natalya’s rapier in half, then jerked her sword backward and bashed the pommel into Natalya’s face. Blood gushed from the blonde’s nose. Natalya staggered back, but Ardis caught her by the arm, wrenched it hard, and stabbed the broken rapier into her chest.

  Shock froze in Natalya’s eyes. She tottered into the snow.

  Ardis stared down at Natalya. The blonde lay like a bug pinned to a wall. Her lips stayed open in a silent gasp, and her breath misted the air. Blood trickled past the rapier’s blade, still embedded to its hilt between her ribs.

  “I could make a joke,” Ardis said, “but I won’t.”

  Her tongue didn’t feel so fat in her mouth, and she rubbed her cheek again. The numbness seemed to be fading.

  Wendel crouched near Natalya and cocked his head. He held his dagger in his hand.

  “Don’t,” Ardis said.

  He had the audacity to look innocent, like he had never killed in cold blood before.

  “Someone will find her eventually,” she said.

  Wendel arched his eyebrows. She knew he didn’t want to leave any witnesses. But he shrugged and pocketed his dagger.

  Ardis sheathed Chun Yi. “I think we have overstayed our welcome in Vienna.”

  He straightened, his gaze on the horizon. The wind stirred his butchered hair, the tattoo of the black eagle bare on his neck.

  “Constantinople?” she said.

  Wendel nodded, his eyes still focused on his destiny.

  ~

  The Orient Express Airways zeppelin floated, anchored to a steel mooring mast, over the grass of Aspern Airfield in Vienna. Sunlight angled through the haze of clouds and shimmered over the airship’s silvery skin.

  Ardis waited in line to board the zeppelin. Anticipation buzzed in her stomach. In her hand, she clutched two first-class tickets. Wendel hadn’t given her enough money for a round trip, but then again, who knew how long they would spend in Constantinople. He stood beside her, gazing at the zeppelin, and a faint smile shadowed his face. For a moment, they could have been newlyweds off to their honeymoon.

  The impossibility of the idea ached in her chest.

  A page ushered them into an electric elevator at the bottom of the mooring mast, and they climbed to the height of the zeppelin. Whistling wind stung their eyes. They hurried over the swaying gangway and stepped inside the zeppelin’s nose, where they were greeted by smartly dressed officers of the Orient Express Airways.

  Ardis wanted to glance around the luxurious foyer, but Wendel slipped his hand into hers. She followed him to the left-hand promenade deck. Windows ran along the wall, tilted so that passengers could lean against the railing and see the ground below. Wendel found them a spot by the windows just as the airship began to glide away from the mooring mast. Below them, people waved handkerchiefs and hollered goodbyes.

  “I wonder when we will see Vienna again,” Ardis said. “Or if we will.”

  Wendel’s fingers tightened around her own,
and he kept his stare on the ground.

  They departed at noon. By two o’clock, Vienna had disappeared in the distance, and they could see the cathedral of Budapest towering over the city. By five o’clock, the sun had set, and the zeppelin sailed over Serbia.

  As they sat in the airship’s dining room, Ardis gazed through the windows at the glittering lights, so far beneath them. Her breath clouded the air. The interior of the zeppelin had no heat, and it was a chilly night. Around them, passengers wore furs and scarves while they sipped wine and ate their dinner.

  Wendel had liberated some stationary from their cabin, and he slid it toward her now.

  I hope the waiter arrives while I’m still awake.

  “Have you slept at all?” Ardis said. “Since the ball?”

  He shook his head, then scribbled his reply. I feel like the walking dead.

  “You should know,” she said.

  His mouth quirked into a smile.

  The waiter arrived at last and served them sea bass with almonds. Ardis rubbed her thumb over her fork, concentrating on the silverware’s ornate engravings. Her stomach squirmed. A thought had haunted her for hours now, but she hadn’t had the courage to ask. Finally, she curled her fingers into a fist.

  “Wendel?” she said.

  He glanced into her eyes, still focused on cutting his bass.

  “When I went back to the hotel,” she said, “I met my father.”

  Wendel’s knife scraped his plate.

  “Who is Thorsten Magnusson?” she said.

  His shoulders stiffened, and he looked at her with shadowed eyes.

  “If I’m coming with you to Constantinople,” she said, “I deserve to know.”

  Wendel put down his knife and took up his pen. He wrote only two words before he pushed the paper toward her.

  The Grandmaster.

  The blood drained from her face. “Oh. Well.” She grimaced. “Why am I not surprised?”

  He furrowed his brow.

  Ardis sucked in a slow breath. She felt a bit faint.

  “I can’t blame you for lying,” she said, and she sounded conversational. “I suppose he’s the man you want to kill the most?”

  At least Wendel had the decency to look ashamed.