by Anne Renwick
They’d not be traveling anywhere with a Russian spy, but if it bought her cooperation, he could pretend to acquiesce to her plans. “Bone remineralization takes time.”
“Take all you require.”
Ian stared at her. “You intend to toss aside Warrick the moment you’re sure of his replacement.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Think what you will of me, but I am tasked with recruiting talent. I will not abandon him if he is worth something.”
“And my sister is not.” It grew harder to keep the tone of his voice steady and even.
“Now you understand.”
Katherine possessed no empathy. None. Anger swelled in his chest. “I will not leave here until I have exhausted every possibility of finding her a cure.”
She crossed her arms. “I may give you no choice.”
“Then you will not have recruited anything, for I will refuse to work.” Under no circumstances could he let Katherine move them all to Russia. To travel there was to disappear forever.
They glared at each other until Katherine threw her hands in the air. “Fine. He builds a solution.”
Builds? “I need details.” Hope rekindled. He’d been certain Warrick lied.
“I am no scientist. I care only if it works… or if it does not. The count, he is not a patient man. Doktor Warrick’s time grows short. Much of his work is now concentrated at the mill.”
“The mill?”
“Yes,” she answered. “The grist mill at the river’s edge.”
“And?”
She shrugged. “He builds a prototype.”
“A prototype of what?”
“What do I care?” Katherine waved a hand in the air. “He promises it will stop the cancer.” She stepped closer. “I prefer the disease never starts. Can your treatment promise that?”
“It can.” In rats. Probably in humans. But testing that was the last thing he intended to do outside of Britain. “Take me to the mill.”
“Ha! Take yourself to the mill. I have my role to play, and it does not include any overt interference in my husband’s work. You managed to escape today. Do so again. So long as your sister remains locked in her tower, I can count upon your return to the castle.” Katherine leaned close and lowered her voice. “For if you whisper of our negotiations to the count, I will reveal your wife’s parentage. My husband has exerted such restraint during your visit. It would be a shame for her to be introduced to his collection of knives.”
Every muscle in his body tensed. He couldn’t allow that to happen. Sneaky she might be, but he very much doubted Olivia had been trained to withstand torture.
Chapter Twenty-Five
THE DOOR TO THE turret room slammed open. Zheng stared at her with dark, cold eyes. “I warned the count you would be trouble.”
“The door was unlocked,” Olivia protested. A slight tremor shook her voice. She’d known she would likely be caught, but had hoped for a somewhat sympathetic guardsman. Zheng’s cold-blooded stare unnerved her. Still, she turned her back on him, as an innocent would, reaching to close the window with a shaking hand—and gasped. “Is that…” She spun back. “Someone is riding a pteryform!”
“The countess,” Zheng informed her. “A common sight. Yet not your concern. A guardsman is dead, and your husband is missing. This should concern you. Where is he?”
Ian must have seen her leave. By now, he could be anywhere. Except he wouldn’t leave his sister behind. “That man in the hall was already dead. Lord Rathsburn is not responsible. If you wish to cast blame, blame Warrick.”
“Please,” Elizabeth called. “She’s hurt no one.”
“Out,” Zheng ordered. “You go to the count.”
The count? She swallowed. The man was unstable and without Ian by her side… “That’s not necessary. I need to return to the laboratory. I only came here to collect medical data from—”
Zheng reached out with strong fingers and gripped her arm, half-dragging her from the room, and marched her through the corridors of the castle. They passed many ill guardsmen whose eyes followed her with a mixture of hope and despair. She was to be reprimanded by the count, by a man who thought nothing of forcing potential poison down a child’s throat? A chill slid down her spine.
They came to a sudden stop. “You stay where you are placed. Next time, there will be no leniency.” Zheng swung a door open and thrust her roughly into a room.
Olivia stumbled forward and came face to face with the terrifying tusks of an enormous wild boar. She let out a yelp of terror and leapt away, colliding with Count Eberwin.
The count caught her about the waist with an amused laugh. “Impressive, is he not?”
She gulped. It was a stuffed boar. A well-preserved hunting trophy. “Very life-like,” she agreed.
The count’s regal military dress was gone, replaced by brown breeches and tall, black leather boots. From his shoulders hung a brown, double-breasted jacket with tarnished brass buttons and dark, Loden lapels. Hunting attire.
She tried to step away, but he moved a hand to the small of her back, guiding her deeper into the dim room. “Welcome to my Jagdzimmer. Each member of my collection was brought down by traditional hunting methods, those which require skill and training. Nothing so prosaic as a rifle.”
Gaping, she took in the variety of animals whose heads adorned the walls. A warthog. A pteryform. Moose and deer. Something she thought might be a wildebeest, and a number of other horned and hoofed creatures she could not put a name to. Overhead, candles flickered in a chandelier constructed of horns. A rack of swords and crossbows stood beside the fire.
Death glorified by a man who reveled in the thrill of the hunt.
With lead in her stomach, she turned to face him. “Your trophy room is densely and exotically… populated, Graf Eberwin-Katzeneinbogen.” Flattery, she hoped, would get her everywhere.
“I rarely miss my mark.” He rocked back on his heels, chest puffed and eyes gleaming. “It is one of the many reasons I adore life here at Burg Kerzen. So many wild beasts prowling the woods. One doesn’t need to venture far at all in order to hone one’s skills.”
“So it seems.”
“You must wonder, Frau Rathsburn, why I bring you to this room.” He lifted her hand and, wrapping it about his arm, drew her further into the room, toward the large, central fireplace where a fire blazed.
Stretched out before the hearth was a long, canvas-wrapped lump. A dark pool of liquid stained the fabric. The canvas… its shape…
Count Eberwin snapped his fingers and Zheng strode forth, reaching for the canvas, yanking, lifting. A man’s body spilled forth, an arrow protruding from his chest, blood staining his shirt. But his face—her heart climbed into her throat—his face was that of a monster. Raw, oozing lumps covered his jaw.
Gravity lost its meaning and the room tipped. She fisted her free hand. Open. Shut. She tensed her thighs. Her arms. Tensed every single muscle. Slowly, the room wobbled back onto its axis.
The count nudged the body with the toe of his boot. “Of late, it seems I hunt more men than beasts. As the cancer spreads, the pain eats into their bodies. Some die writhing upon their cots. Some take their own lives. Some, they go mad. They run. And we must hunt them down.”
“Must?”
“It is a merciful thing, to kill a once loyal guardsman, to end his pain. And I can’t have my secret reaching the next village. Not when success is in reach.” His lips twisted into something approximating a smile as he looked down at her. “I fear you and I got off to a bad beginning, Frau Rathsburn. Please, sit.” He waved to a chair.
It was not a request. Olivia obeyed.
The count sat across from her upon a settee and crossed his legs as if a body lying upon the floor was an everyday occurrence. She felt hot. Then cold. Perhaps it was. “Why did you leave the laboratory?” He tapped a finger upon the arm of his chair.
Terror ran across her skin like a many-legged insect, and she tensed, waiting for it to bite. “The door was u
nlocked, and I thought to evaluate Fräulein Elizabeth’s medical condition.”
“Doktor Warrick is monitoring her.” The count frowned. “He will report any changes in her condition to your husband. I cannot allow my guests—which we both understand to mean prisoners, do we not, Frau Rathsburn?” She gave a sharp nod. “I cannot allow guests to wander the castle unaccompanied, no matter their stated intentions.”
“Understood.” She kept her voice steady and controlled as she met his eyes. Better to look at the count than at the dead guardsman.
His expression grew fierce as he leaned closer. “You are here to work. Your husband is to focus upon a cure for my men. Your task is to make that device of his operational. I will have guardsmen with silver skeletons. At any cost.”
She recalled his threat to see her implanted with Warrick’s deadly cells and her heart gave a great thud of terror. Time to plan for the possibility that escape might prove impossible. “Doktor Warrick has been uncooperative, and our research progresses at a snail’s pace without his assistance. Might I beg for more time, Count Eberwin?”
“Beg?” His gaze swept over her, lingering with interest upon her breasts for a moment before he gripped her chin between his fingers and tipped her face upward. “I like the sound of that. You on your knees before me.”
His breath was hot and moist. She closed her eyes as a wave of revulsion overtook her. Every fiber of her being wished to jerk away. “I wasn’t offering…” She trailed off, not wishing to hasten her—or Ian’s—demise.
“No? A shame.” He dropped her chin. “Let me know if you change your mind. I might just accept.”
“Darling!” Katherine strode into the room, her cheeks pink and her hair wind-blown. She tossed a leather jacket, gloves and a riding crop into Zheng’s arms before seating herself upon the settee beside the count. She pecked his bearded cheek with a kiss. “I see you had a successful hunt.”
Olivia’s eyes widened. He’d shot his own guardsman while mounted upon a… “Both of you ride upon pteryformes?”
“Much superior to horses,” the count replied. He squeezed his wife’s knee. “My bride promised me a good ride, and she has delivered. In more ways than one.”
“Hush. She’s but a newlywed.” Katherine slapped her husband playfully. “I’m so sorry to be late to tea, but look who I found wandering our halls.” Her hand waved at the chair beside Olivia. “Do join us, Lord Rathsburn.”
With a dark look that promised Olivia much later grief, Ian stalked across the room and sat. “Are we to pretend to manners again? In the presence of a murdered man lying in an ever-expanding pool of blood?”
Olivia pressed a hand to her throat. “Ian,” she hissed in warning. The count and countess were twisted in ways she barely understood, but even she knew they ought not insult those who held all the blades.
“Yes, how obtuse to point out such an obvious threat.” Katherine heaved a sigh. “Scientists. Is it any wonder they’re social outcasts?” She glanced about. “Where is that artifact of a steambot?
“I’m afraid your tea service has gone astray, leibling.” The count fixed Olivia with a stare that pierced her skull. “As did our guests. Frau Rathsburn was discovered in the turret room.” He rose to his feet. Hands behind his back, he moved to study the array of weapons mounted upon his wall. “We were discussing the future consequences of such wanderings.” He lifted a spear. “Any progress to report, Herr Rathsburn?”
“None. Warrick is exceptionally disorganized and refuses to answer my questions. He prefers to consume your wine rather than assist me in the laboratory. In fact,” Ian crossed his arms, his voice accusative, “the last I saw him, he was flouncing off to see about a copper delivery.”
Katherine narrowed her eyes at Ian as something ominous passed between them. “I left Doktor Warrick tending to the guardsmen in the barracks before my ride.”
What had Olivia missed in the short time they’d been separated?
“Zheng,” the count barked. “Deliver these two back to the laboratory, then locate and impress upon Doktor Warrick—forcefully—the necessity of his cooperation.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
OLIVIA STOMPED ACROSS the wine cellar to the corner laboratory. The count’s indecent offer rang in her head. All her training to become a societal liaison was a resounding success. She attracted only men with prurient desires. She glanced at Ian. Decent, honorable gentlemen weren’t interested. Her mistake to hope otherwise.
But now was not the time to wallow in self-pity; threats had a way of generating inspiration, one of which had struck. Snatching up a pencil, she scribbled out a critical insight. That was the right equation. She reached for the Franconian multipunch she’d smuggled to the laboratory beneath her skirts. Moments later she held a series of cards that would allow for a smooth insertion of the needles.
Ian appeared at her elbow, and she caught a whiff of the jasmine perfume favored by Katherine. Her heart ached, but she refused to acknowledge the irrational flare of jealousy that made her stomach burn. “Impressive,” he commented, bending over her work.
Once such recognition would have made her beam with pride. Today she rather felt like smacking him. For challenging the count. For not immediately launching into an account of his time with the countess. She didn’t look up. “I need your arm.”
Without hesitation, Ian unfastened his cuff and rolled up his sleeve. “My sister?”
“Elizabeth is fine.” She flipped a series of levers, locking the device into place. “The metal framework positions the injectors, but the program controls their descent. To test the response of the pressure sensors, the injectors should release fluid—water—when they encounter resistance from your skin.”
“Fine?” Impatience roughened his voice. “That’s all you have to report?”
So he need not elaborate, but she was expected to detail her time away from him? Unfair. “Our visit lasted mere minutes. We shared a cup of tea. I inquired as to her health.” Olivia didn’t mention the contemplated escape plan. He was certain to object. Elizabeth would consult Wei about the particulars, and only then would Olivia inform him of their plans. “We discussed Warrick.”
Shifting impatiently on his feet, Ian pressed for more information. “And?”
“He gave her a promise stone. This.” She pulled the smooth lump from her pocket and dropped it into his free hand.
Ian turned the gray stone over in his palm. He stuck it to the incubator’s metal door. “Magnetite. A magnetic mineral.”
“Does it mean anything to you?”
“No.” But he slid it into his pocket.
Olivia could feel his questioning gaze on her as she flipped a switch. Good. Let him wonder what she left out. The small motor of the device began to hum. “If this works, there will be no avoiding the needles. I cannot program the hydraulics until they are in place.”
“You seem rather… steady, considering the topic.” He chose his words carefully. Too carefully.
“I am annoyed.” She planted her hands on her hips. “My blood pressure is elevated.”
“As is mine.”
She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes.
Nostrils flaring, he leaned forward. “Fine. Directness it is. Look me in the eye, Olivia, and explain. Picking a lock? Waltzing from the laboratory over a dead body? Skulking about speaking to guardsmen? In German.”
“Father insisted all his children speak German, the language of Britain’s sworn enemy. Now hold still,” she snapped, refusing to meet his eyes, refusing to relent until he shared whatever had passed between him and Katherine. “I don’t need additional variables.”
“German. The better to spy upon Britain’s enemies?”
What could it hurt, a small boast? “I speak French and Icelandic as well. A little Russian.”
“A very agent-like answer, which is to say, not really an answer at all. Not that it explains the lock picking.” He reached for her chin, but she stepped back and glared at him. She�
��d had enough of such treatment.
Gears turned, silently and smoothly, gradually encasing Ian’s forearm in a copper and steel cage. The pressure sensors leaked fluid as they bit into his arm, stopping just as they threatened to break skin. A twinge of guilt niggled; there would be bruises, but his arm was locked in place. What better time to begin an interrogation?
“You smell of Katherine’s perfume,” she accused. “Explain that.”
He flipped a lever. The injector released with a slow hiss. “You’re jealous.” He sounded surprised. “Why?” Lever by lever, he set his arm free.
“Perhaps it’s all a part of my act. I am supposed to be your wife.” This argument was ridiculous. They weren’t married. He’d made her no vows. Why then could she not let the matter drop? “What brought the two of you so close today? Don’t bother denying it. I’ve heard enough stories, endured her allusions to your past along with her appreciative glances at your backside.”
His ears burned red, but he refused to bite. “Why did you not tell me that you knew her?”
“Also not an answer.” Olivia crossed her arms. They were getting nowhere. Grudgingly, she informed him, “Lady Katherine and I were never formally introduced.”
“Yet she attended your debut?” Ian’s eyebrows flew upward.
“Uninvited, yes. She rather ruined the event. If not for her I would…” Be married to a traitor. Perhaps widowed. All true, but not the reason for her anger. Her frustration. She stared into Ian’s brilliant, blue eyes. For the first time, she wanted a man for himself, not simply to complete an assigned task, to move another rung higher toward her goal. Sharing secrets and desires had twisted her feelings into something new, into something she didn’t recognize.
“Your insinuations are unfounded,” he said, shaking his head. “I—”
She didn’t want to know; it would hurt too much. Olivia turned and stalked away. It was darker midst the wine barrels and easier to hide the tears that welled in her eyes. How stupid of her to let emotions rule her behavior. She’d been warned—again and again—never to let the heart grow fond.
