by Karen Kincy
And figure out just how angry she should be at him.
~
The streets of Königsberg looked sparse at this time of night. But Ardis still attracted the attention of passersby. She wished, once again, that she weren’t wearing a tangerine silk gown, and muttered curses under her breath.
Admittedly, the sword tucked under her arm didn’t help.
“Blackbird Lane,” she said. “Where the hell is Blackbird Lane?”
That’s where Wendel had gone, or at least what he had told Konstantin. The archmage hadn’t seemed particularly concerned, although Ardis had neglected to mention the laudanum. Or anything superior to laudanum.
If Wendel didn’t get himself killed, she would kill him herself.
At the street corner, Ardis hurried toward a gentleman in a top hat.
“Excuse me,” she said. “Where can I find Blackbird Lane?”
The gentleman stared at her as if she had escaped from a mental asylum. Ardis frowned and started to rephrase her question, but he ducked his head and hurried across the street. She glared at the back of his hat.
“Grok!”
Thank heavens. Ardis had never been so happy to see that abominable raven.
Krampus flew from a rooftop and landed on a lamppost. The light glimmered off his inky feathers. He cocked his head.
“Krampus!” Ardis called in a singsong voice. “Here, Krampus!”
Now everyone on the street stared at her like she had escaped from an asylum.
“Grok?”
Ardis didn’t speak raven, but that sounded like a question.
“Krampus,” she said, “I lost Wendel. Help me find him.”
The raven pumped his wings and flew from the lamppost. Ardis gathered up her gown and ran after the bird. He led her away from the castle, into the western outskirts of the city. Moonlight gleamed on the lagoon as it lapped at the earth. The buildings on the water looked medieval, rickety and swaybacked.
A burly man blocked the sidewalk. His urine splattered the wall.
Ardis tightened her grip around her sword and crossed to the other side of the street. The man turned and whistled at her, then grabbed himself in a rude gesture. She gritted her teeth and convinced herself not to emasculate him.
That would definitely ruin her gown. And she was already sick of blood tonight.
Krampus landed above a door and croaked. Ardis approached him and spotted a wooden sign painted with a black bird.
“Thank you, Krampus,” she said.
The raven blinked.
Ardis opened the door and stepped into a gloomy room. Candles guttered in the wind. She shut the door, then blinked as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. A woman in a yellow dressing gown climbed from an armchair.
“Good evening, madam,” said the woman.
A whiff of sweet smoke curled out from beneath a door. Ardis breathed in the aroma, and her stomach tightened into a knot.
It wasn’t a smell you could forget.
Opium.
The woman eyed Ardis with wary politeness. “May I help you?”
“I would love to smoke,” Ardis lied. “I’m having a bad night.”
The woman’s smile bared snaggleteeth. She shuffled to the door that led deeper inside. Ardis followed her into the opium den.
Lanterns hung overhead like overripe fruits. Their golden light glowed through fever dreams of swirling smoke. Ardis covered her mouth, but the perfume of burnt poppies still invaded her lungs. She crossed Turkish rugs and stepped around smokers who reclined with pipe in hand, many of them lost to the world.
“A pipe, madam?” said the woman who had brought her here.
“No,” Ardis whispered, because she saw him.
Wendel sprawled across the pillows on a couch. His hand hung over the edge, his fingers loosely curled around an ivory opium pipe. His face had the innocence of sleep, his eyelashes black crescents on his cheeks.
Ardis touched his hair, still damp from the bath. “Wendel?”
He stirred but didn’t wake. She shook his shoulder, and his fingers tightened on the pipe. He blinked open his eyes.
“Ardis,” Wendel said, smoke roughening his voice.
“You can’t do this,” she said.
A frown disturbed the tranquility of his face. He lifted himself on his elbow and dragged a lacquered tray closer to the couch. He reached for a bowl of raw black opium, skewered a lump on a needle, and heated it over a lamp.
“Can’t I?” Wendel said.
Ardis dug her fingernails into her palms. “This isn’t your first time.”
Wendel scraped the opium into the pipe, then offered it to her.
“Is it yours?” he said.
She swallowed past the anger choking her throat. “Yes.”
“Please,” he said. “Join me.”
Wendel’s words sounded languid, his eyes glassy with pleasure. She took the pipe from him and cradled the warm ivory. She had seen opium dens before, in San Francisco, and she had seen people lose themselves to the poppy. Their lives shriveled as their faces grew gaunt and their money faded away like smoke.
“No,” Ardis whispered.
Wendel swung his legs over the edge of the couch. He slung his arm around her shoulders and tugged her closer.
“One breath,” he said. “One breath, and you forget it all for one glorious moment.”
“Like you forgot me?” Ardis said.
Wendel looked sideways at her, and a pinprick of pain sharpened his eyes.
“I told the archmage to tell you,” he said.
“You didn’t tell him where,” she said. “You didn’t tell him about the opium.”
“I’m sorry.”
Wendel tilted his head and kissed her on the cheek. His clumsy lips met her mouth. She tasted the bittersweet opium on him.
“No.” Ardis shoved him away. “Get up. Now.”
Wendel let himself fall against the couch. He scowled at her as if it were her fault.
“And go where?” he said.
“Anywhere but here,” Ardis said.
She still held the opium pipe. Wendel strained to reach it, but she tossed it away like garbage. The woman in the yellow dressing gown scrambled for the pipe, crouching to pick the sticky fallen opium off the carpet.
“Madam!” said the woman. “I must ask you to leave.”
“He’s coming with me,” Ardis said.
She seized Wendel by the wrist and hauled him to his feet. He stumbled and almost knocked over the lamp on the tray.
“Ardis!” Wendel said.
But he didn’t fight her as she towed him from the opium den. The winter night hit her face like a splash of ice water. She coughed, the sickly opium smoke still lingering in her lungs. Wendel twisted his wrist free.
“Let me go back,” he said.
She stared him down. “Absolutely not.”
“But I haven’t paid them.”
She laughed harshly. “You don’t have any money, remember?”
Wendel frowned, but a moment later, his face smoothed into a placid look. He leaned back his head and stared at the sky.
“The stars are beautiful tonight,” he said.
Ardis narrowed her eyes. “When did you start smoking opium?”
“Years ago.” He looked down to the cobblestones. “Never often.”
That didn’t reassure her.
“Promise me,” she said, “that you will never smoke opium again.”
Wendel met her gaze. His eyes looked distant and dark.
“I dream only with opium,” he said. “Without it, I only have nightmares.”
Ardis blinked away sudden tears. “Opium dreams aren’t real. You know that.”
“I want to dream again.”
“And you will. But not like this.”
His gaze wandered back to the stars. “What’s wrong with me, Ardis?”
She bit her lip. “You died,” she said, “for starters.”
“And I can’t use that as an excuse?
” he said.
“Hell no.”
He let out his breath in a long sigh. “You won’t let me go without promising, will you?”
“Not a chance.”
When he met her eyes, his mouth looked soft and vulnerable.
“If I do,” he said, “will you help me?”
Ardis’s throat tightened with an exquisite ache. She had to catch her breath.
“I promise,” she said.
“And I promise no more opium.” He glanced away. “Though I will miss it.”
Ardis squeezed his hand tight. She didn’t know how to help him, or how to tell him this, and it scared her half to death.
But she would be damned if she didn’t try.
SEVENTEEN
The glow of a golden morning crept through the curtains. Sighing, Ardis rolled over in bed and reached for Wendel.
He wasn’t there.
Ardis sat upright and squinted through her hair. There, on the couch, was Wendel. She didn’t remember him falling asleep there. Quietly, she kicked aside the sheets and slid out of bed. She didn’t want to wake him.
“Good morning.” Wendel had a rasp in his voice. “Did you sleep well?”
He held her gaze for a second too long, and she knew he was worried about last night.
“I did,” she said. “Did you?”
Wendel rubbed the bridge of his nose. “More or less.”
Ardis sat by him on the couch and touched the back of his hand.
“You don’t have to sleep alone,” she said.
His eyes looked luminous in this light. “Are you sure?”
She knew he was asking her to forgive him. For last night. For his nightmares.
“Yes,” she said.
A smile stole over Wendel’s face, and in that moment, he looked beautiful in the sun.
“Shall we head down to breakfast?” he said. “I’m starving.”
Ardis couldn’t help but return his smile. “Me, too.”
They dressed and went downstairs. The restaurant hummed with chatter and the clink of silverware. Their hotel overlooked the icy river and the cathedral of Königsberg. Seagulls squabbled over a fish in the street.
At a table by the window, Wendel pulled out a chair for Ardis. She smiled to thank him, but a knot tightened in her gut.
She still hadn’t told him. It was only an uncertainty, a dream, but if she was pregnant…
“Ardis?” Wendel said.
She whistled something tuneless. “I have a question for you.”
“Then ask,” he said.
If only it were that easy. Ardis wondered if she should write him a letter, but she was better with a sword than a pen.
“We haven’t talked about this before,” Ardis said.
Wendel gazed across the table and stroked his thumbnail across his lips.
“But it’s not impossible,” she said, “that it might happen to us.”
He cocked his head. “Us?”
God, she was absolutely awful at this. She chewed on the inside of her cheek.
A waitress hovered by their table. “Can I get you anything to start?”
“Coffee, please,” Wendel said.
The waitress looked to Ardis. “And you, ma’am?”
Words. Articulate words. That would be nice.
“Coffee.” Ardis folded and refolded her napkin. “Could I see your menu?”
With a nod, the waitress bustled away.
“Continue,” Wendel said. “I’m morbidly curious.”
Ardis grimaced. Why did she feel like she might be sick?
The flippancy on his face vanished, replaced by something far more serious. And that was somehow a thousand times worse.
“What is it?” Wendel said.
Ardis curled her fingers into fists and stared at her knuckles.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “This is harder than I thought it would be.”
Wendel reached for her hand, then froze, his fingers hovering over the table.
“Ardis,” he said.
She glanced into his face. God, no, she could see the questions in his eyes. And a glimmer of what had to be alarm.
He held her gaze. “Are you—?”
The waitress flitted back to their table. She scooted a menu across the table and poured them each a cup of coffee.
“What brings you both to Königsberg?” the waitress said.
Wendel gave her a tight smile. “Business.”
“Königsberg is beautiful in the winter.” The waitress tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I love the castle around Christmas.”
Ardis curled her toes inside her boots. Words choked her throat.
“I’m from here,” Wendel said.
The waitress touched a menu to her mouth. “Are you?”
“Yes.”
“What part of Königsberg?”
Wendel stopped smiling and drank his coffee. Slowly.
“The middle,” he said.
Ardis cleared her throat and opened her menu at random.
“Can I have a Berliner?” she said. “Thank you.”
The waitress pursed her lips. “Certainly, ma’am.” She scurried away.
Wendel leaned on the table with his knuckles against his mouth.
“You had a question,” he said. “Tell me. Please.”
Ardis looked him in the eye, since she owed him that much.
“What would you think if we had a baby?” she said.
Wendel went deathly white. He drank some coffee. The cup clattered on the saucer, betraying his trembling hands.
“What?” he said.
Ardis forced herself to inhale. Unspent tears burned in her eyes.
“A baby,” she said. “You heard me the first time.”
He looked dazed. “But we—”
“I know.”
“Are you sure?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Not yet.”
It sounded so foolish, and she stared into her untouched coffee.
Wendel didn’t speak for an eternity. “I owe you an answer.”
Ardis hid her face behind her hands. Panic crashed against her ribs like a caged bird.
“I’m afraid it’s true,” she said.
With gentle fingers, he moved her hands from her face.
“If it’s true,” he said, “then we can be afraid together.”
His voice gave her the courage to look at him. He had a hint of a smile.
“Truthfully,” he said, “I’m terrified.”
Ardis laughed, and it brought her dangerously close to tears.
“It could be nothing,” she said.
“It could be something.” He raised his eyebrows. “I’ve always wanted a tiny minion.”
“Wendel!”
He struggled not to smile. “Did I say that? I meant baby.”
“You’ve always wanted one?”
“That’s a lie.” His smile faded. “Not always.”
“Oh.”
He met her gaze. “Not until you told me.”
The sincerity in his eyes left her breathless. She let out a shuddering sigh.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she said.
“What? Like what?”
“So hopefully.” She drank her lukewarm coffee. “It’s a long shot.”
Wendel rubbed the back of his neck. “How long of a shot?”
“I’m five days late. That’s all.”
“Late…?” Understanding cleared his face. “Ah.”
“I asked the doctor,” Ardis said, “and she told me to wait a week.”
Wendel squinted at the dregs of his coffee.
“Should you rest?” he said. “Should you even be piloting an Eisenkrieger?”
“She didn’t say.”
“You should ask.”
She sighed. “Wendel. Don’t worry.”
But he stared out the window and bounced his leg with excess energy.
“Do you want a baby?” he said.
Ardis shrugged, he
r shoulders tight, since she honestly didn’t know.
“I’d make a terrible mother,” she said. “I’m a mercenary.”
Wendel glanced back at her. “You might have to set down your sword,” he said lightly. “Just long enough to hold the baby.”
Ardis smiled. “I would make you hold it.”
She imagined him carrying a baby—their baby—and felt a little flutter in her heartbeat. Damn, these were dangerous thoughts.
What was it about the idea that made her so giddy?
The waitress returned. “Your Berliner.”
“Thank you,” Ardis said, a bit more charitable toward the waitress.
Ardis bit into the German doughnut and savored how sweet it was. Though everything tasted a lot sweeter at the moment.
“Need anything else?” said the waitress.
“I’m fine,” Ardis said, because she was.
“The eggs.” Wendel closed the menu. “And today’s newspaper.”
Ardis devoured her pastry and licked her fingers clean. Her appetite was back with a vengeance. This couldn’t be morning sickness. But could she be eating for two? The possibility of being pregnant consumed her thoughts.
The waitress returned with the eggs and a newspaper. “Here you are, sir.”
Wendel spread the newspaper flat on the table and absently stabbed the eggs with his fork. Ardis tried not to stare at his food.
“Could I have a bite?” she said.
“Of course.” Wendel scooted the plate across. “We can order more.”
Ardis ate a forkful of eggs and helped herself to a second one. Wendel didn’t seem to be as hungry as she was. He frowned over the newspaper. His thumb rubbed the words, back and forth, until ink blackened his skin.
“The Russians,” Wendel said.
“What about them?” Ardis said.
The newspaper crumpled under his hand. “They are a day’s march from Königsberg.”
~
The lagoon glimmered like quicksilver. Wendel loped along the waterfront, and Ardis ran to match his long stride. He noticed her breathing hard and slowed, though he hadn’t stopped scowling since the newspaper.
At the doors to the drydock, the guards waved them inside.
“Archmage!” Wendel shouted.
Several people stared at him, none of them Konstantin.
“Have you forgotten his name already?” Ardis said.
