Storms of Lazarus (Shadows of Asphodel, Book 2)

by Karen Kincy

  “Wendel,” Ardis said quietly. “We can go.”

  He lowered his gaze. “No.”

  Elegant ivory cards marked their places at the table. Waldemar stood at the head of the table and waited for the guests to find their seats. Just as everyone bustled into the dining room, two more guests arrived breathlessly—Natalya and Ursula. Both of them looked windblown, raindrops glittering in their hair.

  “Sorry for our late arrival,” Natalya said. “We encountered a delay.”

  Waldemar dismissed her comment with an imperious wave of his hand.

  As Ardis reached her chair, Natalya intercepted her. The blonde caught her by the wrist and whispered in her ear.

  “Darling,” Natalya said, “can you keep a secret?”

  Ardis put on her poker face. “Why?”

  “Trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “A man in black was lurking behind the airship shed,” Natalya said. “He got away.”

  Ardis would bet money on an assassin. Her stomach twisted into a knot.

  “Understood,” Ardis said.

  With the grace of blissful ignorance, Cecelia glided to the foot of the table. Tesla, as the guest of honor, sat to her left. He drew out Cecelia’s chair, and she thanked him with a nod. Tesla, Natalya, Wolfram, and Juliana sat on one side of the table, while Konstantin, Ardis, Himmel, and Ursula sat on the other.

  There was, of course, no place for Wendel.

  “Wendel,” Cecelia said, “I’m afraid we weren’t expecting an eleventh guest.”

  Juliana had a chiming laugh. “At the eleventh hour.”

  Wendel waited by the doors, his cheekbones stark in the shadows, and clenched his hands. He looked as though he wanted to knock a candelabra from the table and burn down the dining room. Which wouldn’t be the first time.

  Konstantin lingered behind his chair. “Wendel, you are welcome to sit by me.”

  Wendel blinked as though surprised by the archmage’s kindness.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  A footman carried another chair into the room and placed it at the corner of the table, between Konstantin and Cecelia. Wendel sat tentatively, as if this might be a trap. He leaned sideways to allow the footman to set his place.

  Himmel smoothed his napkin in his lap. “I could use a drink.”

  “Wine will be served with dinner,” Waldemar said.

  Wendel ran his fingertip over his glass. “Alcohol might make this tolerable.”

  Waldemar’s mustache bristled, but he didn’t take the bait.

  Juliana’s lips curved into a little smile. “Why return, Wendy, if you find us so intolerable? Are you suffering from amnesia?”

  “Anyone would suffer in your company,” Wendel said.

  His sister gifted him with an icy smile. “I missed your witty little remarks.”

  Footmen entered the dining room and delivered a first course of beetroot soup. Sour cream swirled in the purple. Ardis swallowed a spoonful. It tasted rich and savory, but she wasn’t sure her stomach could tolerate it.

  Why was an assassin stalking them? Who was his target?

  It could be anyone. Wendel, for defying Thorsten. Konstantin, for building Project Lazarus. Waldemar, for fighting the Russians.

  Ardis pretended to straighten her napkin and touched the pommel of Chun Yi.

  She wasn’t sure who to protect, but she was ready to fight.

  “Wine, madam?” said a footman.

  He leaned over her elbow and held out a bottle of white wine.

  “Yes, please,” Ardis said.

  The footman poured her half a glass. She brought it to her lips and rolled it over her tongue. The wine tasted like honeycomb, apricots, and lemon blossoms. Its fleeting warmth felt like sunshine under her skin.

  “A 1890 Riesling,” Waldemar said. “One of my favorite vintages.”

  Wendel rested his cheek on his knuckles and watched a footman pour him a glass.

  “The same vintage as me,” Wendel said. “Though I’m clearly not as favored.”

  Ardis gripped her wineglass. “Wendel. Please.”

  His smirk didn’t convince her. She could see the hurt in his eyes, since he wasn’t nearly as good at hiding it as he thought.

  But being a bastard wouldn’t win anyone’s heart.

  Tesla sipped his soup. “Konstantin, I have been pondering the control systems of your automatons. I may be able to help.”

  Konstantin perked up. “Your help would be most appreciated.”

  “Have you heard of my work on teleautomatons?”

  “No, Mr. Tesla.”

  Tesla smiled. “Please, call me Nikola.”

  A scarlet blush crossed Konstantin’s face. “Yes, Nikola.”

  Himmel harrumphed, but the archmage didn’t seem to hear.

  “By all means,” Konstantin said, “tell me more about your teleautomatons.”

  Tesla dabbed his mustache with a napkin and dropped a cracker into his soup.

  “At the Electrical Exhibition of 1898,” he said, “my invention caused quite a sensation in New York City. I floated a miniature boat in a pool at Madison Square Garden. I could control this teleautomaton by radio waves.”

  Tesla blew on the cracker, which floated across his bowl of soup.

  Wolfram, who had been silent, piped up. “How did it work?”

  “Wireless telegraphy,” Tesla said. “I transmitted signals to the teleautomaton, which responded by changing its course.”

  Cecelia cocked her head, her diamond earrings glittering in the candlelight.

  “Oh, how marvelous!” she said.

  Tesla smiled with a faraway look in his eyes.

  “I found the invention marvelous myself,” he said, “though I never interested the Americans in my idea for wireless torpedo boats. They didn’t understand the science. But my work might benefit the archmages now.”

  “Please, Nikola,” Konstantin said. “Go on.”

  Tesla nodded. “I would like to perform some experiments with the necromancer.”

  Wendel, who had been drinking, sputtered and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

  “Excuse me?” he said.

  Tesla managed to look mild. “Konstantin and I talked on the way. I understand that your necromancy inspired the control systems of the automatons. The archmage’s technomancy mimics how your magic commands the dead.”

  Waldemar reddened at the mention of necromancy.

  Wendel narrowed his eyes. “Correct.”

  “Then you will allow me to experiment,” Tesla said, “for the good of Project Lazarus.”

  “How can I refuse?” Wendel deadpanned.

  Konstantin glared at him. “Not in the light of recent events.”

  Wendel sighed and fidgeted with his spoon.

  The footmen whisked away the bowls from the table and served a second course. Ardis stared at the tiny filet of salmon on her plate, the fish drowned in hollandaise sauce and decorated with thinly sliced cucumber.

  “More wine?” said a footman.

  “Please,” she said.

  She was going to need it to get through this dinner.

  Himmel took his knife in his left hand and clumsily tried to cut the salmon. It slid to the edge of his plate. He sawed off a sliver of fish, dropped the knife, and grabbed his fork. Konstantin watched with worried eyes until Himmel caught him staring. Blushing, Konstantin looked away and ate a forkful of salmon.

  Ardis wanted to help, but she didn’t want to insult the captain.

  “Archmage,” Wendel said, “you might want to help Teddy.”

  Himmel gave him a deadly glare. “No, thank you, Wendy.”

  “Are you sure, Teddy dearest?” Wendel said through clenched teeth.

  “Quite sure, Wendy.”

  Konstantin stared at his plate, unblinking, and heaved a sigh.

  Cecelia pursed her lips. “Captain Himmel, I couldn’t help but notice your arm. Were you injured in the line of duty?”

  Hi
mmel inspected the tines of his fork. His face looked blank.

  “I lived,” he said, “but I lost a lot of good men.”

  Cecelia touched her throat. “You have our condolences.”

  “Thank you.”

  A muscle twitched in Wendel’s jaw. Anger simmered in his eyes.

  “Condolences won’t bring back the dead,” he said.

  Juliana laughed. “That’s your privilege, Wendel.”

  Waldemar slammed his fist on the table and rattled the silverware.

  “Enough,” he said. “There will be no necromancy at this dinner.”

  Wendel stared at him with blatant hostility. “Then I should go.”

  “You should have never returned.”

  Wendel tossed down his napkin and shoved his chair back.

  “Waldemar!” Cecelia said. “Wendel!”

  The volume of her voice startled everyone at the table.

  Cecelia’s earrings quivered. “Sit. Down.”

  Silence reigned.

  Konstantin coughed and drank some wine. He choked, swallowed, and held a napkin to his mouth. His fingers trembled.

  “Archmage?” Wendel said. “Konstantin?”

  Konstantin tried to speak, but he was silenced by a hacking cough.

  Himmel’s eyes flashed. “Doctor! He’s choking.”

  Ursula leapt to her feet and ran to Konstantin, who crumpled the napkin in his fist. He sucked in a shuddering breath.

  “No,” Konstantin said hoarsely. “Not choking.”

  Ursula held his wrist and took his pulse. Her mouth hardened.

  “Look at me,” she said.

  Konstantin blinked and met her gaze. His eyes looked dark.

  “Your pupils are dilated,” Ursula said, “and your heart rate is too high. Konstantin, are you allergic to anything?”

  He furrowed his brow and nodded.

  Ursula thinned her mouth. “Allergic to what?”

  Konstantin tried to reply, but that triggered another coughing fit.

  “Get my bag,” Ursula said. “Quickly.”

  A footman ran out and returned with the doctor’s bag. Ursula readied a syringe of adrenaline, rolled up Konstantin’s sleeve, and stabbed the needle into his arm. Wincing, Konstantin managed a single word.

  “Solanum,” he rasped.

  “Solanum?” Waldemar said. “Is he speaking in tongues?”

  Ursula ignored him. “Konstantin, are you allergic to all solanum species?”

  He stared at the table, his face as pale as parchment.

  “Think,” Ursula said.

  “Never this badly.” He exhaled. “Slight reaction to tomatoes.”

  Cecelia twisted her napkin in her hands. “But there were no tomatoes in tonight’s dinner. I planned the menu with our chef.”

  “I abhor tomatoes,” Waldemar said.

  “Tomatoes aren’t my concern at the moment,” Ursula said. “Solanum is the proper name for the nightshade family.”

  Nightshade. Ardis clenched her hands, her fingernails biting into her palms.

  Himmel blanched. “Doctor, is the archmage poisoned?”

  “Yes.” Ursula remained remarkably calm. “Who ate any of the second course?”

  Juliana shoved her plate away. “I did,” she said. “Am I poisoned as well?”

  “Nightshade poisoning takes one to two hours. You have time for the antidote.”

  “And the archmage?” Himmel said.

  “Konstantin has a weakness to nightshade,” Ursula said, “thanks to his otherwise slight allergy to solanum species.”

  The captain clenched his jaw. “Will he be all right?”

  “The adrenaline will counteract the anaphylaxis.”

  Himmel squinted. “Meaning?”

  “He should be fine.”

  Konstantin managed a smile. “Only ate one bite.”

  Wendel stared at his untouched plate. Then he turned on his heel and advanced on the four footmen who stood by the table.

  “Father,” Wendel said, “have you hired any new servants lately?”

  Waldemar’s eyes darkened. “No.”

  Wendel stalked down the row of footmen. All of them stood at attention, and each of them looked equally anxious. The first footman was sweating; the second footman had a twitch in his eyelid; the third and fourth stared into space.

  “Untie your cravats,” Wendel said.

  The first footman glanced at the lady of the house. “Your highness?”

  “Do as he says,” Cecelia said.

  The first footman loosened a crisp white cravat that was knotted in a bow at his neck. The other footmen followed his lead.

  “Turn around,” Wendel said.

  Each of the footmen faced the wall. Wendel stared at the backs of their heads. He pinched the fourth footman’s cravat and whisked it away, then grabbed a fistful of the footman’s hair and yanked his head toward the floor.

  A double-headed eagle blackened the man’s neck.

  Ardis gasped and grabbed her sword. That very tattoo darkened Wendel’s neck, a mark from the Order of the Asphodel.

  “This man is an assassin,” Wendel said.

  The footman struggled, but Wendel slammed his face onto the table and wrenched his arm back at a sickening angle.

  Waldemar lunged to his feet. “Gustav? Preposterous!”

  The other three footmen stood petrified along the wall.

  “When did you hire him?” Wendel said.

  “Over a year ago. He’s a good Hessian lad!”

  Gustav squirmed and groped for a knife on the table. Wendel hauled him away and held the black dagger to his throat.

  “Give me an excuse,” Wendel murmured.

  Gustav swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing close to the blade. He looked like a lad, as Waldemar had said, not more than eighteen years old. Or perhaps his cornflower blue eyes granted him a deceptive innocence.

  “Sir,” Gustav said. “Please. Let me speak.”

  Wendel’s eyes burned with fire. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Yes.” Gustav blinked rapidly. “The princeling assassin.”

  “I hate that nickname.”

  Gustav flinched. “It’s what they all say.”

  “You trained with the assassins in Constantinople?”

  Gustav nodded. “It was either this or the army. They recruited me and sent me to infiltrate the castle at Königsberg.”

  Wendel bared his teeth and took a step back.

  “Tell the Grandmaster not to send boys,” he said.

  “Wendel!” Waldemar bellowed the word. “Don’t you dare let him go. This worm of a coward betrayed our family.”

  A dark look shadowed Wendel’s face. He angled his dagger.

  “Our family?” he said, with frosty precision.

  Waldemar reddened, his face blotchy. “He tried to poison us all.”

  “He did poison us all,” Himmel said, and he touched Konstantin’s arm.

  Ardis drew her sword and advanced on Gustav.

  “Wendel,” she said. “We can’t let him leave.”

  Gustav’s eyes glistened. “Please. I should have never agreed. It was a mistake.”

  The necromancer inspected him with cold scrutiny.

  “The only mistake,” he said, “was you being such a terrible assassin.”

  Wendel raised Amarant. The black dagger gleamed in the candlelight.

  Cecelia muffled a shriek. “No!”

  Wendel halted. “Would it be bad manners to kill a footman in the dining room?”

  “Stop,” Cecelia said, flying to her feet. “Someone, call for the police.”

  Wendel lowered his dagger. Gustav eyed him, then muttered under his breath.

  “What?” Wendel said.

  Gustav raised his voice. “I wasn’t the only assassin.”

  Wendel swore and hit Gustav’s head with the pommel of his dagger. Gustav crumpled, his eyelids fluttering shut.

  Ursula crouched by Gustav. “He’s unconscious. I could have s
edated him.”

  “Right, doctor,” Wendel said, with immense sarcasm. “Remind me of that tactic the next time we face an enemy.”

  Natalya sprang to her feet. “How many assassins?”

  “How should I know?” Wendel said.

  “Sweetheart. You could have asked him before you knocked him out.”

  Waldemar’s chair screeched across the floor. He surveyed the dinner party.

  “Everyone remain calm,” he said. “I will order the drivers to bring your cars around, and then we will exit the dining room together.”

  Ardis shook her head. “There might be assassins waiting.”

  Waldemar glared as if this would silence her, but she didn’t blink.

  “We better not walk into an ambush,” Ardis said. “Wendel and I can scout ahead and make sure the coast is clear.”

  “I’ll stay here,” Natalya said. “Didn’t think I’d need my rapier at a dinner party.”

  Tesla, Juliana, and Wolfram sat at the table like statues. Himmel stood behind Konstantin, his hand on the back of his chair.

  “Hurry,” Himmel said. “Konstantin is still poisoned.”

  “I’m feeling much better,” the archmage said, rather feebly.

  Himmel looked down at him. “I don’t want to take any chances.”

  “He’s right,” Ursula said. “We need the antidote to nightshade.”

  “Wait here,” Ardis said.

  She sounded more confident than she felt. Her stomach wormed with fear. Wendel took her by the elbow and walked her from the dining room. In the hallway, he bent down by her ear and spoke in a hushed voice.

  “The archmage isn’t the only target,” Wendel said.

  “I know,” Ardis murmured. “If the Russians hired the assassins, they would benefit by killing the entire dinner party.”

  He smiled thinly. “Shall we kill them first?”

  Ardis nodded. But she still wondered why Wendel had shown mercy to Gustav, the assassin with such young eyes.

  Maybe he didn’t want his little brother Wolfram to see him as a murderer.

  “This way,” Wendel said.

  Ardis followed him down the hallway. She held her sword at a low angle, Chun Yi smoldering and spitting cinders.

  “Where should we look?” Ardis said. “This castle is so damn big.”

  Wendel furrowed his brow. “Gustav was hired over a year ago. Likely as more of a spy than an assassin. It would be a waste to force anyone decent to work as a footman for that long. Which means he wasn’t alone.”