Shadows of Asphodel

by Karen Kincy

  Chun Yi burst into flames. Stone-cold fire crackled over the steel.

  Gasping, Ardis dragged her sleeve over her face to wipe away the gore. Blood magic thumped inside her bones. She angled the blade sideways and squinted against its brilliance, then thrust it into the scabbard. When she drew Chun Yi halfway, the sword burst into flames again. She let it fall back and snuffed the fire.

  “God damn,” she muttered to herself.

  She wasn’t sure if she should be afraid or amazed.

  “Ardis!”

  Wendel loped from the darkness, breathing hard, and swept her into a crushing embrace. She leaned against him and shut her eyes, relishing the warmth of his body, and the way it made her feel alive, before they broke apart.

  “You beheaded him,” he said. He might have been impressed, or disgusted.

  She grimaced. “I want to get out of here.”

  Wendel nodded and backed away from the widening puddle of blood. In the back of her mind, Ardis wondered if Chun Yi was still thirsty. Her hand twitched to her sword’s hilt, and she swallowed hard. What was she thinking?

  Together, they strode down the tunnel toward freedom.

  “Flamethrowers,” Wendel said. “I never thought they would be so desperate.”

  Ardis shook her head. She didn’t know what to say to that.

  The charred corpse of the crossbowman lay in the tunnel where Wendel had left him. She wondered if he had relinquished his control, or if his necromancy had failed when the flames burned the body. She shuddered.

  “Wait,” Wendel said.

  The first salamander lay nearby, the crossbow bolt protruding from his gasmask.

  “What are you doing?” Ardis said.

  Wendel knelt beside the salamander and wrenched the bolt out of the gasmask, then peeled away the gasmask itself.

  He had a sliver of a smile. “I always kill first, ask questions later.”

  Wendel touched the corpse’s skin. He bowed his head, shut his eyes, and blew out his breath. Ardis had watched the necromancer do this before, more times than she had dreamed she would, but it still sickened her.

  The undead man struggled to sit upright with the naphtha tank on his back.

  “Stay down,” Wendel said, with a hand on his shoulder. “Tell me. How many did the Grandmaster send to kill me?”

  The Grandmaster. This was the first Ardis had ever heard of that.

  “Nine of us, sir,” said the undead man.

  Sir. Ardis swallowed down a sour taste. Was that some echo of the man’s politeness?

  “Nine?” Wendel said. “You were the last?”

  “Yes, sir. We were the last.”

  The undead man stared sightlessly, waiting for a command. He was still sweaty and red in the face, and didn’t look too far from alive yet.

  Wendel narrowed his eyes. “Is the Grandmaster coming?”

  “Sir,” said the undead man. “I don’t know, sir.”

  Wendel glanced at Ardis. “The Order anticipated that I would question their assassins. Each of them knows only fragments of the truth.”

  She nodded. “Smart,” she said.

  Wendel lifted his hand from the man and let him collapse, dead once more. He wiped his hands on his trousers, but his eyes looked distant. He climbed to his feet and glanced between the two corpses in the catacombs.

  “Convenient,” he said. “Leave the bodies here.”

  Ardis said nothing, although she wanted to tell him that she saw straight through his callous words. She knew he was trying to hide his emotions. He didn’t relish killing in the slightest, not like some mercenaries she knew.

  To feel your enemies die…

  Again she realized he would never be anything other than a necromancer, but at the same time, he was Wendel, and she didn’t want to let him go.

  ~

  Together they abandoned the dead and climbed the stairs to the street.

  In the light of day, Ardis realized how terrible they looked. Blood crusted Wendel’s hands and splattered her clothes.

  “We should make ourselves look less like murderers,” Wendel said.

  She noticed how husky his voice was, from the smoke and the shouting.

  “At least it’s raining,” she said.

  The gargoyles of St. Stephen’s spat water from the gutters onto the cobblestones. They held their hands under the mouth of a snarling stone lion and washed away the blood. Even after Ardis finished, Wendel still stood with his head bowed, twisting his hands together, scraping his skin with his fingernails until it looked raw.

  “Wendel,” she said.

  He shook the water from his hands and glanced sideways at her. “Yes?”

  “We shouldn’t stay here.”

  He nodded and clenched his hands together, then glanced at the gargoyle again.

  “There’s a nice hotel nearby.” He attempted a smile. “They even have showers.”

  “That does sound nice,” she said.

  She let him lead her through the streets of Vienna while rain fell upon them and soaked them to the skin. By the time they arrived at the hotel’s grand façade, she was shivering, and Wendel pressed his hand to her back.

  They stepped into the warmth of the hotel. The foyer looked like it belonged in a palace with its glittering chandeliers, burnished wood, and gilding on the walls. It was gorgeous enough that it made Ardis feel ugly.

  The concierge thinned his lips and glanced at the wet footprints they had tracked inside.

  “We would like a room,” Wendel said, “with a hot shower.”

  He laid a handful of koronas on the counter, and the clink of gold was enough to allow the concierge to overlook their rudeness.

  With the key to their room in Wendel’s hand, they climbed a spiral staircase with lush brocade carpet and ornate iron railings. Ardis hoped she wasn’t staring, and wondered if Wendel often stayed in hotels this luxurious. He was still Prussian nobility, even if he was disinherited. She wondered how high-ranking he had been.

  “This room will make you feel like a princess,” Wendel said.

  She rolled her eyes. “I never wanted to be a princess.”

  He glanced sideways at her and furrowed his brow, as if he couldn’t believe this, and looked as if he wanted to say something, but thought better of it. They reached the door to their room, and he handed her the key.

  She struggled to unlock the door, and laughed. “My fingers are numb.”

  “Almost to the shower,” he said. “As soon as you open the door.”

  Ardis sighed in exasperation, but she was glad to see a hint of teasing in Wendel’s eyes again. She wanted to forget what had happened in the catacombs, and she suspected that a shower would help them both.

  At last the lock clicked, and she pushed open the door.

  The room was the color of peaches and cream, wallpapered in silk brocade, and the crystals of the chandelier winked in the dimness. She kicked off her boots and let her feet sink into the plush carpet. When she started to walk toward the bed, Wendel wrapped his arm around her waist and swung her toward the bathroom.

  “Let me show you the shower,” he said.

  She arched her eyebrows and tried to think of something clever, but he dragged her to him and kissed her hard. The length of his body pressed against hers, his wet clothes clinging to his skin, and she shivered against him.

  “You feel so cold,” he said. “Shower. Now.”

  Ardis could feel Wendel’s feverish desperation, and it was contagious. She followed him into the en suite bathroom. Her fingers unsteady, she unbuckled her scabbard and tossed her sword onto the carpet in the bedroom. He pulled her back into the bathroom. Laughing, shaking, she let him peel away her shirt.

  “Help me,” he said. “I don’t want to rip your clothes—”

  “Oh, I think you do.”

  Ardis danced back before he could call her on her bluff. She wriggled out of her clothes and tossed them onto the floor. Wendel turned on the water in the shower and held
his hand underneath to check the temperature. Rainwater dripped from his clothes and pattered on the tiles. She struggled with his waterlogged coat.

  “Let me,” he said.

  Wendel shrugged off his coat and tossed it on the floor, then shook his head and picked it up again. He brought the coat to the bedroom, and she realized he must be taking out Amarant and hiding the black dagger somewhere.

  He returned with the tin of preventives held aloft. “Can’t forgot these.”

  “These?” she said, with a teasing smile. “Plural? What makes you think—?”

  He silenced her with a kiss, stopping only to strip naked and drag her into the shower. When the steaming hot water hit them, he closed his eyes and let out a moan of a sigh. He tilted back his head and let the water fall over his face.

  “Better,” he said.

  Wendel rubbed his hands over his face, then leaned against the wall with his eyes closed. His hair ran in black rivulets down his back. Ardis lathered the soap, then ran her hands along his shoulders. He let her massage away the tension still tight in his muscles. Her fingertips lingered on the scars crisscrossing his skin.

  “Ardis,” he said.

  She froze, afraid she had touched a scar he didn’t want to remember.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I—I can’t stop thinking about the catacombs.”

  Ardis lifted her hands from his back. She felt an ache in the pit of her stomach.

  Wendel turned around, his hair straggling in his face, and took the soap. Without looking at her, without saying a word, he rubbed the soap over his hands like they were still bloodstained. He stopped only to wash the rest of his skin, then returned to his hands, scrubbing under his fingernails to rid himself of imaginary dirt.

  “Talk to me,” she said.

  Wendel’s hands clenched around the bar of soap. “What is there to say?”

  “You don’t like to touch the dead. You don’t like to feel anyone die.”

  Wendel grimaced, and the soap squeezed out of his hand. He fumbled as he tried to catch it, and Ardis couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Sorry!” she said. “I’m not laughing at you. It’s just…”

  “It’s ridiculous, I know. I’m a necromancer. It shouldn’t bother me.”

  Ardis shook her head. “If it didn’t bother you, I would worry.”

  Wendel made a show of picking up the soap, though he looked at her with hesitant eyes.

  “Help me forget,” he said.

  Ardis kissed him on the lips, on the cheekbones, and on the water that clung to his eyelashes. Wendel let out a shuddering sigh. He curled his arms around her waist and buried his face in the curve of her neck.

  “Can we stay like this forever?” he said, in a hoarse murmur.

  “The water might get cold,” she said.

  He smiled wickedly. “You should at least stay naked forever.”

  Ardis rolled her eyes. Wendel reached around her hips and tugged her to him. He kissed her neck, lingering there, then bit her gently. She sucked in her breath. He bit harder, enough to mark her, and she tilted back her head.

  “Good?” he said.

  Shivering, she nodded.

  He licked where he had bitten her, then took her earlobe between his teeth. When he traced her ear with his tongue, her knees wavered, and she leaned onto him to keep herself standing. He held her with an arm around her waist.

  “Better?” he said.

  “Still good,” she said, and she smiled. “Don’t think ‘better’ and ‘best’ will be easy.”

  “Ah,” he said, “but you don’t like easy. You like hard.”

  “That is a terrible pun.”

  Wendel laughed, then rubbed the soap between his hands. He slid his slippery fingers over her breasts and looked into her eyes with bold intimacy. She didn’t break their gaze, her breath quickening, even as he explored her skin. Water soaked their hair, and the lingering aroma of smoke vanished into the steam.

  “Would you like to stay in the shower?” he asked huskily.

  “Unless you have ulterior motives,” she said.

  “My motives should be very—” His hands tightened on her buttocks. “—very obvious.”

  Ardis glanced down at him. “Oh?” she teased. “I hadn’t noticed…”

  “This is not a joking matter,” he said, grinning.

  Wendel backed her against the wall in a way that made it impossible for her to ignore how hard he was. She stroked him with her hand. He thrust against her, almost involuntarily, and growled in the back of his throat.

  Panting, she breathed into his ear. “Maybe you should—”

  “A preventive?”

  “Yes.”

  He lunged from the shower and disappeared for a minute. She leaned against the wall and let her fingers wander over herself. When Wendel returned, he wasted no time in flinging her back against the wall and grabbing her hips. She splayed her hands on the tiles, the muscles in her legs tight, and struggled for her footing.

  He halted, tantalizingly close, and stared into her eyes.

  “Let go, Ardis,” he said. “Let me hold you.”

  She had never done this before, and it seemed so precarious. “But—”

  “Trust me.”

  So she nodded, and did.

  He lifted her against the wall. She wrapped her legs around his waist and hooked her arms behind his neck, completely at his mercy. The muscles in his back tightened as he shifted his stance, and then he thrust into her.

  A little involuntary cry left her throat. He made her feel so full and yet so empty. The hollowness of lust ached inside her. When he withdrew, she clung to him and bit his shoulder, hard enough to make him gasp.

  “You aren’t allowed to stop,” she said.

  “Oh?” he said. “Is that an order?”

  “Yes.”

  His eyes glittering, he did as he was told. He found a hard and fast rhythm, and she followed his lead. She angled her hips so that he plunged even deeper, and he uttered an incomprehensible moan. He clutched her to himself, breathing against her neck, and slowed down to grind against her with delicious deliberation.

  “I have to tell you the truth,” he said.

  She tensed. “What?”

  “I won’t last much longer like this.”

  She arched against him to make him moan. Smiling, she traced her fingernails down his spine and clutched his buttocks.

  “Ardis,” he warned.

  “I already gave you an order,” she said, enjoying her power over him. “You can’t stop.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “What was it you once said? Prisoners don’t give orders.”

  “Who said I’m your prisoner?”

  “Who said I’m letting you go?”

  Ardis took that as a challenge. She stared into his smoldering eyes. Her staccato heartbeat drummed inside her chest. She kissed him, savagely, and yanked him closer to her. He stiffened, the muscles in his arms taut, and she could feel him teetering on the brink of surrendering to pleasure. She wanted to make him fall.

  He dragged in a shaky breath and started to withdraw, then groaned.

  “I can’t—”

  “Wendel,” she whispered in his ear. “I need you.”

  He abandoned himself to his desires, one hand tangled in her hair, the other clutching her hip crushingly close. She savored the way he shuddered. Gasping, he lowered her from the wall. Her legs trembled beneath her when she stood.

  She waited for him to look into her eyes. “Better? Or best?”

  His eyebrows shot skyward. He seemed to be having trouble speaking, until finally he shook his head and dragged her out of the shower.

  “The bed,” he rasped, and he cleared his throat. “Might be more comfortable.”

  She nodded and bent over to turn off the water. He made a satisfied murmur, and she glanced back to see him staring.

  “Distracted by my derriere?” she said.

  He narrowed his eyes with a devilish smile. “Come to be
d with me. You shouldn’t be nearly so articulate right now.”

  “And you are?”

  He yanked a towel from its rack and wrapped it around her, then hauled her toward the bedroom. She stumbled and nearly fell, laughing, and he helped her by sweeping her off her feet and dropping her on the bed.

  “There’s no point in hiding yourself,” he said.

  A blush crept over her cheeks when she realized she was clutching the towel to herself. Emboldened by the satisfaction in his eyes, she tore the towel away and stretched on the bed, letting him stare at her nakedness. He climbed over her on the bed and kissed her tenderly. She let herself relax beneath him.

  When he withdrew, he looked into her eyes, a questioning vulnerability in his own. She wasn’t sure what he wanted her to say.

  “Close your eyes,” he said.

  She did, but peeked through her eyelashes. He kissed a path from her neck to her breasts. Water trickled from his hair onto her skin. His hand strayed lower, lingering on her thigh, and he distracted her by licking her nipple.

  “That feels good,” she whispered.

  He laughed, and the vibration of his voice on her skin made her shiver. She did more than shiver when he touched her between her legs. She arched her back, already aching for more, but he tormented her with his slow caresses.

  “You like that?” he said.

  “Yes,” she said.

  He glanced at her with a wicked glint in his eyes, and she realized he knew perfectly well how he was torturing her with his touch.

  “You are so evil,” she said. “You—”

  He slipped his finger inside her, and she gasped.

  “You were saying?” he said.

  She glowered at him, then threw back her head as he touched her deeper, harder, quicker. Panting, she tilted her hips to urge him on. He discovered what pleased her most and stroked her unrelentingly. White-hot tension pooled inside her, then washed over her in waves of ecstasy. He held her close as she trembled.

  “I want to hear you,” he murmured in her ear, “when you come again.”

  She sucked in air to speak, but he resumed touching her, and her words became a gasp. She moaned against his shoulder while the tension built until it was almost intolerable, then cried out and lost herself to passion.