by Karen Kincy
“No.”
“No?”
“I’m not waiting in some hotel.” She locked stares with him, daring him to disagree. “And you need my help.”
“Christ,” he said. “But only you.”
“Why not all of us?” Himmel said. “The Kaiser plans to host a masquerade this evening. It wouldn’t be hard to secure invitations.”
“And disguises,” Konstantin added. “Costumes are rather convenient.”
Ardis tilted her head. “We wouldn’t even need Amarant.”
Wendel sighed. “So much for stealth.”
~
Nightfall. That’s when Wendel said his twin would attack. Nevertheless, Konstantin and Himmel insisted upon shadowing the Kaiser.
Ardis needed the intermission. Her muscles felt like lead, her skin numb.
She trudged alongside Wendel, wondering when they would stop. Snow hushed the city. The Peregrine waited in an airship shed by the harbor, but they weren’t walking in that direction. Strangers kept glancing at them on the street.
Wendel betrayed no hint of necromancy, so they had to be looking at her foreign features.
“How are you feeling?” he said.
“Tired.” She grimaced. “One too many brushes with death.”
He shrugged. “You haven’t brushed my hair yet.”
She laughed. “You’re just a necromancer.”
“Just?”
“Not Death incarnate.”
“My enemies would beg to differ.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t put that on your résumé.”
A raven floated like a scrap of burnt paper, landed on the sidewalk, and strutted ahead of their feet with a cocky little jaunt.
“Krampus!” he said. “Where have you been?”
“You lost your shadow?” Ardis said dryly.
“He enjoys the company of pigeons.” Wendel expressed this sentiment with a sneer. “Can you believe his common taste?” When Krampus flew to his shoulder, he begrudgingly scratched under the raven’s throat.
She fought a smile. “Have you been feeding him?”
He lifted a shoulder in a lopsided shrug. Krampus clacked his beak. “He’s rather fond of begging. I’m letting him learn thievery.”
“How noble of you.”
Wind ruffled Wendel’s black hair before he smoothed it down with his hand.
“Would you care to stop for brunch?” he said.
“Brunch?” she repeated, staring at him.
“We should have time,” he said, “between one assassin and the next.”
“I’m not sure I’m hungry.” Her hand flitted to her belly, just for a moment, before she realized what she was doing.
She wasn’t pregnant.
Her eyes stinging, she blinked fast. “Never mind.”
“Ardis.” He caught her gaze. “Are you well?”
How could she be? Out loud, she said, “I would like to sit down.”
“That restaurant across the street looks decent.”
Krampus flew onto the roof and croaked at them.
Wendel pointed at the raven. “Be a good bird.”
Coffee, toast, and sizzling ham scented the restaurant. Wendel claimed a table by the window. A pink rosebud leaned inside a cut-glass vase. She touched a petal with her fingertip, wondering how it had survived the winter.
Wendel summoned a waiter. “The menu, please.”
“Yes, right away, sir.” The waiter, no more than a boy, scurried away before returning with a paper listing the a la carte dishes.
She inspected the rosebud. “Was this grown in a greenhouse?”
“Likely,” Wendel said.
“Seems like a waste, growing roses in a war.”
He raised his eyebrows. “What’s your favorite dessert?”
“I’m not sure.” Did it even matter?
“Strudel? Pain au chocolat?”
“Sure.”
When the dessert arrived, she poked at the flaky pastry before taking a bite. It tasted like ashes in her mouth.
“We shouldn’t be here,” she muttered, “pretending to be happy.”
“Ardis–”
“We need to buy the damn costumes for the damn masquerade.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You haven’t eaten all day.”
“Neither have you.”
“Which is why I suggested we have brunch.”
She gritted her teeth. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“So… carefully.”
He tilted his head with an expression that could either be amusement or amazement. “How is carefully an issue?”
She sucked in air through her nose. “You’re wasting your time caring about me.”
“Not loving you would be impossible.” His words caught on a rasp in his voice.
“Wendel, it’s too much. I don’t want to feel anything right now. I can’t.”
He lowered his gaze, his eyelashes shadowing his cheeks, and stared at his knuckles. After licking his lips, he looked at her again.
“Should I be a bastard instead?” he said.
“Sometimes, that’s easier.”
Wendel shrugged. “Isn’t it?” He sprawled back and hooked his arm over the chair. “Should I insult this place? Or Prussia in general?”
“Whichever you prefer.” She forced herself to eat another bite of pain au chocolat.
“Truthfully, I’m glad I was disinherited. Of all the places to be a prince…”
She snorted. “You were still born a prince.”
“A useless, arrogant prince who would have wasted his life on useless, arrogant people.”
“While wasting a vast fortune.”
“Absolutely immense quantities of money.” He pursed his lips. “My current allowance is mere change to rattle in my pockets.”
“Your family is still paying you?”
“A monthly pittance, to bribe me into silence.”
“God.” She wrinkled her nose. “Even I’m starting to hate you.”
He grinned. “Should I go on?”
“If you want me to utterly loathe you,” she deadpanned.
“Let’s see.” He stroked his stubble. “I detested Königsberg Castle in the winter. Cold and dank. No matter how many tapestries my mother hung on the walls, or how much wood we burned in the fireplaces, the place felt like a tomb.”
“You were still born in a castle.”
“That felt like a tomb,” he repeated.
“Perfect for a necromancer.”
He touched his hand to his heart. “You misjudge me.”
“Fine, you would rather be lying on a chaise lounge, being fed grapes.”
He cocked his head, his eyes glinting. “Who wouldn’t?”
“Not everyone aspires to be that lazy.” She pushed the rest of the pain au chocolat across. “Would you like to finish this?”
He pushed it back. “Eat.”
“Is that an order?”
“A royal order.”
She rolled her eyes but did as he said. With nothing but crumbs left on her plate, she shoved her chair from the table.
“Wait,” Wendel said, “I haven’t eaten.”
Sighing, she sat back down. “Of course.”
He ordered kippered herrings, oysters au gratin, French fried potatoes, and Pfannkuchen, German pancakes with cherry compote.
When the waiter delivered this feast, Wendel smacked his forehead.
“Christ,” he said. “Can’t possibly finish this all myself.”
She stared at him. “Am I supposed to be surprised?”
“Please, Ardis, save me.” He clutched the fork to his chest, pretending to swoon.
A smile tugged at her mouth. “No.”
“You would let a man die from gluttony?”
“Yes…”
“How heartless.” Laughing, he attacked a pancake and devou
red a bite. “God, it’s good. Too good for me.”
“You win.” She snatched another fork. “Enough terrible playacting.”
He served her a pancake, unable to stop smirking. “All part of my evil plan.”
Nineteen
Off the coast of Prussia, the black water reflected the glittering lights of a white-and-gold yacht–the pride of the Kaiser, the SMY Hohenzollern II. Masquerade guests sipped champagne and nibbled hors d’oeuvres in the dining room.
Wendel came as a raven. His beaked mask was reminiscent of a plague doctor, glimmering with iridescent feathers. He wore a black cloak, black gloves, and a waistcoat of purple brocade, darker than the evening sky.
“That look suits you a little too well,” Ardis murmured.
“Why, thank you,” he said.
She was dressed as a Valkyrie, purely as an excuse to bring her sword, though she appreciated the leather breastplate and bracers. The mask, decorated with gilded wings, offered no more than a fleeting disguise.
“Have you seen Wolfgang anywhere?” Wendel said.
She knew he meant his twin. “Not yet.”
“I’m sure he’s here.”
If only she shared his certainty. The masquerade was a poor place to interrogate the Kaiser, who couldn’t move an inch without his entourage of sycophants and servants. Wilhelm II lingered by the bar, costumed in the velvet and lace of a gentleman from two centuries ago, his withered left arm resting on a walking stick.
“How about Konstantin and Himmel?” she said.
“No.” Wendel’s green eyes glimmered behind his mask as he scanned the dining room. “Wonder what hideous costumes they chose.”
“We should mingle. Try to find them.”
He swept onward, the cloak rippling behind him. She followed in his footsteps, trying not to touch anyone, slowed by the tight press of people. Fingertips grazed her shoulder; a man in a joker mask jostled her before smiling.
She glanced at the joker’s hair, which was the color of a penny. Not anyone she knew.
“Excuse me,” she muttered, stepping past.
Wendel navigated the crowd with more grace, keeping one eye on the Kaiser. She decided to stop chasing him and meandered toward the windows. They steamed along the coast, the lights of Kiel fragmented in the inky Baltic. Nearby, a freighter chugged from the harbor, giving the imperial yacht a wide berth.
She touched the cold glass and closed her eyes. While she had stopped bleeding, her muscles felt sluggish, her head foggy.
Just another mission. She could do this.
When she opened her eyes, she put on an empty little smile. The kind certain men liked, because it made them feel benevolent. She glanced between the costumed revelers. Peacocks, foxes, a privateer. Freezing air whirled inside when a door to the promenade deck swung open. Reeking of cigarettes, two guests returned to the party.
Who else was outside?
She braved the icy wind. At the bow of the Hohenzollern II, a debutante costumed as a forest nymph snuck a cigarette, her dress fluttering. Upwind of the smoke, a raven landed on the railing with a thunk of talons.
“Krampus?” Ardis said.
He bobbed his head and croaked, the feathers at his throat bristling. The debutante’s eyes narrowed behind her mask. She snuffed her cigarette and retreated back inside. Krampus pumped his wings and leapt from the railing.
Ardis followed the raven to the stern of the yacht.
A lady dressed as a shepherdess lingered by a man in a silver wolf mask. He leaned against the railing in an impeccable black suit, having made no other concessions to his costume. When the man spotted Ardis, he straightened.
Krampus perched at his elbow. “Grok.”
“Heavens!” said the shepherdess. “Is that a wild crow?”
“Raven,” said the man in the wolf mask. He licked his lips before smiling.
Ardis returned his smile, only with more ice. “I’ve been looking for you, Wolfgang.”
“I can’t say the same,” Wendel II said.
The shepherdess touched her hand to her throat. “Pardon me.” She scurried away.
“Who was that?” Ardis said.
“A princess who proved useless.”
“What the hell are you playing at?”
He pushed himself from the railing. “Why the hell aren’t you in London?”
Cawing, Krampus flew from the yacht and winged into the night.
“The night you left London, an assassin tried to kill me.”
“In the Savoy?”
“Jesus, that’s exactly what the other Wendel said.” She clenched her jaw. “I’m getting tired of repeating myself.”
Wendel II stepped closer. “What happened?”
“I told you. Assassination attempt. ‘Nemesis never forgets.’ Obviously, he didn’t win, or I wouldn’t be here talking to you.”
He swore in German. “You shouldn’t be here. You could be in danger.”
“I’m pretty sure I’m definitely in danger, but that isn’t stopping me.”
“Ardis–”
“What’s your plan? So stupid you wouldn’t tell me? How do you expect to interrogate the Kaiser during a masquerade?”
“Keep your voice down.”
Taking her by the wrist, he walked her toward the bow. He was shaking, uncontrollably, though the wolf mask hid his expression.
“It’s not too late,” he said. “I can still stop him.”
“Who? The Kaiser?”
“No one else knew. He had to be the one to give the order.”
“Wendel.” She dragged him to a halt. “Don’t do this.”
He had a feverish gleam in his eyes, the certainty of desperation. “I must.”
Wendel retreated from her touch and drew his dagger of black Damascus steel. Tendrils of shadow crawled over him.
Ardis caught his arm. “Please.”
Shadows crept from his skin to hers. Cloaked by the magic, they stood within darkness, hidden from the rest of the world. Waves slapped at the ship, tossing saltwater in a mist, and droplets whirled around their silhouettes.
“We can run away,” she said. “Like you said, the day you travelled through time.”
“You know that was never true,” he whispered hoarsely.
Breaking free, Wendel faded into the night. When she reached for him, he wasn’t there. His footsteps thudded down the deck. She chased the sound until it was drowned out by the churning engines and crashing waves.
God damn it. This yacht was too big for her to grope in every dark corner.
Her stomach clenching, she returned to the dining room. The masquerade glittered and whirled like a clockwork toy wound too tight.
The Kaiser knocked back a shot. Loitering, the raven Wendel kept him in his sights.
“I found him.” She spoke close to Wendel’s ear. “Wolfgang.”
His shoulders stiffened. “Where?”
“Outside.”
“There you are!” said a familiar voice.
Konstantin sidestepped through the crowd, followed by Himmel, both of them costumed in Roman togas and sandals.
“Where have you been?” Wendel sneered. “Enjoying the hors d’oeuvres?”
“Inspecting the lower decks,” Himmel said. “No sign of your doppelgänger.”
Ardis shook her head. “I lost him on the promenade deck.” She glanced at Wendel. “Don’t you both have Amarant?”
“Yes?” he said.
“Of course!” Konstantin snapped his fingers. “The effects of occluding enchantments almost always cancel each other out.”
Wendel cocked his head. “Translation?”
“If you both hide with the black dagger’s magic, you should see each other.”
“Ah.” Wendel straightened his mask. “Can you watch the Kaiser?”
Konstantin glanced at the bar. “He seems content to drink the night away.”
“Stay here, Ardis.
”
“Not a chance.”
“May I have your attention?” The Kaiser tapped a fork against his wineglass, the sound chiming over the conversation.
The masquerade quieted to whispers. Everyone waited for his next words.
“On this evening,” said the Kaiser, “I’m pleased to see you all in my presence.”
Wendel edged toward the exit, ducking between ladies and gentlemen. She couldn’t let him skulk off alone.
She followed in his footsteps, muttering, “Excuse me,” under her breath.
The Kaiser magnetized his audience. A lady costumed as Marie Antoinette blocked the way with her skirts. Ardis tried to sidestep around her, but only succeeded in trampling the polished shoe of a nearby gentleman.
“Pardon!” the gentleman said, with great offense.
“Sorry.”
She slipped by him without further incident. Where was Wendel? Standing on her toes, she couldn’t see him. The Kaiser must have told a joke, because laughter rippled through the crowd, though she hadn’t heard a word.
As the laughter faded, a shriek pierced the air.
Adrenaline flooded into her veins. She elbowed through the masquerade, picking up speed, until she broke through.
“Wendel!”
Sprawled on the ground, gasping, he clutched his stomach. Blood ran between his fingers and drenched the silk of his waistcoat.
She dropped beside him. “What happened?”
“Stabbed.” He forced out the word.
The blade must have hit an artery. She tore the raven mask from his face, since he was struggling to breathe, and clamped down hard on the wound. Trying to staunch the flow just made her hands slippery with blood.
“Who did this to you?” she said.
“The devil,” he stammered, his lips blue, his skin sweaty.
He wasn’t making any sense.
They had an audience, watching him bleed out. One of them had to be able to help him. Frantic, she glanced between them, mask after mask. A fox, a rabbit, an angel. All of them staring at the blooming stain.
Konstantin shoved through the crowd. “Oh, God.”
“Help him!” she said.
“I–I don’t know how.”
Rolling up his sleeves, Himmel elbowed aside the bystanders. He tore a strip from his toga and pressed it on the stab wound. Too little. Too late. Wendel panted for air, his breathing far too fast. His eyelids fluttered shut.