Storms of Lazarus (Shadows of Asphodel, Book 2) (19 page)

Wendel lingered on the threshold. All but invisible to his family.

“Introduce yourself,” Ardis murmured.

Wendel sucked in a slow breath, then strode into the center of the drawing room and brought the conversation to a halt.

Perhaps that wasn’t such a good suggestion.

“Good evening, everyone,” Wendel said. “I’m back.”

A glass shattered. Wine darkened the floor like a bloodstain. Juliana sprang to her feet as if stung, her earrings swinging.

“How are you still alive?” Juliana said.

Wendel sneered. “Pardon?”

“You burned that ballroom in Vienna to the ground.”

“I walked away.” Wendel spread his arms. “Don’t look so disappointed.”

Wolfram clutched the back of a couch, then walked to Wendel and held out his hand. Wendel stared down at Wolfram, who wasn’t quite as tall, then grabbed his little brother’s hand and dragged him into a crushing hug.

“I knew you would come back,” Wolfram said, his words muffled.

Wendel’s face tightened, and he closed his eyes for a moment. Then he stepped away and clapped his brother on the back.

“Where are Mother and Father?” Wendel said.

“You didn’t tell them you were coming, did you?” Wolfram whistled. “Christ, Wendel.”

Behind Ardis, a breeze drafted from the door. Someone cleared their throat.

Ardis sidestepped. “Sorry.”

A lady regarded Ardis with jade green eyes and a flawless smile. Diamond earrings quivered by her slender neck. Silver glinted throughout her black hair, the color echoed in her shimmering gown of silk and lace.

“Are you here for the dinner?” said the lady.

She spoke English with an accent reminiscent of British royalty.

“Yes, ma’am,” Ardis said. “I should be the mercenary on the guest list.”

The lady inclined her head. “Lady Cecelia. Welcome to Königsberg.”

Wendel stared at the carpet like he wished for nothing less than invisibility. His face was no more than a blank white mask.

Cecelia frowned at him, then touched her gloved fingers to her mouth.

“Oh, good God,” she whispered.

Wendel looked at her with a distant sadness in his eyes.

“Mother,” he said. “It’s me.”

With a quivering smile, Cecelia reached for him. Wendel’s shoulders stiffened, but he allowed her to embrace him. He stooped to her height, patted her shoulder like she was porcelain, and retreated from her touch.

“My poor Wendel.” Cecelia touched his cheekbone. “What have they done to you?”

Wendel closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he had buried his emotions deep. He stared at his mother with nothing but haughty disinterest on his face. Like he didn’t give a damn what she thought about him.

“You know what they did to me,” Wendel said. “You sent me there.”

Cecelia sighed. “Wendy, dear, we had no choice.”

“Please don’t call me that.” His fingers curled into fists. “Wendy died a long time ago.”

Cecelia flared her nostrils, her chest heaving against her corset. She seemed to be struggling to keep a stiff upper lip.

Ardis coughed, aware of everyone in the room staring at them.

The door swept open, and a man marched into the drawing room. Uniformed in Prussian blue, he had polished boots and a salt-and-pepper beard. A plethora of ribbons and medals decorated the front of his jacket.

He stopped dead and stared at Wendel. The color drained from his face.

“My God,” the man said.

“Waldemar,” Cecelia said. “Our eldest son has returned.”

Waldemar’s mouth hardened. “He wasn’t invited.”

“Isn’t this my home?” Wendel said. “No, wait, I’m sorry. For one heartwarming moment, I forgot I was disinherited.”

Father and son stared at each other with eyes cold enough to rival the winter.

Konstantin climbed to his feet and cleared his throat. His hands looked a little shaky, and he clasped them behind his back.

“I must apologize,” Konstantin said. “I have neglected my introductions.”

Waldemar looked at Konstantin, who quailed under his glacial stare.

“Archmage,” Waldemar said. “Were you the one who invited him here?”

“Yes, your highness,” Konstantin stammered. “Wendel has agreed to work with the archmages on Project Lazarus.”

“Explain.”

Konstantin dipped his head. “His necromancy has proved invaluable.”

“Has it?”

Waldemar curled his lip, looked Wendel up and down, then turned his back on him.

“Dinner is served,” Waldemar said.

He offered his arm to Cecelia with stiff formality. The couple swept from the drawing room, and their guests followed suit.

They crossed the hall to a dining room. It looked even grander than the drawing room, with walls paneled in carved mahogany, but Ardis found it hard to appreciate the furnishings. Wendel had a dark look in his eyes, and she hoped he didn’t intend to do something drastic. She touched the taut muscles in his arm.

“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?”

Himmel 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.