Storms of Lazarus (Shadows of Asphodel, Book 2) (21 page)

Only seconds ahead, the assassin shoved through the door.

Wendel and Ardis chased him down the hall. The assassin dodged through another door and slammed it behind him.

A deadbolt lock clicked.

Wendel swore. “There’s another passageway by—”

Ardis hitched up her gown and kicked down the door.

It splintered open to reveal a dimly lit library that looked deserted. Moonlight glimmered on the gilded spines of books.

Ardis drew her sword. She stalked to the velvet curtains and poked them with the point of her blade. Nothing. She checked the latches on the windows. Locked. Wendel stared at the bookshelves, then snapped his fingers.

“
The History of Fishes
,” he said.

“What?” Ardis said.

“That book. Find it.”

“Why?”

“Trust me.”

Ardis turned to the nearest bookshelf and craned her neck sideways to peer at the books. One shelf over, Wendel skimmed his fingertips over their spines. He muttered under his breath, then found a tome bound in red leather.

“Here.”

Wendel tilted the book forward. With a clunk, the bookshelf swung forward to reveal yet another secret passageway.

“Where does this one go?” Ardis said.

“To the cellars.” Wendel glanced at her burning sword. “Are you planning to walk down there with that on display?”

She scowled and put away her sword. “No.”

Wendel took her wrist with a gentleman’s touch. His necromancy reawakened the magic of Amarant, and darkness cloaked them again.

Together, they walked downstairs into the underground.

The cellar beneath the castle stretched into the darkness. The sweet musty scent of wine and oak steeped the air. A flickering candlestick burned atop a wine barrel, illuminating an elderly man who sat bound and gagged in a chair. Blood trickled from his temple and dripped onto his immaculate white shirt.

The butler, judging by his age and uniform.

Whispers echoed in the cavernous space. Wendel and Ardis stole nearer. They huddled behind a rack laden with wine and peeked beyond the bottles. The assassin stood there, talking to a man hidden in the shadows.

“We should go,” said the assassin. “The necromancer is here.”

The hidden man was silent for a moment. “Did he eat the poison?”

Ardis knew his voice—Nasir.

“I don’t know,” said the first assassin. “He’s looking for me. He’s not far behind.”

Wendel pushed Ardis behind an oak barrel and held his finger to his lips. He let go of her hand, lifting the shadows from her skin, and crept toward the assassins. She gripped her sword’s hilt and braced herself for a fight.

Ardis lost Wendel as he prowled into the darkness.

“We didn’t come here to kill the necromancer,” Nasir said.

A shadow sidestepped behind the nameless assassin. Swiftly, Wendel muffled the man’s scream and slit his throat.

“I came here to kill you,” Wendel said.

Nasir bolted to the butler, cut him free from the chair, and dragged him to his feet. The butler grunted with pain.

“Show yourself,” Nasir said, “or the butler dies.”

Wendel laughed from the darkness. “You think you know me.”

Ardis tensed. Wendel had to be bluffing. But blood from the dead assassin pooled on the stone and crawled toward her toes.

“Nasir,” she said.

Ardis straightened and strode out from behind the barrel. Nasir backed away and pressed a knife to the butler’s throat.

“Wendel won’t spare your life a second time,” she said.

Candlelight glittered in Nasir’s eyes. “Stay where you are. Unless you want the blood of an innocent on your hands.”

The butler let out a strangled whimper.

“How do you want this to end?” Ardis said. “How do you plan to drag that hostage with you all the way upstairs?”

Nasir glanced to the left. There had to be another passageway there.

“Let him go,” Ardis said.

Nasir shuffled back and yanked the butler with him. A shadow flitted behind Nasir—Wendel, trying to surprise him.

Ardis knew she had to distract the assassin.

“Why did you leave Wendel?” she said.

Nasir blinked. “What?”

“How did it end?” She stared straight at him. “How did it even start?”

Nasir had no time to reply. From the shadows, Wendel lunged for the assassin’s knife. But Nasir flung out his arm, dragging the blade through flesh. Blood spurted from the butler’s neck and splattered Wendel’s eyes.

Blinded, Wendel staggered back.

Nasir abandoned his hostage and fled into the darkness. Ardis ran to the butler. Scarlet pulsed from his throat and poured down his shirt. She tore the gag from his mouth and pressed it his wound, but she knew he was dying.

The butler gasped and met her gaze. His hand fumbled at her own.

A small eternity later, he shut his eyes.

Wendel blinked away blood, wiped his face on his sleeve, and chased Nasir.

Ardis leapt to her feet. “Wendel!”

He didn’t stop running, so she ran after him.

Wendel dodged down yet another secret passageway. Stairs climbed toward the surface. Ardis struggled to keep up. Ahead, Nasir’s footsteps echoed off stone. Fading fast. A door slammed. Wendel burst through the door, and Ardis stumbled after him into the night. They stood in an alley behind the castle.

No sign of Nasir.

Gasping, Wendel dropped into a crouch. He stared at the cobblestones.

Ardis sucked in air. “We lost him.”

Wendel straightened, his head bowed, and paced up and down the alley. With startling violence, he punched the nearest wall. Then he leaned his forehead on the stones and stayed like that until he wasn’t breathing so hard.

“Wendel,” Ardis said.

He lifted his head. He had smeared blood on the stones.

“Damn,” he said, his voice gravelly. “Remind me not to punch a castle again.”

“Are you all right?” she said.

His jaw tightened. “Yes.”

Physically, perhaps, but emotionally… she saw self-loathing simmering in his eyes.

“Do you think there are any more assassins?” Ardis said.

“I know Nasir. He wouldn’t run away unless he was alone.” Wendel’s nostrils flared. “God, Nasir was right.”

“What?”

“I am a fool.”

She shook her head. “Nasir just wanted you to doubt yourself.”

“He didn’t deserve my mercy. I should have slit his damn throat. He’s so blinded by the Order, he would never defy them.”

Ardis was silent for a moment. “Maybe you see too much of yourself in him.”

He raked his fingers through his hair, but said nothing.

“We should go back,” she said.

Wendel glanced at the secret passageway. “Through there?”

Past the pair of dead bodies in the cellar. She winced. How could they explain that to the hosts of their dinner party?

“Is it the fastest way?” Ardis said.

“No.”

Wendel started walking. He obviously expected her to follow. She hurried to catch up, holding the stitch in her side.

“The main entrance is quicker,” Wendel said.

“But you’re covered in blood.”

“I don’t care who sees me.”

His words sounded so hollow, she believed him.

But he took her hand and at least granted her the anonymity of Amarant’s shadows. They walked unseen among the residents of Königsberg. When they crossed the threshold of the castle, Wendel let the shadows fade.

He hid his dagger in his coat and marched into the dining room.

Predictably, Cecelia shrieked at the sight of blood. Wendel was drenched in it—from the man he had killed, and from the man he hadn’t saved. He stood by the doors of the dining room and stared right back at them.

“You may need another butler,” Wendel said.

Waldemar spoke in a subterranean growl. “What have you done?”

A muscle in Wendel’s jaw twitched. “I saved you from the assassins lurking like vermin in your walls. You’re welcome.”

“And the butler?” Waldemar said.

“He blundered upon an assassin in the cellar. Which usually ends badly.”

Waldemar lowered his head like a bull about to charge. “How dare you speak of these matters in such a disrespectful manner.”

Ardis stepped between them and tried to salvage the situation.

“We couldn’t save the butler,” she said. “The assassin slit his throat.”

Judging by their grimaces, perhaps that was overly descriptive for her audience.

“I’m afraid I feel rather faint,” Juliana said.

She backed against the table and clutched the tablecloth.

“Darling!” Cecelia caught her by the shoulder. “Juliana, sit down.”

Juliana avoided the sight of Wendel. She wilted into a chair and fanned herself. Ardis suspected this was all for show.

“Please, Wendel,” Cecelia said. “You’re upsetting your sister.”

Cecelia touched the back of her hand to Juliana’s forehead as if taking her temperature, the picture of maternal concern.

Wendel’s face darkened with longing and disgust. He feigned a formal bow.

“Good night,” he said.

Cecelia and Juliana acted as though they hadn’t heard him. Waldemar glanced at him with such shame in his eyes that Wendel looked away almost immediately. Wolfram, the last of his family, sat at the table in silence.

“Ardis?” Wendel said. “After you.”

She grabbed the doorknob, her bloodstained fingers stark against the brass. They stepped from the dining room together.

“Where do you want to go?” Ardis said.

Wendel kept his head down. “It doesn’t matter.”

The door clicked open. Wolfram slipped into the hallway. He looked at his brother, his eyes bright in the candlelight.

“I’m sorry,” Wolfram said.

Wendel’s eyebrows angled into a frown. “Why?”

“You saved us, and they still treated you so badly.”

Wendel’s frown softened into something much more fragile. He touched his thumb to his mouth and inspected the carpet.

“I’m never the hero,” Wendel said.

Wolfram stared defiantly at him. “You’re my brother.”

When Wendel met his gaze, his eyes looked luminous with sadness.

“Wolfram,” he said. “You don’t know me.”

“Then tell me what happened to you.”

Wendel retreated a step. “No.”

“Don’t treat me like a child.” Wolfram folded his arms. “I deserve to know.”

“Wolfie. No.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t.” Wendel sounded hoarse. “I don’t even know how to tell you.”

Ardis backed away from the brothers, not wanting to intrude, but Wendel glanced into her eyes. She thought she saw a hint of desperation in his eyes, as if he wanted her to save him from having this conversation.

“Excuse me,” Ardis said, “but you seem to be dripping blood on the carpet.”

It wasn’t a lie—a few drops speckled the floor by his feet.

“Mother will be thrilled,” Wendel said dryly.

“You need a bath,” Ardis said. “I’m a bit dirty myself.”

Wolfram dipped his head. “I will tell the servants. I’m sorry, I meant to do so sooner.”

He spoke with polite formality. Like a prince. Like Wendel, in fact, despite the necromancer’s tendency to be a bastard.

Wendel ran his tongue over his lip. “I would appreciate a change of clothes.”

“I have some clothes you can borrow,” Wolfram said.

“That should suffice.” Wendel had a shadow of a smile. “I’m still taller than you.”

Wolfram sniffed. “Not by much.”

Konstantin joined them in the hallway, followed by Himmel.

“Pardon me,” the archmage said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It wasn’t important,” Wolfram said. “Please, go on.”

Konstantin thinned his lips. “Are there any more assassins in the castle?”

“No,” Wendel said.

“He killed one,” Ardis said, “but the other got away.”

Konstantin blew out his breath. “Good work, regardless.”

“Pardon?” Wendel said.

“We were meant to die before the last course. You both saved lives tonight.”

Wolfram glanced at Wendel with a look that clearly said he agreed with the archmage, but Wendel responded with a grimace.

“The antidote to nightshade.” Himmel furrowed his brow. “We still need it.”

Konstantin waved his hand. “Details.”

“I never ate the second course,” Wendel said.

“Neither did I,” Ardis said, “which means we can go.”

Wendel looked down at his bloodstained shirt. “And take a bath.”

~

Ardis locked the door to the bathroom and let her gown slither to her ankles. She stepped out and dropped it by her sword, where the tangerine silk puddled on the floorboards. She stared at the blood under her fingernails.

It wasn’t much, and it would wash away. Though the memories never did.

Ardis climbed into the clawfoot tub and lowered herself to the bottom. Warmth embraced her body. She tipped back her head. Underwater, her heartbeat echoed in her ears. The rhythm soothed the tension in her muscles.

A sharp cramp made her wince. She sat upright and pressed her hand to her stomach.

Ardis realized she couldn’t remember the last time she had her period. Her mind raced backwards through time. She should have started bleeding five days ago. Maybe more. She hadn’t thought much of it until now.