Storms of Lazarus (Shadows of Asphodel, Book 2) (29 page)

Guests screamed and scrambled from the conservatory.

Ardis hauled Wendel from the conservatory and brought him to the hallway. Lady Maili and Lord Max waited there, braver than most, and they both steadied Wendel when he doubled over. A cough wracked his body.

Wendel wiped his mouth with a shaking hand. “Where’s Wolfram?”

“I don’t know,” Ardis said.

Maili stared at the conservatory. “There are still people in there.”

Ardis knew Maili had to be remembering the downfall of the ballroom in Vienna, when it was a miracle no one died.

Well, no one but the assassins sent to capture or kill Wendel.

“Let me go,” Wendel said. “I can fight.”

He shrugged off Max and Maili’s helping hands and straightened.

“You nearly drowned,” Max said, though he sounded more impressed than horrified.

“Wendel,” Ardis said. “We need to retreat.”

“Where?” Maili said.

Max pressed his hand to Maili’s back. The protective ferocity in his eyes made Ardis wish Wendel would do the same.

“The cellar,” Ardis said.

Determination steeled Wendel’s voice. “My dagger, please?”

Cathedral bells tolled an alarm. Ardis glanced at the black dagger in her hand. Dragon’s blood slicked the blade with iridescence. She returned the dagger to Wendel. His cold fingers lingered on hers, and he met her gaze. His eyes betrayed the tenderness of concern that he so carefully kept from his face.

She wanted to drag him into an embrace, but she settled for a nod.

Wolfram scrambled into the hallway. “Wendel!”

“Wolfie.” Wendel exhaled. “Stay close. Don’t do anything stupidly heroic.”

Dripping from the pool, Wolfram looked between them with bright eyes.

“The dragon,” he said. “How is the dragon so
smart
?”

Wendel grimaced. “You’re as bad as Konstantin.”

“Is it entirely clockwork? Or is it—”

Talons scraped the floor, followed by the rustling of steel scales. Wolfram’s back stiffened, and his face went bone white.

“Wolfram!” Wendel said. “Get—”

The clockwork dragon lunged from the conservatory and sank its fangs into Wolfram’s shoulder. Wolfram screamed. He tried to break free, but the dragon jerked him off his feet and shook him like a dog with a rabbit.

Bile soured Ardis’s throat. It wanted to snap his neck.

The dragon flung Wolfram across the conservatory. He crashed through a window and crumpled on the lawn. Wendel sprinted toward him, heedless of the dragon, and Ardis followed. Shards of glass clung to the window like crooked teeth. Wendel kicked them away, climbed through, and stumbled into the night.

Outside, Wolfram lay facedown on the lawn.

The dragon snapped at the heels of the fleeing guests. Ardis stepped through the broken window and sprinted from the conservatory.

Wendel skidded to his knees and flipped Wolfram over. Wolfram’s head lolled.

“Oh, God,” Wendel said. “Wolfie.”

Ardis stared down at them. “Is he…?”

Trembling, Wendel touched Wolfram’s neck. “He isn’t dead.”

Juliana hobbled across the lawn, her heels sinking into the grass.

“Wolfram?” she called. “Wendel?”

Glass chimed in a cascade. The dragon smashed through another window and clambered from the conservatory. Starlight glimmered off its scales, the red so dark it looked black. It crunched across the broken glass, driving shards into the earth, and lowered its head with a hiss. Ardis looked into the dragon’s gemstone eyes and saw a strange intelligence there, something that transcended clockwork and magic.

“Take my hand,” Wendel said.

The shadows of Amarant rippled over the necromancer, staining his skin with darkness. He disappeared against the night sky, no more than a patch of missing stars. He gripped her hand, and shadows bled from his skin to hers.

“Don’t let go,” Wendel said.

“I won’t,” Ardis said.

Wendel dragged her down to Wolfram. He touched the flat of the dagger to Wolfram’s hand and let the shadows blanket him.

The dragon crawled from the wreckage of the conservatory.

Ardis held her breath so it wouldn’t fog the air. She huddled by Wendel, who was shivering from the cold—or from the strain of hiding the three of them. She didn’t know how much the dagger drained his magic.

“Bloody hell,” Juliana said.

Juliana stared at the dragon for no more than a second, then did the sensible thing and kicked off her shoes. The dragon cocked its head. Juliana hurled her shoe at it. The heel hit it square in the eye. The dragon jerked back, blinking, and Juliana bolted for the castle. Barefoot, she zigzagged around broken glass.

The dragon snarled at Juliana, then slinked across the lawn.

Ardis sucked in a quick breath. Wendel clutched her hand so hard it hurt her bones. Wolfram stirred and moaned softly.

The dragon halted and tilted its head. Listening.

Across the river, the cathedral bells still tolled. The gonging echoed over the water.

Wolfram stirred. “Did I fall?”

Wendel hushed him with a hand over his mouth.

The dragon bent over them and sniffed the air. Ardis froze. The hot steam of its breath filled her nostrils. It smelled like brimstone, and an unearthly perfume—black cherries and smoke—that could only be magic.

Still shivering, Wendel struggled to stay motionless.

Wolfram opened his eyes. He let out a startled yelp, muffled by Wendel’s hand. The dragon hissed and bared its fangs.

Ardis tensed the muscles in her thighs. Ready to run.

Footsteps shook the earth. The dragon recoiled and faced its new opponent.

The Colossus automaton.

Natalya piloted the automaton over the bridge and across the river. The bridge quaked under the automaton. She stopped at the edge of the lawn and shouted at the dragon in Russian. Ardis hoped she wasn’t still drunk.

The dragon leapt into an attack.

Metal met metal in a deafening crash. The dragon reared for the cockpit. Natalya blocked, and the dragon bit the automaton’s arm. Fangs gouged the steel. Natalya braced herself, the automaton’s feet digging muddy gashes.

The dragon clamped down, but the automaton didn’t yield.

Natalya wedged her armored hand between the dragon’s jaws. She pried the jaws open, hinges screeching, and yanked her arm free. Natalya punched the dragon in the head. It staggered back, then rushed the Colossus.

Natalya sidestepped, though not nimbly enough.

The dragon tackled the automaton and knocked it down with the force of a small earthquake. The dragon clung to the automaton. The cockpit’s glass shattered under its claws. Natalya shoved the automaton’s elbow under the dragon and forced it away, then staggered to her feet and lunged into a charge.

With a burst of speed, Natalya caught the clockwork dragon by its wing.

The dragon hissed and writhed, biting at her legs, but she didn’t let go. She dragged it down to the river and hurled it into the water. Sinking, the dragon thrashed in the river, its tail churning it into whitewater.

The clockwork dragon sank to the bottom of the river. The water calmed.

Ardis and Wendel stood by Wolfram. Natalya turned to them, knelt in the automaton, and climbed down from the cockpit.

“Still in one piece?” Natalya said.

Ardis nodded, then shook her head.

Wolfram looked at his brother. “Did I fall?”

“You did,” Wendel said.

Natalya grunted and touched her ribs. She stared at her hand, red with blood.

“You aren’t in one piece yourself,” Ardis said.

She sounded much braver than she felt, her stomach sick with fear.

“Dragon’s claw,” Natalya muttered. “Stabbed me through the cockpit.”

Natalya swayed and sat on the ground. Ardis hoped some of that was thanks to the vodka, and not the severity of the wound.

Wolfram blinked. “Did I fall?” he repeated.

“What’s wrong, Wolfie?” Wendel said.

Wolfram didn’t seem to understand the question. His eyelids fluttered shut, and his back arched. His body began to convulse.

“Ardis!” Wendel said.

Her heartbeat kicked into higher gear. “He’s having a fit.”

“Help him. Please.”

The anguish in Wendel’s voice tore at Ardis.

“I can’t,” she said. “We have to wait for it to end.”

Wendel cradled his brother’s head in his hands, shielding Wolfram from the dirt, but he looked so powerless to help him.

Candlelight couldn’t chase the shadows from Königsberg Cathedral. Wendel waited just inside the doors, a hollow look in his eyes, and Ardis squeezed his hand. He startled, then squeezed back and lifted his head.

“We don’t have to do this,” Ardis said quietly.

Wendel shook his head. “I gave my word.”

He looked down the length of the cathedral. Ardis sucked in a slow breath. The sweetness of beeswax lingered in the air.

Juliana rose from a pew. “Thank you for coming.”

Wendel said nothing, but his mouth hardened.

“Please,” Juliana said, “pray with us.”

Ardis furrowed her brow. She didn’t tell Juliana that she didn’t believe in prayer, and she didn’t know if Wendel believed in anything anymore.

Juliana returned to the pew. Wendel joined her, his back stiff, and Ardis sat by him.

“Where are Mother and Father?” Wendel whispered.

Juliana glanced at him. “They will be here soon.”

The princess looked away, and her lips moved soundlessly in prayer.

Wendel lowered his head and let his eyelids close halfway. Ardis slid her hand to his knee, and he caught her fingers in his own. An ache burned in her throat. She didn’t know what to tell him, how to comfort him.

They all knew that Wolfram might never wake.

“You won’t let me go without promising, will you?”

“Not a chance.”

“If I do,” he said, “will you help me?”

Wendel’s words echoed in her mind. When she looked at him now, she could see the despair simmering in his eyes.

He didn’t think he could be helped, because he couldn’t help anyone.

A cough echoed in the sanctity of the cathedral. Waldemar and Cecelia walked down the aisle. They traversed the rainbow light slanting through the stained glass windows. Waldemar’s eyes looked red around the edges, his face frozen in a solemn grimace, and Cecelia kept a handkerchief close to her mouth.

“Wendel,” his father said.

Wendel stood and stepped past Ardis into the aisle.

“Is he awake?” Wendel’s voice sounded hoarse.

Cecelia’s mouth quivered. “Not yet.”

“Try not to upset your mother,” Waldemar said.

“Should I say nothing?” Wendel spread his arms. “Should I pretend it never happened?”

Waldemar spoke in an intense murmur. “I saw you try to protect Wolfram.”

Wendel’s arms dropped. “I failed. Forgive me.”

Cecelia reached for her son, the handkerchief crumpled in her hand. Her face wavered as if she wanted to smile, but couldn’t.

“I know you must feel terrible,” she said, “but please don’t blame yourself.”

Wendel stared at his mother and his eyes glittered in the candlelight.

“Is it so easy?” he said. “To feel blameless?”

Cecelia’s mouth thinned into a pale line. “We mustn’t linger in the past, Wendel. We must pray for Wolfram’s future.”

Wendel cleared his throat, looked down, and ran his hand over the back of his neck. When he glanced up, his mouth was twisted.

“Does Wolfie have a future?” he said.

Cecelia stifled a sob with her handkerchief.

Waldemar glared at his son. “Enough.”

Juliana stepped between them and lifted her hands. “Please don’t fight. I asked Wendel here, as part of the family.”

Wendel tightened his jaw. “I’m no longer part of this family.”

Ardis climbed to her feet. She caught Wendel’s gaze, waiting for him to say they could go, but his eyes looked faraway.

“I’m sorry.” Grief roughened Wendel’s words. “I couldn’t save him.”

With that, Wendel clenched his hands into fists and turned his back on his family—or what was once his family, and now existed in name only. He walked from the cathedral, his face hardened by bitterness. When Ardis followed him outside, she saw the fragility of his expression. He blinked fast in the morning.

“It was my fault,” Wendel said. “I failed. I couldn’t—” He sucked in shuddering breath. “Everyone I know gets hurt.”

Ardis said nothing, because there was some truth to it.

Wendel leaned against the cathedral, his hands splayed on either side, and touched his forehead to the stone. The muscles in his arms tightened, the veins standing in stark relief. He said nothing, his breath fogging the air.

“You asked me what I remembered,” Wendel said.

“When?” Ardis said.

“When I fell from the Serpent’s Tower.” He held his breath. “I remember dying. But I remember nothing of being dead.”

She exhaled. “I’m not sure what I expected.”

“There was no heaven. No hell.”

“Isn’t that a relief?”

“No.”

Wendel’s fingernails scraped the stone of the cathedral.

“If there’s nothing after death,” he said, “there’s nothing waiting for Wolfram.”