Storms of Lazarus (Shadows of Asphodel, Book 2) (16 page)

“What happened?”

Ardis rubbed her thumbnail over her lip. She didn’t see how lying would help her here, but honesty seemed like a blunt weapon.

“Wendel wanted revenge,” Ardis said. “Thorsten Magnusson was at the top of his list.”

“And you helped him?” Margareta said.

“I did.” Ardis didn’t blink. “I wasn’t about to let him attack Thorsten alone.”

Margareta’s stare was cool but relentlessly scrutinizing.

“Do you believe the necromancer wanted to die?” the archmage said.

Ardis curled her fingers into fists. She found it hard to look at Margareta.

“I don’t think so,” she said.

“So you stopped him?”

“No.” Ardis pressed her fingernails into her palms. “I couldn’t.”

“Explain.”

Ardis sucked in a slow breath. “Wendel lost the fight. Thorsten stabbed him in the heart, then threw him from the top of the tower. When I found Wendel, he was dead. Undeniably. But as you may have heard, he didn’t stay dead. Earlier, without telling me, Wendel lent me some of his necromancy. I revived him myself.”

Margareta’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Fascinating.”

Were all the archmages concerned only with magic?

“Ma’am,” Ardis said. “With all due respect, I didn’t come here today to talk about Wendel or Wendel’s mistakes.”

Margareta leaned back in her chair. “I don’t see how it’s irrelevant.”

“I don’t see how his actions should define my career.”

Margareta sniffed. “You helped him every step of the way.”

“I tried to stop him every step of the way.” Ardis forced herself to speak in a calm voice. “I’m nobody’s sidekick.”

“Weren’t you Wendel’s companion?”

“I’m not sure what you’re insinuating,” Ardis said.

Margareta sighed. “Ardis, I would recommend avoiding romantic entanglements. Particularly while on a mission.”

“Well, it’s too late for that.” Ardis tacked on a hasty, “Ma’am.”

Margareta leaned with her elbows on her desk.

“I don’t demand chastity,” she said. “This is hardly a convent.”

Ardis twisted her mouth to disguise a smile.

“But don’t let lust distract you,” Margareta said. “Your loyalty should be to the archmages first and foremost.”

“Which is why I’m here,” Ardis said. “Can we talk business?”

“Will your interactions with the necromancer remain professional?”

Ardis ran her tongue over her teeth and thought for a moment.

“While I’m on the job,” she said. “Will that be enough?”

Margareta sighed. “I suppose it will have to be. You show promise, Ardis, and I would hate to let you go to a competitor.”

“Thank you,” Ardis said.

“Your work in Transylvania has been especially valuable to us.”

Ardis met her gaze. “I appreciate the compliment, ma’am, but I don’t want to go back to Transylvania. I want to go to Prussia.”

“Prussia?” Margareta nodded slowly. “We do need more automaton test pilots.”

“Ma’am.” Ardis sat even straighter. “I would love to be a pilot.”

“Konstantin did say you showed remarkable aptitude.” Margareta pursed her lips. “You do, however, have one major obstacle.”

Sweat dampened Ardis’s hands. “What would that be?”

“You left Natalya lying on the snow, in a cemetery, pinned by her own sword.”

Ardis tried not to wince. “She pistol-whipped me on the Diesel mission.”

“I remember that very well.”

“Natalya and I haven’t always seen eye to eye.”

Margareta puckered her lips. “With such a violent track record, I’m not sure the two of you should work together.”

Ardis’s stomach plummeted. “Natalya will be in Prussia?”

“She already is. She commands the automaton pilots.”

God, there was no avoiding Natalya.

“I can do this.” Ardis squared her shoulders. “I can work under Natalya’s command. Give me a chance to prove myself.”

Margareta stared at Ardis in silence. The corner of her mouth twitched.

“You won’t have to prove yourself to me,” she said. “Report to Natalya in Prussia.”

Ardis exhaled. “I won’t disappoint the archmages.”

Margareta stood and shook Ardis’s hand. She had a firm grip.

“One small thing before you go,” the archmage said.

Margareta slid open a drawer and took out something long wrapped in cloth. She set it on the desk and meticulously unwrapped the cloth. A sharkskin scabbard held a sword with a red tassel dangling from its pommel.

Ardis’s breath caught in her throat. “Chun Yi.”

Ardis gripped the sharkskin hilt and drew her sword in one sweep. The steel ignited with a rush of golden fire. She felt the flames not as heat, but as an electricity in the palm of her hand that hummed through her bones.

Margareta eyed the sword with wary curiosity.

“It arrived an hour ago from Bulgaria,” she said. “It’s a pity I didn’t have more time to examine the enchantment. Quite old, quite odd magic. Perhaps, in the future, you might lend it to the archmages for study.”

Ardis sheathed her sword. “Perhaps.”

“Good luck in Prussia,” Margareta said. “Try not to damage any prototypes.”

Ardis sensed an unspoken, “This time,” since they had brought a prototype into battle without permission from any of the archmages except Konstantin. Still, that couldn’t be too damning if Ardis had her job back.

“Thank you,” Ardis said again.

Margareta granted her a rare smile. “Teach those Russians a lesson.”

“I will, ma’am.”

Ardis walked out the door with her scabbard in hand. Outside the office, she buckled it to her belt and adjusted it so it hung just right. She strode down the hallway with her head held high. Wendel and Konstantin waited by the doors. They loitered an arm’s length from each other, uneasy in each other’s company.

“I take it things went well?” Konstantin said.

“Brace yourself,” Ardis said. “She assigned me to be an automaton test pilot in Prussia. I’ll try not to scratch your babies.”

Konstantin laughed, though he winced with his eyebrows.

“I trust you more than most,” he said.

Wendel feigned innocence. “Don’t look at me.”

Ardis pushed through the doors to the outside. Snow whirled into her face and tossed her hair, but it couldn’t blow the grin from her face.

~

The moment she set foot in the hospital, Ardis felt her stomach twist into a familiar knot. Even here in the grand atrium, with its potted palms and cathedral ceiling, the stink of disinfectant lingered in the air. Wendel’s shoulders stiffened, and he seemed reluctant to enter. Likely due to his proximity with the dying.

“Excuse me,” Konstantin said to the receptionist. “We would like to visit someone.”

The receptionist glanced into his eyes. “The name of the patient?”

“Himmel.”

She scanned a clipboard. “Theodore Himmel?”

“Theodore?” Konstantin stumbled over the name.

The receptionist squinted. “Your relationship to the patient?”

“Professional.” Konstantin’s hands left sweaty fingerprints on the desk. “Captain Himmel commands a zeppelin for the archmages. Commanded, that is. He went down with his ship and suffered injuries. Can we see him?”

The receptionist inspected his edelweiss pin and tapped her pen on the desk.

“Theodore Himmel is on the first floor,” she said, “in Room 102. Through those doors, down the hall, and on your right.”

They followed her directions. The door to Room 102 stood ajar.

Konstantin hesitated, then rapped his knuckles on the frame.

“Enter,” Himmel said.

The room was small and bare, with a brass bed and a single chair by the window. Himmel sat in the chair and stared out at the manicured evergreens. His right arm hung in a sling. He lifted his head and looked at them.

“Morning,” Himmel said.

Konstantin nodded and pressed his lips together. He didn’t seem to know what to say.

“How are you feeling?” Ardis said.

Himmel grunted.

Nobody had brought him gifts or flowers, not even notes of sympathy, and Ardis folded her arms to hide her empty hands.

“You look a little better,” she said.

“Do I?” Himmel said.

Ardis studied his face. “Less pale, at least.”

Wendel dropped onto the bed and crossed his legs. He leaned back on his hands.

“We were worried about you,” he said. “Old Teddy, our dearest friend.”

“Teddy?” Himmel nearly snarled the word. “Who told you that?”

“The receptionist,” Wendel said smoothly.

His ears crimson, Konstantin smoothed his hair, though his curls didn’t cooperate.

“Your name is Theodore?” he said.

“Unfortunately,” Himmel said.

“Oh.” Konstantin coughed. “I rather like the name Theodore.”

The captain stared at the archmage. It was hard to say whose face was redder.

“I like Teddy,” Wendel said.

Himmel rose from his chair. “I can still knock you out with one arm.”

Konstantin stopped Himmel with a hand on his chest.

“Gentlemen!” the archmage said. “This is a hospital.”

“He’s no gentleman,” Himmel said.

“True,” Wendel said. “Technically, I’m royalty.”

“You won’t be anything when I’m done with you.”

Wendel laughed, and Himmel glared ferociously at him. The necromancer seemed glad that the captain was no longer melancholy.

“My God,” Ardis said. “Everybody calm the hell down.”

The three men stared at her, but she didn’t back down.

“Himmel, you’re supposed to be wounded. Konstantin, you’re supposed to be concerned. Wendel, you’re being a bastard. Again.”

“Am I?” Wendel said. “I thought it was rather heroic of me to save Himmel’s life.”

“What?” Himmel said. “Konstantin, is this true?”

Konstantin rubbed the back of his neck. “The necromancer did revive a few dead men to rescue survivors from the lake.”

Himmel blanched. “You brought my men back?”

Wendel’s face flipped from sarcastic to serious.

“The dead don’t need to breathe,” he said. “They walked in and dragged you out.”

Himmel’s chest heaved as he struggled to find words.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said.

Wendel stared him down. “I should have let you drown?”

“Christ.” With his left hand, Himmel rubbed his jaw. “You are an abomination.”

“So I hear.”

Ardis stepped between them. “A suggestion? Don’t start yet another vendetta. We should focus on revenge against the Russians.”

“And the clockwork dragon,” Konstantin said.

“I’d love to.” Himmel’s voice darkened. “The doctors say I’m all but useless. My arm, anyway. Too much damage.”

“That’s poppycock,” Konstantin scoffed. “Those doctors are useless.”

Ardis frowned, not sure it was a good idea to give false hope.

“I’ll build you another arm.” Konstantin’s eyes burned with zeal. “A better one! Trust me, the technomancy will be nothing but the best. Come with us to Prussia, and you can test the arm by punching a few Russians.”

“Actually,” Wendel said, “I like the sound of that, archmage.”

Himmel stared at Konstantin with parted lips and bright eyes.

“You would do that for me?” he said gruffly.

Konstantin locked gazes with him. “If you would allow me the privilege, Theodore. Technomancy isn’t without risks.”

Himmel sucked in a slow breath. “It has to be better than rotting in some hospital.”

“Excellent.” Konstantin broke into a smile. “It’s good to have you back.”

“Just don’t call me Theodore.”

Konstantin blushed. “Right.”

~

Bells chimed from the cathedral and echoed over Vienna. Eleven o’clock. With only an hour before departure, Ardis and Wendel visited the marketplace for some last minute purchases. Fortunately, the archmages had paid them a stipend in advance of their work on Project Lazarus. Ardis bought a new pair of boots, since her old ones had seen better days, while Wendel spent a few coins on leftover lebkuchen.

“More cookies?” Ardis said.

“One can never have too many cookies,” Wendel said grandiosely.

She smiled. “You have a sweet tooth, don’t you?”

“Pardon?”

Ardis guessed that didn’t translate into German. “You love to eat sweets.”

“Ah.” Wendel raised his eyebrows. “
Naschkatze
. It means… a cat who nibbles.”

She laughed. “I could see that.”

A black bird swooped overhead—Krampus. The raven banked, his little feet tucked under his body, and landed on the cobblestones.

“Krampus!” Wendel said. “You want some lebkuchen?”

Wendel tossed a crumb to the raven. Krampus cocked his head, shuffled his feet, and glanced around the market. Bristling his feathers, he clicked his beak. He didn’t seem to care about the cookie in the slightest.

Wendel snorted. “What, my crumbs aren’t good enough for you?”

Krampus ducked, his wings halfway open. “
Grok
!
Grok
!
Grok
!”

Ardis frowned. The raven seemed spooked by something. Her hand strayed to Chun Yi. She scanned the marketplace, but it was too difficult to pinpoint danger in the swirl of the crowd. Anxiety prickled over her skin.