Authors: Karen Kincy
Serpent's Tower (2 page)
The woman behind the desk nodded at his lies. “Should I telegraph Mr. Spebbington?”
“That won’t be necessary.” Wendel waved his hand. “Allow me to check on the girl for him, before I’m on my way.”
“Here you are, sir.” She handed him the keys to the room. “Have a lovely evening!”
Ridiculous. This hotel had the security of a child guarding candy. If he could so easily acquire the keys to a girl’s room, who knew what could happen to her? His client wanted Spebbington’s wealth, especially if it meant marrying his daughter for her inheritance. A repulsive plan, but sadly not unusual.
Quickening his pace, Wendel climbed the stairs and knocked on her door. “Cora?”
She opened it a crack. “Yes?” Her eyes gleamed blue.
The shock of familiarity struck him, though he had seen her in the memories of the dead. “I’m here in regards to your father.”
Cora thinned her mouth. She looked sixteen, maybe seventeen. “May I ask why?”
“He’s dead.”
The color drained from her face. “Pardon?”
“You aren’t safe here.” When she tried to shut the door, he caught the edge. “They hired an assassin to kill your father.”
Cora stepped back from the door. “Stay away from me, or I will scream.”
“I wanted to warn you. Lord Skene will marry you for your inheritance.” Wendel tried a thin smile. “Trust me.”
“Why the bloody hell should I trust you? Where’s my father?”
“I’m the assassin who killed him.”
She slammed the door in his face.
Good. The girl was afraid, and angry, which would keep her alive.
Wendel didn’t wait for her to act, and left the hotel before he complicated matters. Cora had a fighting chance. She had no father, true, but that couldn’t be helped. If Wendel hadn’t killed him, another assassin would.
Squinting in the glaring sun of Constantinople, he thought about his next job.
Another day, another dead. When would it end? Would the Order of the Asphodel ever be done with him? He knew the truth.
The Grandmaster would never lose anything as rare as a necromancer.
Wendel stripped his disguise in the Serpent’s Tower. In his room, naked, he was nobody but himself. Only then could he imagine a job of his own. The client would be strict, the demands impossible, but the goal invaluable.
Freedom.
1913
ONE
Ardis trudged across the blood-churned earth, blinking as the wind whipped spindrift snow into her eyes. Her arm ached, but she kept a good grip on Chun Yi, her sword. Above, the drone of zeppelins heralded the advance of the medics who would decide the fate of the men and women lying broken on the ground. Ardis tugged her scarf over her nose, trying not to gag at the stench of diesel and blood.
She should hurry. She couldn’t see the height of the sun behind the clouds.
The battle was over, but a storm was coming.
Ardis walked quietly among the wounded, giving distance to rebels in their ragtag uniforms. Her enemies looked helpless, but she could hear their groans and prayers. Her fingers tightened around the sharkskin hilt of Chun Yi, and she hoped—
Movement.
A man staggered to his feet. His mane of black hair flew in his face, hiding it, and his ragged breath fogged the air. He didn’t look like a soldier or a rebel, dressed in a fine coat of gray wool and wolverine fur matted flat with blood. His hands hung empty at his sides.
What was a gentleman like him doing on the battlefield?
The man cleared his throat, clenched and unclenched his hands. “I’m unarmed.”
His words were at once smooth and rough, a honey-gravel voice. He spoke German without any trace of an accent.
“Hands on your head,” Ardis commanded.
The man did as she said, and the wind blew his hair from his face. Ardis had to stare.
He was starkly handsome, with an arrogant elegance only gentlemen have. Dark slivers of eyebrows, cheekbones so sharp you could cut yourself on them, and eyes exactly like those of a snow leopard, a stunning, pale green.
A thin smile tugged at the man’s lips. “How are you going to kill me?”
She kept her face blank. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“I would prefer your dagger,” he said. “It looks sharp.”
“Sword,” she said.
“Ah. My apologies.”
Ardis narrowed her eyes. She couldn’t believe how glib he sounded, like they were in a fencing match and he had nearly lost.
No, not nearly. If he was unarmed, as he said, then he was her prisoner.
Prisoner? Damn.
Ardis had never taken one of the enemy alive before. It had always been kill or be killed, but he wasn’t making this easy by acting so vulnerable. Now she would have to shackle him somehow and march him back to camp. Well, he was a gentleman, so perhaps there would be a hefty ransom involved, and she—
“My name is Wendel,” he said.
Ardis squinted at him. The battlefield seemed like an odd place for introductions.
“Thank you,” she said. “I will make sure it goes on your grave.”
He laughed, then clutched his ribs. His hand came away red with blood.
“You’re wounded,” she said.
“Very observant.” Wendel wasn’t looking at her now, and pain sharpened his voice. “I might die before you kill me.”
He laughed again, despite himself, and coughed up a spattering of blood in the snow.
Ardis frowned, her fingers even tighter on Chun Yi. She could let Wendel bleed out, but that might not be quick, and she would have to watch the whole thing. Or she could try to salvage him and collect that hypothetical ransom.
Wendel swayed on his feet. “May I sit?” he said. “I don’t think I can—”
He fell to his knees in one swift movement, like a glacier cracking, then crumpled on his side. He reached out, his fingers splayed, and grabbed a fistful of snow as if to claw himself upright. A war dog’s stiff corpse lay nearby, its blood melting the snow where Wendel had fallen. Wendel’s fine coat was altogether ruined now.
Ardis watched him, her jaw taut, and tried to make up her mind. “How bad is it?”
Wendel didn’t look at her. “Bad enough.”
She sheathed Chun Yi, her muscles shaking with fatigue. He reached out again, groping blindly, and his hand closed on the war dog’s paw.
“All right,” Ardis said. “I’m taking you—”
Wendel shuddered, and the dog kicked its legs. Adrenaline jolted into Ardis’s veins. She drew Chun Yi and stepped into a defensive stance. The dog climbed to its feet, its ruined throat gaping, and growled at her.
No breath fogged the winter air.
Ardis braced herself as the dog charged. Its paws thudded in the snow, its fangs glinted in the overcast sun. The dog veered for her left arm, jaws wide, and she dodged right. It spun, nimble for such a huge mastiff—for such a dead mastiff. She retreated, blocking with her sword.
The dog leapt high, aiming for her throat, and she brought Chun Yi up to meet him.
With gritted teeth, she sliced through its thick neck and beheaded it cleanly. The animal crashed into the snow, dead again.
Ardis’s heartbeat raced. She wiped the blood from her blade.
“Well,” Wendel said. “It was worth a try.”
She faced him, but didn’t stand so close this time. Wendel huddled sideways on the ground, his teeth chattering, clearly weaker for having used some of his magic. A widening bloom of blood stained the snow.
“A necromancer?” she said.
There was something remarkably similar to fear in his eyes, but he smiled. “Yes.”
Wendel’s eyes flickered shut, and he collapsed in the snow. She edged closer and nudged him with the flat of her blade. This could be another trick, though she doubted it. If she were lucky, maybe he was already dead.
Ardis sheathed Chun Yi. She crouched and felt for a pulse in his neck. There, beneath her fingers, a faint heartbeat thumped. He was still handsome, even unconscious, even covered in filth and blood. His skin felt warm and soft enough, like any other person’s. Not like a necromancer’s. She shuddered and wiped her hand on the snow.
The burning cold almost erased the feeling of having touched an abomination.
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Karen Kincy (Duvall, Washington) can be found lurking in her writing cave, though sunshine will lure her outside. When not writing, she stays busy gardening, tinkering with aquariums, or running just one more mile. Karen has a BA in Linguistics and Literature from The Evergreen State College.
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