Shadows of Asphodel (24 page)

Light spilled from the high windows of the Sofiensaal and illuminated the dance hall’s ornate stucco façade. Ladies and gentlemen sashayed from gleaming autos and carriages. Horses snorted mist into the chilly night.

Giddy, Ardis wavered as they climbed the Sofiensaal’s steps.

“Let me catch my breath,” she said, clutching Wendel’s arm.

He cast a sharp glance at her. “What’s wrong?”

“This corset,” she said.

Her nerves weren’t helping. A wave of unease prickled over her skin and left goosebumps in its wake. She glanced around the street, her eyes distracted by the resplendent confusion of women as bright as exotic birds.

“Don’t worry.” Wendel squeezed her hand. “Follow my lead.”

She forced herself to look mildly disinterested as they stopped outside the Sofiensaal.

“Good evening,” the doorman said.

Wendel nodded and slipped the invitation from his coat pocket. He handed it to the doorman with a lofty look. The doorman flipped open the invitation, gave it no more than a cursory glance, then let them inside.

The inside of the Sofiensaal glittered with chandeliers, gilding, and gemstone necklaces on many ladies. Ardis touched her own bare neck and hoped she didn’t look like an imposter, though she certainly felt like one.

“What did the invitation say?” she murmured.

Wendel scanned the ballroom. “What do you mean?”

“Who are we supposed to be?”

“Oh, I didn’t read the invitation,” he said blithely.

“Wendel!”

“Neither did you, from the sound of it.”

She sighed and let him lead her around the outskirts of the ballroom. Dancers waltzed under the chandeliers to the music of Strauss. Beyond the orchestra, they climbed stairs to a dining area with buffet tables. Centerpieces of fruit and flowers towered above silver dishes offering a feast of Viennese cuisine.

“Who are we?” Ardis said. “Or do we have no cover story?”

Wendel tilted his head. “I’m a penniless Prussian viscount. You can be a wealthy American heiress aiming for my title.”

She laughed. “A viscount? I would aim higher than that.”

“Would you?” His eyes gleamed. “Anything higher than a viscount, and we will have to answer too many questions.”

“True.”

He helped himself to a glass of champagne and meandered along the buffet.

“Any sign of Lord Adler?” he said.

“I don’t know what he looks like,” she said. “And I’m looking for the American.”

Not that Konstantin had done a good job of describing him. He had told her the man’s name was Jesse Howland, and given her a newspaper clipping with a group photograph where Howland’s face was a blurry smudge.

“Is Howland blond?” Ardis said. “Do you remember what Konstantin said?”

Wendel didn’t reply. Did he really pay so little attention? Sighing, she turned to face him.

He was gone.

“Wendel?”

Ardis’s heart leapt into her throat. She glanced around the ballroom, but she couldn’t see beyond the swirl of dancers.

“Excuse me!” said a young man.

She whirled to face him. Barely older than a boy, really, his black hair slicked smooth over a face he hadn’t grown into yet.

Something about the sharpness of his cheekbones…

“That man with you,” he said, breathlessly. “Where did he go?”

Ardis froze, her stomach in a knot, and rearranged her face into a smile. Could this stranger be from the Order?

Though it did seem too obvious to simply walk up and ask for Wendel.

“Sorry?” she said.

“He was with you a moment ago,” he said, “but then he
vanished
—”

“Men often vanish at a ball,” said a lady, “when they tire of dancing.”

She slipped from the crowd and smiled at them. Her silk gown shimmered, dusky pink embroidered with ornate silver brocade, with long silver lacework sleeves in a fashion that evoked the Orient. The lady, too, looked like she had come from afar, with dark hair and eyes that reminded Ardis of her own.

“Lady Maili,” the stranger said, and she held out an elegantly gloved hand.

The young man kissed the air above her fingers. “I remember.”

“You might want to introduce yourself,” Lady Maili said, “for her sake.”

“My apologies.” He dipped into a quick bow, his black hair shadowing his eyes. “Prince Wolfram of Prussia.”

Ardis arched her eyebrows and decided to mimic Lady Maili’s charm.

“A prince?” she said. “This will sound very American of me, but I must say I am surprised. I never met a prince before.”

Wolfram’s eyebrows angled in a frown that looked terribly familiar.

“Never?” he said. “But that man—I’m certain of it.”

“Certain of what?” Ardis said.

“He was my brother.”

When Wolfram looked at Ardis, his eyes glimmering, she sucked in her breath. She couldn’t deny the resemblance.

“Another prince?” Lady Maili laughed. “This ball is turning out all right.”

Wolfram shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I haven’t seen him for years. He left when I was very young. I may have my hopes up too high.”

“What was his name?” Ardis said faintly.

“Wendel.”

Ardis felt like he had punched her in the gut. Prince Wendel of Prussia? How had he hidden a lie so large from her for so long?

“That’s awful,” Lady Maili said, with a sympathetic frown.

“Sorry.” Wolfram bowed again. “I should return to my sister.”

Wendel’s sister. Princess of Prussia, no doubt.

Ardis blinked fast. “Wait,” she said.

Wolfram hadn’t heard her, so she grabbed his elbow. He gawked at her—probably commoners didn’t touch princes—but she held on.

“Wendel is here,” she said, “but I don’t know where.”

Wolfram’s eyes lit up.

“Is he? God, you have to let me see him. Please, I hope it’s him. I thought he was dead.”

Ardis grimaced at the sad desperation in Wolfram’s voice. Wendel must have abandoned her the moment he saw his brother. She hadn’t thought of Wendel as a coward, but it seemed like such a cruel thing to—

“Ardis!”

Wendel lunged from the crowd. His hand clamped on her arm. Before anyone could speak, he shook his head hard.

“We have to leave,” he muttered hoarsely. “Now.”

Ardis’s hand darted to where her sword should be, but of course she had left Chun Yi locked in their room at the hotel.

Wolfram stepped forward. “Wendel?”

The two brothers locked gazes, their eyes glittering. Wendel’s jaw hardened. Ardis could see him closing his emotions away.

“Wolfram,” Wendel said, his voice remarkably level, “are you here with Juliana?”

“Yes.”

“Find her and make sure she leaves. It isn’t safe here.”

Wolfram’s face crumpled. “You can’t—”

“What isn’t safe?” Lady Maili fanned herself. “What are you talking about?”

Wendel held Ardis’s arm so tight it hurt. She twisted out of his grasp.

“The Order?” she said.

He nodded.

Ardis stared at him. “But the assassins in the catacombs—you interrogated them.”

“I did.”

“You said the dead never lie!”

“I was wrong,” he said. “That was all they knew, and they never knew the truth. More, so many more, assassins have hunted me here.”

Lady Maili dropped her fan. “You must be mad.”

Wendel clenched his hands and glanced around the ballroom. “If they see me talking with you—I can’t stay much longer.”

“Don’t leave.” Wolfram straightened, not quite as tall as his brother. “I won’t allow it.”

Wendel laughed, a broken sound.

“Wolfram,” he said, “do as I say and keep Juliana safe.”

“No.”

“I outrank you.”

“Not anymore.”

Wendel glared at him. “I’m still your older brother.”

His eyes burning, Wolfram wouldn’t back down.

“My older brother is dead,” he said. “That’s what they told me. I never believed them.”

“Wolfram.” Wendel softened his words. “Wolfie. Please.”

A moment hung suspended in the air like an eternity, and then Ardis glimpsed a flash of gray—a man running along the edge of the ballroom. Wendel’s face hardened, and as he retreated from them, he drew his dagger.

“Run,” he said.

Wolfram reached for him, but Wendel stepped backward and slipped into the crowd. Lady Maili looked to Ardis, her face pale.

“Where is your sister?” Ardis said. “Juliana?”

“I don’t know,” Wolfram said.

“We need to find her, and we need to get out of here.”

Wolfram frowned, then nodded. “She should be dancing.”

Ardis scanned the ballroom. Near the back, Wendel stalked along the wall, but there weren’t enough shadows for Amarant to hide him. As the music floated into its finale, the ladies and gentlemen halted their waltz.

Polite applause echoed beneath the high arched ceiling.

“There.” Wolfram pointed. “Juliana.”

An elegant brunette in silver silk laughed at her dancing companion. A tiara twinkled on her head. She certainly looked like a princess.

Ardis hoped only that this princess would take orders.

She wove through the crowd and touched Juliana on her gloved hand.

“Excuse me,” Ardis said. “Milady?”

Juliana tilted her head at Ardis with a faint sneer.

“I’m afraid we haven’t been introduced,” she said. “And the correct form of address for a princess is ‘your royal highness.’”

Wonderful. Juliana was just as arrogant as Wendel, if not more so.

“I’m here to escort you from the premises,” Ardis said. “Your royal highness.”

“Escort?” Juliana narrowed her eyes. “Wolfram, who is she?”

The prince stepped forward. “She’s with Wendel.”

Juliana, already pale, became even paler. She touched her fingers to her mouth, then shook her head and laughed.

“That’s a cruel joke,” she said.

Wolfram clenched his hands at his sides.

“It’s no joke,” he said. “Wendel is here, but he is being hunted.”

“Hunted?” Juliana said. “By whom?”

Wolfram glanced at Ardis. “Assassins. He asked us to leave.” He reached for his sister’s hand. “We have to trust him.”

Juliana’s eyes flashed. “I will trust him after I have spoken to him.”

She swept from the dance floor and glided along the wall, her head held high, in search of her long-lost brother. Ardis didn’t think Juliana would find him. She had lost Wendel herself, in the crowd, and he didn’t want to be found.

She did, however, see the assassins from the Order of the Asphodel advancing.

Through the crowd, she glimpsed gray cloaks and the unmistakable glimmer of chainmail—enough armor to make a man nearly invincible in unarmed combat. Though they were, of course, armed. An assassin’s cloak billowed away, baring the steel of his scimitar and the throwing knives sheathed at his belt.

“Hurry,” Ardis said.

She grabbed Wolfram’s hand and dragged him through the crowd.

“Why do they want to kill Wendel?” he said, sounding more like a boy than a man.

“They won’t kill him,” she said.

Unless he fought to the death, which she feared he would.

An assassin strode past Ardis, so close that his cloak brushed her arm. She clenched her fists, then remembered that her gown disguised her. She swallowed hard and zigzagged through the crowd toward Juliana. The orchestra started playing another Strauss waltz, and she dodged dancers as they stepped onto the floor.

“Juliana!” Wolfram called.

The princess faced them, looking peeved.

“I can’t find him anywhere,” she said, “and I—”

A fantastic crash deafened them. Ardis whirled in time to see Wendel shove a second crystal decanter off the buffet table. It shattered into a thousand shards, and liquor sprayed onto the ladies and gentlemen nearby.

And now the assassins knew exactly where Wendel was.

“Wendel!” Juliana said faintly, and she teetered on her heels.

“What the hell is he doing?” Ardis said.

Wendel hefted a candelabra and hurled it over the table. The candelabra wheeled through the air, rolled into the spilled liquor, and torched the alcohol. Fire rushed along the parquet floor. Screams punctuated the music.

The orchestra squawked to a halt, and the waltz turned into a stampede.

In the panic, the assassins from the Order stood like stones in an ocean. They held their ground as ladies fled from the flames licking at their skirts, as gentlemen ditched chivalry and elbowed through the crowd to the exits.

Still holding Wolfram’s hand, Ardis grabbed Juliana’s wrist and hauled her forward.

They struggled against the jostling crush of people, then burst through the doors into the space of the street. Juliana wrenched free from Ardis’s grasp and slapped her across the face. It was all Ardis could do to not hit her back.

“Don’t you dare touch me,” Juliana said.

“Juliana!” Wolfram stepped between them. “She was trying to help.”

“Who is she? Why is she here with Wendel?”

“I don’t know.”

Juliana started toward the ballroom, but Wolfram caught her by the elbow.

“You can’t go back in there,” he said.

Juliana glared at him, and her earrings quivered with her barely restrained anger.

“But Wendel,” she said.

While they faced each other, Ardis backed away. Smoke billowed from the burning ballroom as coughing people stumbled out. She ran through them, toward sounds of chaos, even though every instinct screamed to run away.

The flames had spread fast. They crawled along curtains and devoured gilded chairs.

“Wendel?” she shouted.

“I said run!”

She whirled toward the sound of his voice.

Blood splattered Wendel’s face and drenched the linen of his shirt. He was breathing hard, but he didn’t look hurt. He wielded the black dagger in his left hand and a scimitar in his right. Doggedly, a dozen assassins pursued him. Wendel let an assassin come close enough to swing at him, then parried the scimitar and lunged down the length of the blade. He drove his dagger into the man’s neck, splitting chainmail.

The assassin toppled back. Blood spurted from his severed artery.

“Run with me!” Ardis shouted.

“No.” Wendel’s voice sounded raw from smoke. “I have to kill them all.”