Storms of Lazarus (Shadows of Asphodel, Book 2) (20 page)

“Waldemar!” Cecelia said. “Wendel!”

The volume of her voice startled everyone at the table.

Cecelia’s earrings quivered. “Sit. Down.”

Silence reigned.

Konstantin coughed and drank some wine. He choked, swallowed, and held a napkin to his mouth. His fingers trembled.

“Archmage?” Wendel said. “Konstantin?”

Konstantin tried to speak, but he was silenced by a hacking cough.

Himmel’s eyes flashed. “Doctor! He’s choking.”

Ursula leapt to her feet and ran to Konstantin, who crumpled the napkin in his fist. He sucked in a shuddering breath.

“No,” Konstantin said hoarsely. “Not choking.”

Ursula held his wrist and took his pulse. Her mouth hardened.

“Look at me,” she said.

Konstantin blinked and met her gaze. His eyes looked dark.

“Your pupils are dilated,” Ursula said, “and your heart rate is too high. Konstantin, are you allergic to anything?”

He furrowed his brow and nodded.

Ursula thinned her mouth. “Allergic to what?”

Konstantin tried to reply, but that triggered another coughing fit.

“Get my bag,” Ursula said. “Quickly.”

A footman ran out and returned with the doctor’s bag. Ursula readied a syringe of adrenaline, rolled up Konstantin’s sleeve, and stabbed the needle into his arm. Wincing, Konstantin managed a single word.

“
Solanum
,” he rasped.

“Solanum?” Waldemar said. “Is he speaking in tongues?”

Ursula ignored him. “Konstantin, are you allergic to all solanum species?”

He stared at the table, his face as pale as parchment.

“Think,” Ursula said.

“Never this badly.” He exhaled. “Slight reaction to tomatoes.”

Cecelia twisted her napkin in her hands. “But there were no tomatoes in tonight’s dinner. I planned the menu with our chef.”

“I abhor tomatoes,” Waldemar said.

“Tomatoes aren’t my concern at the moment,” Ursula said. “Solanum is the proper name for the nightshade family.”

Nightshade. Ardis clenched her hands, her fingernails biting into her palms.

Himmel blanched. “Doctor, is the archmage poisoned?”

“Yes.” Ursula remained remarkably calm. “Who ate any of the second course?”

Juliana shoved her plate away. “I did,” she said. “Am I poisoned as well?”

“Nightshade poisoning takes one to two hours. You have time for the antidote.”

“And the archmage?” Himmel said.

“Konstantin has a weakness to nightshade,” Ursula said, “thanks to his otherwise slight allergy to solanum species.”

The captain clenched his jaw. “Will he be all right?”

“The adrenaline will counteract the anaphylaxis.”

Himmel squinted. “Meaning?”

“He should be fine.”

Konstantin managed a smile. “Only ate one bite.”

Wendel stared at his untouched plate. Then he turned on his heel and advanced on the four footmen who stood by the table.

“Father,” Wendel said, “have you hired any new servants lately?”

Waldemar’s eyes darkened. “No.”

Wendel stalked down the row of footmen. All of them stood at attention, and each of them looked equally anxious. The first footman was sweating; the second footman had a twitch in his eyelid; the third and fourth stared into space.

“Untie your cravats,” Wendel said.

The first footman glanced at the lady of the house. “Your highness?”

“Do as he says,” Cecelia said.

The first footman loosened a crisp white cravat that was knotted in a bow at his neck. The other footmen followed his lead.

“Turn around,” Wendel said.

Each of the footmen faced the wall. Wendel stared at the backs of their heads. He pinched the fourth footman’s cravat and whisked it away, then grabbed a fistful of the footman’s hair and yanked his head toward the floor.

A double-headed eagle blackened the man’s neck.

Ardis gasped and grabbed her sword. That very tattoo darkened Wendel’s neck, a mark from the Order of the Asphodel.

“This man is an assassin,” Wendel said.

The footman struggled, but Wendel slammed his face onto the table and wrenched his arm back at a sickening angle.

Waldemar lunged to his feet. “Gustav? Preposterous!”

The other three footmen stood petrified along the wall.

“When did you hire him?” Wendel said.

“Over a year ago. He’s a good Hessian lad!”

Gustav squirmed and groped for a knife on the table. Wendel hauled him away and held the black dagger to his throat.

“Give me an excuse,” Wendel murmured.

Gustav swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing close to the blade. He looked like a lad, as Waldemar had said, not more than eighteen years old. Or perhaps his cornflower blue eyes granted him a deceptive innocence.

“Sir,” Gustav said. “Please. Let me speak.”

Wendel’s eyes burned with fire. “Do you know who I am?”

“Yes.” Gustav blinked rapidly. “The princeling assassin.”

“I hate that nickname.”

Gustav flinched. “It’s what they all say.”

“You trained with the assassins in Constantinople?”

Gustav nodded. “It was either this or the army. They recruited me and sent me to infiltrate the castle at Königsberg.”

Wendel bared his teeth and took a step back.

“Tell the Grandmaster not to send boys,” he said.

“Wendel!” Waldemar bellowed the word. “Don’t you dare let him go. This worm of a coward betrayed our family.”

A dark look shadowed Wendel’s face. He angled his dagger.

“Our family?” he said, with frosty precision.

Waldemar reddened, his face blotchy. “He tried to poison us all.”

“He
did
poison us all,” Himmel said, and he touched Konstantin’s arm.

Ardis drew her sword and advanced on Gustav.

“Wendel,” she said. “We can’t let him leave.”

Gustav’s eyes glistened. “Please. I should have never agreed. It was a mistake.”

The necromancer inspected him with cold scrutiny.

“The only mistake,” he said, “was you being such a terrible assassin.”

Wendel raised Amarant. The black dagger gleamed in the candlelight.

Cecelia muffled a shriek. “No!”

Wendel halted. “Would it be bad manners to kill a footman in the dining room?”

“Stop,” Cecelia said, flying to her feet. “Someone, call for the police.”

Wendel lowered his dagger. Gustav eyed him, then muttered under his breath.

“What?” Wendel said.

Gustav raised his voice. “I wasn’t the only assassin.”

Wendel swore and hit Gustav’s head with the pommel of his dagger. Gustav crumpled, his eyelids fluttering shut.

Ursula crouched by Gustav. “He’s unconscious. I could have sedated him.”

“Right, doctor,” Wendel said, with immense sarcasm. “Remind me of that tactic the next time we face an enemy.”

Natalya sprang to her feet. “How many assassins?”

“How should I know?” Wendel said.

“Sweetheart. You could have asked him before you knocked him out.”

Waldemar’s chair screeched across the floor. He surveyed the dinner party.

“Everyone remain calm,” he said. “I will order the drivers to bring your cars around, and then we will exit the dining room together.”

Ardis shook her head. “There might be assassins waiting.”

Waldemar glared as if this would silence her, but she didn’t blink.

“We better not walk into an ambush,” Ardis said. “Wendel and I can scout ahead and make sure the coast is clear.”

“I’ll stay here,” Natalya said. “Didn’t think I’d need my rapier at a dinner party.”

Tesla, Juliana, and Wolfram sat at the table like statues. Himmel stood behind Konstantin, his hand on the back of his chair.

“Hurry,” Himmel said. “Konstantin is still poisoned.”

“I’m feeling much better,” the archmage said, rather feebly.

Himmel looked down at him. “I don’t want to take any chances.”

“He’s right,” Ursula said. “We need the antidote to nightshade.”

“Wait here,” Ardis said.

She sounded more confident than she felt. Her stomach wormed with fear. Wendel took her by the elbow and walked her from the dining room. In the hallway, he bent down by her ear and spoke in a hushed voice.

“The archmage isn’t the only target,” Wendel said.

“I know,” Ardis murmured. “If the Russians hired the assassins, they would benefit by killing the entire dinner party.”

He smiled thinly. “Shall we kill them first?”

Ardis nodded. But she still wondered why Wendel had shown mercy to Gustav, the assassin with such young eyes.

Maybe he didn’t want his little brother Wolfram to see him as a murderer.

“This way,” Wendel said.

Ardis followed him down the hallway. She held her sword at a low angle, Chun Yi smoldering and spitting cinders.

“Where should we look?” Ardis said. “This castle is so damn big.”

Wendel furrowed his brow. “Gustav was hired over a year ago. Likely as more of a spy than an assassin. It would be a waste to force anyone decent to work as a footman for that long. Which means he wasn’t alone.”

“Gustav already told us that,” Ardis said.

Wendel stopped by a window. He peeked through the curtains at the darkening clouds.

“I wonder who brought him the nightshade,” he said.

“The real assassin,” Ardis said. “I assume Gustav would report back to him. Shouldn’t we check with the butler?”

Wendel arched an eyebrow. “The butler?”

Her cheeks warmed. “Don’t butlers keep track of footmen?”

“They do. Though I’m surprised you know.”

“We had rich people in San Francisco.”

Wendel’s smile came and went within an instant. “I remember a shortcut.”

He walked no more than few paces down the hallway, then stroked the wood paneling. His fingertips lingered on a twisted carving. Under his touch, a hidden door clicked open. A dim corridor stretched both left and right.

“A secret passageway,” Wendel said. “The castle is riddled with them.”

“What for?” Ardis said.

He looked at her like this was obvious. “So the servants won’t be seen.”

“Where does this one go?”

“Downstairs to the kitchen. Eventually.”

Wendel stepped toward the shadows, but Ardis caught him by the arm.

“We don’t know who’s in there,” she said.

“Servants?”

She grimaced. “If you wanted to poison an entire dinner party, wouldn’t you hide in the walls and wait for them to die?”

“No.” He had the gall to sound offended. “I’d kill them myself.”

“Wendel.”

“Poison is chancy. Particularly in the hands of an idiotic footman.”

“Wendel! I get it. In your professional opinion as an assassin, this nightshade business was a complete fiasco. But we need to think like someone who wants to stay hidden. Someone who doesn’t mind sacrificing Gustav.”

“Gustav was unnecessary.”

Wendel stared into the shadows. He still seemed to care about Gustav’s fate.

“Thorsten Magnusson will do anything,” Ardis said, “for a price.”

“I would kill him for free,” he muttered.

She sighed. “I know.”

After a heartbeat of indecision, Ardis sheathed her sword. She hated to do it, but Chun Yi’s magic was anything but stealthy.

“Wendel,” she said.

Ardis found his hand and laced her fingers between his.

“Yes?” he said.

“Shadows, please.”

Wendel dipped his head in a bow. “My pleasure.”

He slipped Amarant from his coat pocket. His fingers tightened around hers. The icy fire of his necromancy tingled over her skin. Darkness swirled from the black dagger like ink clouding water. The shadows unfurled and shrouded Wendel, then spiderwebbed from his hand to Ardis. She held her breath as the magic cloaked her. It felt like a thin veil over her mouth. All but invisible, she let herself inhale.

“Ready?” Wendel whispered, his breath warming her ear.

Ardis nodded, then wondered if he could even see her.

“Let’s go,” she said.

Together, they stepped into the secret passageway. Wendel’s footsteps were soundless, and Ardis tried to muffle her shoes. Stone cooled the mildewed air. The passageway narrowed and turned within the castle walls.

“I can barely see,” Ardis said.

“Quiet,” Wendel whispered.

His grip tightened on her hand. Through the wall on the left, they could hear faint voices. The dinner party. Ardis shivered, wondering if the assassin was waiting for silence. Light outlined the shape of a secret door.

The door stood opposite the dining room. Where did it go?

Ardis wanted to ask Wendel, but she didn’t want to betray their position. She waited for him to walk, but he stood motionless.

Holding his breath.

The shadows moved. The shape of a man separated from the darkness.

An assassin.

Wendel lifted his foot and placed it with care. Ardis tiptoed after him. Her boot scuffed the stone. She froze, her heartbeat hammering, and swore in her head. Wendel clamped her hand so tight that her bones ached.

The assassin in the darkness bolted for the door.

Wendel lunged after him and dropped Ardis’s hand. Shadows evaporated from them as they ran. They leapt into a dark study. The assassin dodged around a writing desk. Wendel vaulted over it and landed behind him.