Storms of Lazarus (Shadows of Asphodel, Book 2) (23 page)

At a table by the window, Wendel pulled out a chair for Ardis. She smiled to thank him, but a knot tightened in her gut.

She still hadn’t told him. It was only an uncertainty, a dream, but if she was pregnant…

“Ardis?” Wendel said.

She whistled something tuneless. “I have a question for you.”

“Then ask,” he said.

If only it were that easy. Ardis wondered if she should write him a letter, but she was better with a sword than a pen.

“We haven’t talked about this before,” Ardis said.

Wendel gazed across the table and stroked his thumbnail across his lips.

“But it’s not impossible,” she said, “that it might happen to us.”

He cocked his head. “Us?”

God, she was absolutely awful at this. She chewed on the inside of her cheek.

A waitress hovered by their table. “Can I get you anything to start?”

“Coffee, please,” Wendel said.

The waitress looked to Ardis. “And you, ma’am?”

Words. Articulate words. That would be nice.

“Coffee.” Ardis folded and refolded her napkin. “Could I see your menu?”

With a nod, the waitress bustled away.

“Continue,” Wendel said. “I’m morbidly curious.”

Ardis grimaced. Why did she feel like she might be sick?

The flippancy on his face vanished, replaced by something far more serious. And that was somehow a thousand times worse.

“What is it?” Wendel said.

Ardis curled her fingers into fists and stared at her knuckles.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “This is harder than I thought it would be.”

Wendel reached for her hand, then froze, his fingers hovering over the table.

“Ardis,” he said.

She glanced into his face. God, no, she could see the questions in his eyes. And a glimmer of what had to be alarm.

He held her gaze. “Are you—?”

The waitress flitted back to their table. She scooted a menu across the table and poured them each a cup of coffee.

“What brings you both to Königsberg?” the waitress said.

Wendel gave her a tight smile. “Business.”

“Königsberg is beautiful in the winter.” The waitress tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I love the castle around Christmas.”

Ardis curled her toes inside her boots. A blush burned her face.

“I’m from here,” Wendel said.

The waitress touched a menu to her mouth. “Are you?”

“Yes.”

“What part of Königsberg?”

Wendel stopped smiling and drank his coffee. Slowly.

“The middle,” he said.

Ardis cleared her throat and opened her menu at random.

“Can I have a Berliner?” she said. “Thank you.”

The waitress pursed her lips. “Certainly, ma’am.” She scurried away.

Wendel leaned on the table with his knuckles against his mouth.

“You had a question,” he said. “Tell me. Please.”

Ardis looked him in the eye, since she owed him that much.

“What would you think if we had a baby?” she said.

Wendel went deathly white. He drank some coffee. The cup clattered on the saucer, betraying his trembling hands.

“What?” he said.

Ardis forced herself to inhale. Unspent tears burned in her eyes.

“A baby,” she said. “You heard me the first time.”

He looked dazed. “But we—”

“I know.”

“Are you sure?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Not yet.”

It sounded so foolish, and she stared into her untouched coffee.

Wendel didn’t speak for an eternity. “I owe you an answer.”

Ardis hid her face behind her hands. Panic crashed against her ribs like a caged bird.

“I’m afraid it’s true,” she said.

With gentle fingers, he moved her hands from her face.

“If it’s true,” he said, “then we can be afraid together.”

His voice gave her the courage to look at him. He had a hint of a smile.

“Truthfully,” he said, “I’m terrified.”

Ardis laughed, and it brought her dangerously close to tears.

“It could be nothing,” she said.

“It could be something.” He raised his eyebrows. “I’ve always wanted a tiny minion.”

“Wendel!”

He struggled not to smile. “Did I say that? I meant baby.”

“You’ve always wanted one?”

“That’s a lie.” His smile faded. “Not always.”

“Oh.”

He met her gaze. “Not until you told me.”

The sincerity in his eyes left her breathless. She let out a shuddering sigh.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she said.

“What? Like what?”

“So hopefully.” She drank her lukewarm coffee. “It’s a long shot.”

Wendel rubbed the back of his neck. “How long of a shot?”

“I’m five days late. That’s all.”

“Late…?” Understanding cleared his face. “Ah.”

“I asked the doctor,” Ardis said, “and she told me to wait a week.”

Wendel squinted at the dregs of his coffee.

“Should you rest?” he said. “Should you even be piloting an automaton?”

“She didn’t say.”

“You should ask.”

She sighed. “Wendel. Don’t worry.”

But he stared out the window and bounced his leg with excess energy.

“Do you want a baby?” he said.

Ardis shrugged, her shoulders tight, since she honestly didn’t know.

“I’d make a terrible mother,” she said. “I’m a mercenary.”

Wendel glanced back at her. “You might have to set down your sword,” he said lightly. “Just long enough to hold the baby.”

Ardis smiled. “I would make you hold it.”

She imagined him carrying a baby—their baby—and felt a little flutter in her heartbeat. Damn, these were dangerous thoughts.

What was it about the idea that made her so giddy?

The waitress returned. “Your Berliner.”

“Thank you,” Ardis said, a bit more charitable toward the waitress.

Ardis bit into the German doughnut and savored how sweet it was. Though everything tasted a lot sweeter at the moment.

“Need anything else?” said the waitress.

“I’m fine,” Ardis said, because she was.

“The eggs.” Wendel closed the menu. “And today’s newspaper.”

Ardis devoured her pastry and licked her fingers clean. Her appetite was back with a vengeance. This couldn’t be morning sickness. But could she be eating for two? The possibility of being pregnant consumed her thoughts.

The waitress returned with the eggs and a newspaper. “Here you are, sir.”

Wendel spread the newspaper flat on the table and absently stabbed the eggs with his fork. Ardis tried not to stare at his food.

“Could I have a bite?” she said.

“Of course.” Wendel scooted the plate across. “We can order more.”

Ardis ate a forkful of eggs and helped herself to a second one. Wendel didn’t seem to be as hungry as she was. He frowned over the newspaper. His thumb rubbed the words, back and forth, until ink blackened his skin.

“The Russians,” Wendel said.

“What about them?” Ardis said.

The newspaper crumpled under his hand. “They are a day’s march from Königsberg.”

~

The lagoon glimmered like quicksilver. Wendel loped along the waterfront, and Ardis ran to match his long stride. He noticed her breathing hard and slowed, though he hadn’t stopped scowling since the newspaper.

At the doors to the drydock, the guards waved them inside.

“Archmage!” Wendel shouted.

Several people stared at him, none of them Konstantin.

“Have you forgotten his name already?” Ardis said.

Wendel wrinkled his nose. “I haven’t a clue what you mean.”

“You called him ‘Konstantin’ last night.”

“Did I?”

“When you thought he was choking.”

“That was a mistake.”

Wendel seemed even more on edge, and it was sharpening his words.

Ardis recognized someone, though it wasn’t Konstantin. A woman jogged along the wall, her white coat flying behind her.

“Archmage Carol!” Ardis said.

Carol waved. “Aren’t you one of the test pilots?”

“Yes, ma’am. We met in Vienna.”

“That’s right.” Carol cocked her head. “You scratched up one of the automatons.”

Ardis winced. “Konstantin told you?”

“No, but he’s a terrible liar. Brought back one of the prototypes after a little expedition. Those marks didn’t buff out.”

Wendel scoffed with impatience. “Is he here?”

Carol gave him a once over. “And you must be the necromancer,” she deadpanned. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Charmed,” Wendel said. “Perhaps we can chat later over drinks.”

“Why not?” Carol didn’t blink. “Never had drinks with a necromancer. Or a disinherited prince, come to think of it.”

Wendel arched an eyebrow. “Count on the Russians arriving uninvited.”

“Let them.” Carol folded her arms. “We have some party favors for Saint Petersburg.” She jerked her chin toward the biggest automaton.

Wendel glowered at its metal knees. “Not nearly enough.”

“That’s why we’re here.” Ardis nudged him in the ribs. “To help Konstantin.”

This provoked a long sigh and a dark look from Wendel.

“Konstantin should be in back,” Carol said, “working with the captain.”

Ardis tried to be especially polite to counteract Wendel’s rudeness.

“Thank you, archmage,” she said.

Carol nodded. “Come back so I can outfit you for the automatons.”

“Will do.”

Wendel started walking, and Ardis hurried after him. They found Konstantin and Himmel sitting together by a workbench. Himmel’s wounded arm wasn’t in its sling. It rested on top of the workbench. Bandages wrapped Himmel’s arm, though they didn’t entirely hide the raw red scars zigzagging across his skin.

Konstantin pushed a pair of goggles over his head. “Good morning!”

“You seem chipper, archmage,” Wendel said.

Himmel grunted. “The antidote cured him completely.”

The captain looked considerably less awake, his hair rumpled from sleep.

“Myself,” Himmel said, “I need more coffee.”

Konstantin’s sky blue eyes twinkled. “I’m on my third cup.”

“Good God,” Ardis said.

“Woke early to work on
this
.”

Konstantin spoke with a sort of reverence. He hopped off his stool and fetched something from a table. He held it in both hands.

“My mechanical arm,” Konstantin said.

It was a work of beauty. Raw, with naked gears, but still beautiful. Konstantin had taken an armored gauntlet, the steel intricately articulated and engraved, and outfitted it with technomancy to power its movement.

“Theodore,” Konstantin said. “Would you care to demonstrate?”

The captain coughed. “Himmel.”

“Yes! Sorry.”

With an unintelligible grumble, Himmel lifted his arm. His tried to straighten his hand, but his fingers curled like claws. With his left hand, he dragged the mechanical arm across the table and fumbled with the buckles.

Konstantin bit his lip. “Let me help—”

“No,” Himmel said. “I need to do this alone.”

A blush flamed over Konstantin’s cheeks. He stared at the floor.

“Of course,” the archmage said.

Himmel tugged the mechanical arm over his own and tightened the buckles. Grimacing, he stared at the metal fingers. They clenched into a fist, tiny gears whirring, then twitched open. He groped for a wrench and grabbed it.

“There.” Himmel attempted a smile. “That wasn’t impossible.”

Konstantin kept his gaze downcast. “I realize it’s rough, but I can adjust—”

“Thank you.”

Himmel said it so gruffly that Ardis couldn’t help but smile, and Konstantin’s blush reached legendary proportions.

“Bravo,” Wendel said.

Both Konstantin and Himmel glared at him.

“I’m genuinely impressed.” Wendel held up his hands. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Konstantin checked his pocketwatch. “We should get to work.”

“Exactly my thoughts.”

Konstantin looked sideways at Wendel. “You seem rather eager to help.”

“I find myself motivated by an army of Russians.”

Konstantin clicked his pocketwatch shut. “Mr. Tesla will arrive shortly. Then we can start his experiments in the field.”

“Oh, joy,” Wendel said.

Himmel dropped the wrench with a clank. “Losing your nerve?”

“Experiment away,” Wendel said. “Just try not to break your one and only necromancer. I hear they can be hard to find.”

Konstantin looked coolly at him. “We will do our best.”

“For my sake.” Ardis arched her eyebrows. “And I’m waiting for your orders.”

~

Konstantin wasn’t joking when he said experiments in the field.

Ardis swigged from a canteen and swallowed water that tasted metallic. Her hair clung to her sweaty forehead. She rubbed it away with her sleeve, glanced around to see nobody watching, then flopped back on the grass.

Above her, an automaton knelt, its steel skin rippling with reflected clouds.

Her
automaton, she supposed.

Ardis had piloted it before, in Vienna, and recognized the gouge on the automaton’s knee. The consequence of an assassin’s blade, from that time when she and Konstantin marched it into a coffin factory to rescue Wendel.

“You need a name,” Ardis said to the automaton.

Technically, the smaller automatons were designated Knight class, while the single large automaton was a Colossus.

“Fritz?” she said. “You look like a Fritz.”

Ardis breathed in the brisk scent of crushed grass, then let out her breath. After a few hours in the cockpit, the heat of the automaton felt smothering. Thank God they had stopped for a lunch of cheese and rye bread.

Overhead, a zeppelin hovered under the clouds. A man leaned from the gondola and waved at them. His metal arm flashed in the sun—Himmel. He wasn’t wearing a captain’s hat, but he was well enough to scout.

Ardis sat upright and waved back. She glanced across the field.

A second Knight automaton knelt in the grass. Konstantin and Tesla bent over a panel in its back. Still tinkering with wires.

“Damn!” Konstantin said. “We need to recalibrate it again.”

Tesla stood with his hands on his hips. “I’m positive this should work.”

Wendel wandered away from them and tossed a breadcrumb to Krampus. The raven swooped and caught it in midair.