Chapter 19

Off the coast of Prussia, the black water reflected the glittering lights of a white-and-gold yacht–the pride of the Kaiser, the SMY Hohenzollern II. Masquerade guests sipped champagne and nibbled hors d’oeuvres in the dining room.

Wendel came as a raven. His beaked mask was reminiscent of a plague doctor, glimmering with iridescent feathers. He wore a black cloak, black gloves, and a waistcoat of purple brocade, darker than the evening sky.

“That look suits you a little too well,” Ardis murmured.

“Why, thank you,” he said.

She was dressed as a Valkyrie, purely as an excuse to bring her sword, though she appreciated the leather breastplate and bracers. The mask, decorated with gilded wings, offered no more than a fleeting disguise.

“Have you seen Wolfgang anywhere?” Wendel said.

She knew he meant his twin. “Not yet.”

“I’m sure he’s here.”

If only she shared his certainty. The masquerade was a poor place to interrogate the Kaiser, who couldn’t move an inch without his entourage of sycophants and servants. Wilhelm II lingered by the bar, costumed in the velvet and lace of a gentleman from two centuries ago, his withered left arm resting on a walking stick.

“How about Konstantin and Himmel?” she said.

“No.” Wendel’s green eyes glimmered behind his mask as he scanned the dining room. “Wonder what hideous costumes they chose.”

“We should mingle. Try to find them.”

He swept onward, the cloak rippling behind him. She followed in his footsteps, trying not to touch anyone, slowed by the tight press of people. Fingertips grazed her shoulder; a man in a joker mask jostled her before smiling.

She glanced at the joker’s hair, which was the color of a penny. Not anyone she knew.

“Excuse me,” she muttered, stepping past.

Wendel navigated the crowd with more grace, keeping one eye on the Kaiser. She decided to stop chasing him and meandered toward the windows. They steamed along the coast, the lights of Kiel fragmented in the inky Baltic. Nearby, a freighter chugged from the harbor, giving the imperial yacht a wide berth.

She touched the cold glass and closed her eyes. While she had stopped bleeding, her muscles felt sluggish, her head foggy.

Just another mission. She could do this.

When she opened her eyes, she put on an empty little smile. The kind certain men liked, because it made them feel benevolent. She glanced between the costumed revelers. Peacocks, foxes, a privateer. Freezing air whirled inside when a door to the promenade deck swung open. Reeking of cigarettes, two guests returned to the party.

Who else was outside?

She braved the icy wind. At the bow of the Hohenzollern II, a debutante costumed as a forest nymph snuck a cigarette, her dress fluttering. Upwind of the smoke, a raven landed on the railing with a thunk of talons.

“Krampus?” Ardis said.

He bobbed his head and croaked, the feathers at his throat bristling. The debutante’s eyes narrowed behind her mask. She snuffed her cigarette and retreated back inside. Krampus pumped his wings and leapt from the railing.

Ardis followed the raven to the stern of the yacht.

A lady dressed as a shepherdess lingered by a man in a silver wolf mask. He leaned against the railing in an impeccable black suit, having made no other concessions to his costume. When the man spotted Ardis, he straightened.

Krampus perched at his elbow. “Grok.”

“Heavens!” said the shepherdess. “Is that a wild crow?”

“Raven,” said the man in the wolf mask. He licked his lips before smiling.

Ardis returned his smile, only with more ice. “I’ve been looking for you, Wolfgang.”

“I can’t say the same,” Wendel II said.

The shepherdess touched her hand to her throat. “Pardon me.” She scurried away.

“Who was that?” Ardis said.

“A princess who proved useless.”

“What the hell are you playing at?”

He pushed himself from the railing. “Why the hell aren’t you in London?”

Cawing, Krampus flew from the yacht and winged into the night.

“The night you left London, an assassin tried to kill me.”

“In the Savoy?”

“Jesus, that’s exactly what the other Wendel said.” She clenched her jaw. “I’m getting tired of repeating myself.”

Wendel II stepped closer. “What happened?”

“I told you. Assassination attempt. ‘Nemesis never forgets.’ Obviously, he didn’t win, or I wouldn’t be here talking to you.”

He swore in German. “You shouldn’t be here. You could be in danger.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m definitely in danger, but that isn’t stopping me.”

“Ardis–”

“What’s your plan? So stupid you wouldn’t tell me? How do you expect to interrogate the Kaiser during a masquerade?”

“Keep your voice down.”

Taking her by the wrist, he walked her toward the bow. He was shaking, uncontrollably, though the wolf mask hid his expression.

“It’s not too late,” he said. “I can still stop him.”

“Who? The Kaiser?”

“No one else knew. He had to be the one to give the order.”

“Wendel.” She dragged him to a halt. “Don’t do this.”

He had a feverish gleam in his eyes, the certainty of desperation. “I must.”

Wendel retreated from her touch and drew his dagger of black Damascus steel. Tendrils of shadow crawled over him.

Ardis caught his arm. “Please.”

Shadows crept from his skin to hers. Cloaked by the magic, they stood within darkness, hidden from the rest of the world. Waves slapped at the ship, tossing saltwater in a mist, and droplets whirled around their silhouettes.

“We can run away,” she said. “Like you said, the day you travelled through time.”

“You know that was never true,” he whispered hoarsely.

Breaking free, Wendel faded into the night. When she reached for him, he wasn’t there. His footsteps thudded down the deck. She chased the sound until it was drowned out by the churning engines and crashing waves.

God damn it. This yacht was too big for her to grope in every dark corner.

Her stomach clenching, she returned to the dining room. The masquerade glittered and whirled like a clockwork toy wound too tight.

The Kaiser knocked back a shot. Loitering, the raven Wendel kept him in his sights.

“I found him.” She spoke close to Wendel’s ear. “Wolfgang.”

His shoulders stiffened. “Where?”

“Outside.”

“There you are!” said a familiar voice.

Konstantin sidestepped through the crowd, followed by Himmel, both of them costumed in Roman togas and sandals.

“Where have you been?” Wendel sneered. “Enjoying the hors d’oeuvres?”

“Inspecting the lower decks,” Himmel said. “No sign of your doppelgänger.”

Ardis shook her head. “I lost him on the promenade deck.” She glanced at Wendel. “Don’t you both have Amarant?”

“Yes?” he said.

“Of course!” Konstantin snapped his fingers. “The effects of occluding enchantments almost always cancel each other out.”

Wendel cocked his head. “Translation?”

“If you both hide with the black dagger’s magic, you should see each other.”

“Ah.” Wendel straightened his mask. “Can you watch the Kaiser?”

Konstantin glanced at the bar. “He seems content to drink the night away.”

“Stay here, Ardis.”

“Not a chance.”

“May I have your attention?” The Kaiser tapped a fork against his wineglass, the sound chiming over the conversation.

The masquerade quieted to whispers. Everyone waited for his next words.

“On this evening,” said the Kaiser, “I’m pleased to see you all in my presence.”

Wendel edged toward the exit, ducking between ladies and gentlemen. She couldn’t let him skulk off alone.

She followed in his footsteps, muttering, “Excuse me,” under her breath.

The Kaiser magnetized his audience. A lady costumed as Marie Antoinette blocked the way with her skirts. Ardis tried to sidestep around her, but only succeeded in trampling the polished shoe of a nearby gentleman.

“Pardon!” the gentleman said, with great offense.

“Sorry.”

She slipped by him without further incident. Where was Wendel? Standing on her toes, she couldn’t see him. The Kaiser must have told a joke, because laughter rippled through the crowd, though she hadn’t heard a word.

As the laughter faded, a shriek pierced the air.

Adrenaline flooded into her veins. She elbowed through the masquerade, picking up speed, until she broke through.

“Wendel!”

Sprawled on the ground, gasping, he clutched his stomach. Blood ran between his fingers and drenched the silk of his waistcoat.

She dropped beside him. “What happened?”

“Stabbed.” He forced out the word.

The blade must have hit an artery. She tore the raven mask from his face, since he was struggling to breathe, and clamped down hard on the wound. Trying to staunch the flow just made her hands slippery with blood.

“Who did this to you?” she said.

“The devil,” he stammered, his lips blue, his skin sweaty.

He wasn’t making any sense.

They had an audience, watching him bleed out. One of them had to be able to help him. Frantic, she glanced between them, mask after mask. A fox, a rabbit, an angel. All of them staring at the blooming stain.

Konstantin shoved through the crowd. “Oh, God.”

“Help him!” she said.

“I–I don’t know how.”

Rolling up his sleeves, Himmel elbowed aside the bystanders. He tore a strip from his toga and pressed it on the stab wound. Too little. Too late. Wendel panted for air, his breathing far too fast. His eyelids fluttered shut.

“He’s going into shock,” Himmel said.

She leapt to her feet. “Is anyone here a doctor?”

The masquerade edged away, the circle widening around Wendel. Behind their masks, some of the women were sobbing.

The devil.

He stood at the outskirts of the crowd. Watching. A man in a grinning red mask, wicked horns curling over the hood of his cloak.

Leave Wendel now, and he would die alone.

Let the devil run, and she would never know his killer.

Ardis glanced at the pool of blood, then back at the devil. He backed away from the crowd, then slipped through the door.

“Damn it,” she said.

She charged after him; she looked left, right. Wind whipped her hair into her eyes. Where was the assassin? Her hand gripped the hilt of Chun Yi. Keeping her stance low, ready to fight, she prowled down the promenade deck.

Wendel II, in the wolf mask, stepped from the darkness. “Ardis!”

“Quiet,” she hissed. “The other Wendel–”

“Why am I still alive?” He stared at her with haunted eyes. “I felt him die.”

The world narrowed to a pinpoint. Her blood rushed through her ears.

“He’s dead?” she said.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?” Stupid question.

“Yes.”

She remembered to breathe. “A man in a devil mask stabbed him.”

When she kept walking, Wendel flanked her. Her nerves felt raw, every drop of saltwater like the prick of a needle. They neared the bow of the yacht. Against the railing, the devil waited for them, his hands empty at his sides.

She stopped in her tracks. What else was he armed with?

“Ardis.” Wendel spoke in a strangled whisper.

She shot a glance sideways at him, but she couldn’t see his face behind the wolf mask. His shoulders looked rigid.

“Didn’t I just kill you?” said the man in the devil mask.

That voice…

Buying more time, she unsheathed Chun Yi, flames rushing down the length of the steel. Seafoam sizzled in the magic fire.

“We’re here to return the favor,” Ardis said, sounding much braver than she felt.

The devil began to laugh.

Wendel seized her wrist. “Run.”

“What–?”

“Run!”

Wendel dragged her into a sprint, running down the length of the yacht, crashing through the door to the dining room. He dropped her wrist and elbowed the crowd aside. She sheathed her sword before it could incite more panic. Konstantin and Himmel knelt by Wendel I, who lay unmoving on his sodden cloak.

How could his body have held so much blood? Looking at him, she went numb.

“Ardis.” Konstantin looked ashen. “I’m so sorry. We couldn’t–”

“Get out of my way,” Wendel II said.

He wrenched off his wolf mask. Now she could see his face, stark and white, his eyes glassy. He knelt by Wendel I and gripped his bloodstained hand. The muscles in Wendel II’s arm flexed, the veins standing in relief.

“Wake up,” he whispered.

Wendel I lurched from the floor with a gasp. Screams pierced the masquerade as guests scrambled back from the necromancers. Ardis pressed her fingers to Wendel I’s neck. His pulse stuttered under his ice-cold skin. When she touched his stomach, she felt nothing more than a scar. Like he had survived the mortal wound.

If you killed a necromancer, he would come back ten times stronger.

His ability to cheat death still defied belief, even after Constantinople, when she revived him with borrowed necromancy.

“What happened?” Wendel I had a voice between gravel and barbed wire.

“You died,” his doppelgänger said.

Konstantin stared at them with open-mouthed shock. “Are you undead?”

“Not in the traditional sense,” Wendel I said, though his skin looked alabaster pale.

The masquerade evaporated as guests fled from the dining room. Apparently, they found necromancy less entertaining than violence.

“Where’s the Kaiser?” Dread clenched her stomach.

Himmel shook his head. “I haven’t seen him since the stabbing.”

“What if he sent the man in the devil mask?”

Both of the necromancers shared an inscrutable glance. If only she could read minds.

Wendel II curled his lip. “Doubtful.”

Why had the devil’s voice sounded so familiar?

Himmel wiped his bloody hands on the torn hem of his toga. “Let me talk to the captain. He must be altering our course.”

Trembling, Konstantin smoothed back his hair. “I’ll come with you.”

They both exited the dining room.

“Help me.” Wendel II dragged his twin onto his feet.

She ducked under Wendel I’s other arm, staggering under his weight. The cloak clung to them, sodden with blood. Grimacing, she untied it and flung it away. They hobbled toward the stairs, fallen masks crunching underfoot.

“You have a plan?” she said.

“Get off this yacht,” Wendel II said.

Wendel I forced out a laugh. “Forgive me if I’m too feeble to swim.”

“Lifeboats.” He didn’t bother with a witticism.

“Why aren’t we fighting?” She gritted her teeth. “Why not just kill the devil?”

Neither one of the Wendels deigned to reply. They struggled to the stairs. Masquerade guests scattered out of the corners.

“Like rats,” Ardis muttered.

While climbing to the upper deck, Wendel I wobbled on his feet. He looked as though he might pass out at any moment.

He grunted. “Lost too much blood.”

“Sit down for a second,” she said.

“No,” Wendel II said, “keep moving.”

“Yes, sir,” his twin said.

They halted before a hatch. “Get the door,” Wendel II said.

She leaned against the heavy steel, the hatch groaning open under her shoulder, and stumbled into the frigid night wind. On the top deck, lifeboats hung on winches along the port and starboard. She held the door open.

Wendel I’s teeth started chattering. “God, it’s cold.”

“How are you still conscious?” she said.

“Magic.”

She wasn’t about to argue the point.

The yacht tilted starboard, swinging toward the coast, waves crashing against its hull. She braced Wendel I by holding his elbow.

“Help him into that lifeboat,” Wendel II said.

After they lowered Wendel I into the boat, he propped his elbows on his knees. His breath fogged the air in pants.

“The winch,” Ardis said.

She strained against the crank, but Wendel II didn’t lend a hand. Instead, he clenched her arm, his fingers nearly bruising.

The man in the devil mask hauled himself over the railing.

“Ardis,” Wendel II said. “Go.”

The devil jumped onto the deck and strode toward them. She unsheathed her sword, Chun Yi spitting sparks into the night.

“I won’t abandon you,” she said.

“God damn it, Ardis. Go.”

Why was he so afraid? They had fought shoulder-to-shoulder in many battles. But now he blocked her from their enemy.

Wind ruffled the devil’s cloak. He flipped a dagger from his belt, the design familiar.

“None of you will leave this yacht alive,” he said.

Cold panic trickled into her veins like ice water, but it still hadn’t flooded her brain, his name floating just out of her reach.

“London,” she whispered.

Wendel II locked gazes with her. “What?”

“He tried to kill me in London. He has the other dagger.”

His face twisted, his eyes dark with a pain old and deep. “Ardis, he–”

“Where did you find a lookalike?” The devil strolled nearer, as if relishing the hunt. “Another Wendel?”

Rage choked Wendel II’s voice. “I should have killed you in Constantinople.”

“God.” The word escaped her on an exhalation.

The Order of the Asphodel. Thorsten Magnusson.

Her mistake hit her like a tsunami, drowning her thoughts with panic. She had spared Thorsten’s life, thinking that mercy would be Wendel’s salvation. Killing Thorsten might scar him forever. But Thorsten was unforgivable evil, unstoppable by anything but death. Wendel had told her, and told her again, since the first day they met.

A tiny part of her had never believed him.

“Nemesis never wanted to murder me,” she said. “You did.”

“Bravo.” The devil mask distorted Thorsten’s voice.

“You told me, ‘Nemesis never forgets,’ because you knew Wendel would revive me. You knew exactly how to play him.”

This time, the first Wendel spoke. “Kill him.”

She glanced over her shoulder. Swaying on his feet, he leaned against the lifeboat, his black dagger in his hand. He was half-dead, not ready to fight, but she recognized the desperate urge for annihilation burning in his eyes.

She stared down Thorsten. “You made me lose my baby.”

“Baby?” That stopped him in his tracks. “Don’t tell me you fornicated with the necromancer.” Disgust dripped from his voice.

“Now I have nothing to lose.”