Chapter 15

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.

Only seconds ahead, the assassin shoved through the door.

Wendel and Ardis chased him down the hall. The assassin dodged through another door and slammed it behind him.

A deadbolt lock clicked.

Wendel swore. “There’s another passageway by—”

Ardis hitched up her gown and kicked down the door.

It splintered open to reveal a dimly lit library that looked deserted. Moonlight glimmered on the gilded spines of books.

Ardis drew her sword. She stalked to the velvet curtains and poked them with the point of her blade. Nothing. She checked the latches on the windows. Locked. Wendel stared at the bookshelves, then snapped his fingers.

“The History of Fishes,” he said.

“What?” Ardis said.

“That book. Find it.”

“Why?”

“Trust me.”

Ardis turned to the nearest bookshelf and craned her neck sideways to peer at the books. One shelf over, Wendel skimmed his fingertips over their spines. He muttered under his breath, then found a tome bound in red leather.

“Here.”

Wendel tilted the book forward. With a clunk, the bookshelf swung forward to reveal yet another secret passageway.

“Where does this one go?” Ardis said.

“To the cellars.” Wendel glanced at her burning sword. “Are you planning to walk down there with that on display?”

She scowled and put away her sword. “No.”

Wendel took her wrist with a gentleman’s touch. His necromancy reawakened the magic of Amarant, and darkness cloaked them again.

Together, they walked downstairs into the underground.

The cellar beneath the castle stretched into the darkness. The sweet musty scent of wine and oak steeped the air. A flickering candlestick burned atop a wine barrel, illuminating an elderly man who sat bound and gagged in a chair. Blood trickled from his temple and dripped onto his immaculate white shirt.

The butler, judging by his age and uniform.

Whispers echoed in the cavernous space. Wendel and Ardis stole nearer. They huddled behind a rack laden with wine and peeked beyond the bottles. The assassin stood there, talking to a man hidden in the shadows.

“We should go,” said the assassin. “The necromancer is here.”

The hidden man was silent for a moment. “Did he eat the poison?”

Ardis knew his voice—Nasir.

“I don’t know,” said the first assassin. “He’s looking for me. He’s not far behind.”

Wendel pushed Ardis behind an oak barrel and held his finger to his lips. He let go of her hand, lifting the shadows from her skin, and crept toward the assassins. She gripped her sword’s hilt and braced herself for a fight.

Ardis lost Wendel as he prowled into the darkness.

“We didn’t come here to kill the necromancer,” Nasir said.

A shadow sidestepped behind the nameless assassin. Swiftly, Wendel muffled the man’s scream and slit his throat.

“I came here to kill you,” Wendel said.

Nasir bolted to the butler, cut him free from the chair, and dragged him to his feet. The butler grunted with pain.

“Show yourself,” Nasir said, “or the butler dies.”

Wendel laughed from the darkness. “You think you know me.”

Ardis tensed. Wendel had to be bluffing. But blood from the dead assassin pooled on the stone and crawled toward her toes.

“Nasir,” she said.

Ardis straightened and strode out from behind the barrel. Nasir backed away and pressed a knife to the butler’s throat.

“Wendel won’t spare your life a second time,” she said.

Candlelight glittered in Nasir’s eyes. “Stay where you are. Unless you want the blood of an innocent on your hands.”

The butler let out a strangled whimper.

“How do you want this to end?” Ardis said. “How do you plan to drag that hostage with you all the way upstairs?”

Nasir glanced to the left. There had to be another passageway there.

“Let him go,” Ardis said.

Nasir shuffled back and yanked the butler with him. A shadow flitted behind Nasir—Wendel, trying to surprise him.

Ardis knew she had to distract the assassin.

“Why did you leave Wendel?” she said.

Nasir blinked. “What?”

“How did it end?” She stared straight at him. “How did it even start?”

Nasir had no time to reply. From the shadows, Wendel lunged for the assassin’s knife. But Nasir flung out his arm, dragging the blade through flesh. Blood spurted from the butler’s neck and splattered Wendel’s eyes.

Blinded, Wendel staggered back.

Nasir abandoned his hostage and fled into the darkness. Ardis ran to the butler. Scarlet pulsed from his throat and poured down his shirt. She tore the gag from his mouth and pressed it his wound, but she knew he was dying.

The butler gasped and met her gaze. His hand fumbled at her own.

A small eternity later, he shut his eyes.

Wendel blinked away blood, wiped his face on his sleeve, and chased Nasir.

Ardis leapt to her feet. “Wendel!”

He didn’t stop running, so she ran after him.

Wendel dodged down yet another secret passageway. Stairs climbed toward the surface. Ardis struggled to keep up. Ahead, Nasir’s footsteps echoed off stone. Fading fast. A door slammed. Wendel burst through the door, and Ardis stumbled after him into the night. They stood in an alley behind the castle.

No sign of Nasir.

Gasping, Wendel dropped into a crouch. He stared at the cobblestones.

Ardis sucked in air. “We lost him.”

Wendel straightened, his head bowed, and paced up and down the alley. With startling violence, he punched the nearest wall. Then he leaned his forehead on the stones and stayed like that until he wasn’t breathing so hard.

“Wendel,” Ardis said.

He lifted his head. He had smeared blood on the stones.

“Damn,” he said, his voice gravelly. “Remind me not to punch a castle again.”

“Are you all right?” she said.

His jaw tightened. “Yes.”

Physically, perhaps, but emotionally… she saw self-loathing simmering in his eyes.

“Do you think there are any more assassins?” Ardis said.

“I know Nasir. He wouldn’t run away unless he was alone.” Wendel’s nostrils flared. “God, Nasir was right.”

“What?”

“I am a fool.”

She shook her head. “Nasir just wanted you to doubt yourself.”

“He didn’t deserve my mercy. I should have slit his damn throat. He’s so blinded by the Order, he would never defy them.”

Ardis was silent for a moment. “Maybe you see too much of yourself in him.”

He raked his fingers through his hair, but said nothing.

“We should go back,” she said.

Wendel glanced at the secret passageway. “Through there?”

Past the pair of dead bodies in the cellar. She winced. How could they explain that to the hosts of their dinner party?

“Is it the fastest way?” Ardis said.

“No.”

Wendel started walking. He obviously expected her to follow. She hurried to catch up, holding the stitch in her side.

“The main entrance is quicker,” Wendel said.

“But you’re covered in blood.”

“I don’t care who sees me.”

His words sounded so hollow, she believed him.

But he took her hand and at least granted her the anonymity of Amarant’s shadows. They walked unseen among the residents of Königsberg. When they crossed the threshold of the castle, Wendel let the shadows fade.

He hid his dagger in his coat and marched into the dining room.