Page 10 of Prince of the Undying

“It was.” I paused. “Until I killed a man with it.”

That caught his attention. “Did he deserve to die?”

My stomach twisted. “He wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“I hope you killed him slowly.” Shivering, he closed his eyes.

“Are you cold?”

His eyes stayed shut. “It’s winter. We’re all cold.”

“You lost a lot of blood.” I started to stand. “Let me?—”

When he caught me by the wrist, his icy fingers shocked me. He was even colder than I had expected. Glacial, even.

“No,” he said, in an intense murmur. “I don’t need help.”

Even after he released me, my skin kept tingling from the memory of his touch. I curled my fingers into a fist.

“If it bothers you,” he murmured, “my hands are clean.”

“I’m no stranger to blood on my hands.”

Before he could reply, I climbed to my feet and left him leaning against the wall. I busied myself by scanning out the window, though I was only pretending to pay attention to how close we were to our destination.

I couldn’t stop thinking of Wendel.

By the time the zeppelin landed in Petroseni, the sky had darkened to plum purple. My boots clomped on the landing ramp as I exited the zeppelin. In this Transylvanian town, half-timbered medieval houses clustered around the cobblestoned town square. The most modern building here was a train station of soot-blackened red brick, where plumes of smoke muddled the clouds.

“Ready?” I said.

Wendel nodded. He still looked pale, but at least he was steady on his feet.

The eight o’clock train idled on the track. Its sleek chrome sides gleamed in the last of the evening light, and the sharp aroma of diesel punctuated the air. An elderly man sold tickets inside of a booth.

“How much for two sleeper tickets to Vienna?” I asked.

“Coach or first class, ma’am?”

“Coach.”

Wendel waved a bundle of koronas in his hand. “First class.”

The ticket-seller raised his bushy white eyebrows. “Are the two of you together?”

“Yes.” Wendel peeled off a few bills. “A hundred and fifty koronas should cover it?”

“Certainly, sir.”

I stared sideways at Wendel. I never traveled first class, since it drew too much attention. None of the other passengers ever looked at me like I belonged there, with my American accent and my Chinese eyes.

Wendel took the tickets, then walked to the first-class cars on the train. “Coming?”

I hurried to catch up as he handed the tickets to the conductor, who glanced between us with obvious curiosity.

“Your cabin is number seven,” the conductor said, “down the hallway on the right.”

Cabin? Singular?

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