Page 101 of Prince of the Undying

“Officially, since I’m one of the Archmages of Vienna, I can’t interfere with the Order of the Asphodel. Unofficially, we could orchestrate an escape.”

I hugged him. He startled, then patted me on the shoulder.

“You should rest. Carbon monoxide poisoning is a serious?—”

“Konstantin.” I withdrew. “Not without my sword.”

“How very mercenary of you.” But he was smiling. He handed me a black coat that must have belonged to him. “Wear this so you stay warm.”

I shrugged on the borrowed coat. Konstantin was so much taller than me that it looked like I was wearing robes. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Come back with that sword of yours and we can scheme. I’m good at scheming.”

I laughed hoarsely. “I don’t doubt that.”

“And, Ardis? Stay alive.”

My stomach clenched. “I’ll try.”

34

Shadows slanted long in the late sun. Twilight would fall in less than an hour.

Cold lingered deep in my bones. My teeth chattering, I walked to the Imperial Palace Hotel. It looked no less grand than it had the night Wendel brought me there, but its magnificence seemed foreboding now.

On the stairs to my room, I clung to the railing, my lungs burning for air. Konstantin had called this carbon monoxide poisoning. How much longer would it last?

I didn’t have the luxury of time.

Panting, I hauled myself upstairs. The key to our room bit into my hand, I was clenching it so hard. I reached the right floor and leaned against the wall. A maid tsked as she strode past, her eyes full of judgment.

Maybe she thought I was drunk.

I turned the key in the lock, but the lock didn’t click.

The door was already unlocked.

My heartbeat galloping, I gripped the doorknob. What if Wendel had escaped already and returned to the hotel? This hope giddied me like alcohol. I turned the knob and swung open the door.

A pale-haired man stared out the window.

Fear hit me like a punch in the gut. A visceral sense of dread radiated from this stranger. Holding my breath, I backed away from him. The stranger wasn’t alone. Two men in gray cloaks flanked him.

“Stop,” the man said quietly.

Chun Yi lay carelessly on the couch—not where I had left it, or ever would—and I gritted my teeth. I couldn’t abandon my sword, but I doubted I was quicker than the assassins, especially after being poisoned.

The stranger turned around.

His gunmetal-gray eyes gleamed with fierce intelligence. He had cropped hair and a beard like the devil’s. His tanned, battered face looked like it had been sculpted by years of hard weather and harder fighting.

My father.

The Grandmaster.

My knees threatened to betray me by buckling. I clutched the doorframe and tried not to seem so helpless.

The Grandmaster raised one scarred eyebrow. “Have we met?”

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