Page 23 of Prince of the Undying

“That makes him more dangerous. He’s a man with nothing to lose.”

“Can you tell me about the Order of the Asphodel, or is that also confidential?”

Frowning, Konstantin rubbed his beard. “Rumors describe the Order of the Asphodel as an ancient society of assassins, with a particular interest in black magic. Officially, the Archmages of Vienna deny the existence of the Order of the Asphodel, though unofficially, it’s something of an open secret.”

“They want Wendel back.”

Konstantin’s frown deepened. “Back?”

“He’s running from them. I don’t know why.”

“Find out and tell me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Konstantin turned to go. “Ardis? Don’t trust the necromancer.”

“I won’t.” The words tasted bitter in my mouth.

Lingering, I watched the dawn. Railway employees had started hacking at the frozen earth to dig graves for the dead. One of the men covered their fallen conductor’s eyes, but left the rebels to stare at the sky.

Wendel wasn’t in our cabin. After checking the dining car, I ventured into the lounge car. Judging by the forest green carpet, leather chairs, and lingering scent of cigars, the lounge was meant to be a bastion of masculinity.

Wendel sprawled in a chair, a glass of green-gold liquid in his hand. “Please, sit.”

My heartbeat started to pound when he glanced at my mouth. Remembering our kiss? Or imagining something less innocent?

I didn’t want to get too close to him.

“What are you drinking?” I asked.

He lifted the bottle to his face to inspect its contents. The color of the liquor within resembled his eyes remarkably. “Absinthe.”

“Why?”

“You heard the medic. Plenty of fluids.”

“Alcohol isn’t a good idea.”

“Why not?” He sipped his drink. “It helps to dull the pain.”

Why was I holding my breath? It escaped me in a sigh. I took the bottle of absinthe from the side table, then helped myself to a glass. The absinthe scorched my throat and I winced at the burn of alcohol.

“Not bad,” I rasped, swallowing back a cough.

“Brave of you.” He dipped his head. “I never drink absinthe straight.”

I glanced at his glass. His drink was paler than mine. I spotted a bowl of sugar cubes on the table, alongside a carafe of ice water and a slotted silver spoon. Right. Drinking absinthe properly was almost a ritual.

“I never drink absinthe,” I admitted.

His eyes glinted when he smiled. “An absinthe virgin?”

My cheeks heated at his choice of words. Time to change the subject before this went too far. “Why are you running away from the Order of the Asphodel?”

Darkness shadowed his eyes. “The archmages really should hire better spies.”

“I’m not a spy.” I held the bottle of absinthe out to him. “Clearly.”

---