Shadows of Asphodel Read Free

the Order of the Asphodel.”
    “I haven’t. Who do they fight for?”
    “Themselves.” Wendel’s mouth curled into something between a sneer and a smile. “They come from Constantinople, though they claim to be older than the Ottoman Empire itself, and will likely outlast it at this rate.”
    “Constantinople,” she repeated. She had never been there.
    “Yes.” He met her gaze again, his eyes glinting. “You’re a mercenary? A sellsword?”
    She assumed it was obvious, since she wore no uniform. “What do you think?”
    “Who do you fight for?”
    Ardis straightened her jacket’s lapel and showed him a golden flower pin—an edelweiss, the mountain blossom of the Alps.
    “Oh, the archmages of Vienna?” Wendel arched an eyebrow. “My compliments on the Hex. Really keeps these rebels in line. Though the Transylvanians have a knack with scythes.” He gestured at his wound.
    She winced. “I’m not an archmage. I’m here as a peacekeeper.”
    “A peacekeeper?” He loaded the word with scorn. “Is that what they call it now?”
    She shrugged, not taking the bait. “Just doing my job.”
    “The last time I checked, the Ottoman Empire and Austria-Hungary were allies. Which means, conveniently, we’re allies.”
    Ardis narrowed her eyes. “Right.”
    “I’m coming with you.”
    Her smile was frosty. “As my prisoner.”
    Wendel returned her smile, and his was even icier. “Fine,” he said, “so long as you don’t waste your time trying to ransom me.”
    She scoffed. “Prisoners don’t give orders.”
    He stared at her, his jaw taut, and his fingers curled into fists. He was angry. Good. She knew angry. She could work with that.
    “If I tell you to kill someone,” she said, “will you do it?”
    He nodded.
    “Anyone?”
    He nodded again, and his mouth twitched. “Though I prefer to work with the dead.”
    She made a neutral noise in the back of her throat. “Then get up. We’re going.”
    Wendel winced as he climbed to his feet, and for a half-second Ardis offered her hand to help him stand. But her disgust got the better of her and she crossed her arms. He pressed his hand over his ribs, then swore under his breath.
    “I told you to keep that amulet,” Ardis said.
    “I’m all right,” he said, “it just hurts like a bitch.”
    Ardis turned her back on him, to prove she wasn’t afraid, and started walking. “Keep up, or I’ll leave you behind.”
    “Why the hurry?” he said, following her. “The battle is over.”
    “The rebellion isn’t. Transylvania is still crawling with peasants armed with pitchforks.” She glanced sideways at him. “And scythes.”
    “Almost makes me miss guns.” Wendel sighed. “I was a good shot, you know.”
    She snorted at his bravado and kept walking.
    He hurried to catch up. “Where are you going?”
    “I’m done here. I need to return to Vienna.”
    “Vienna,” he said. “That sounds good to me.”
    “You don’t get an opinion.”
    That provoked a hint of a smile out of him. “Do I get your name?”
    “Ardis,” she said, and for some reason she found it hard to meet his eyes.
    They crossed the field together. A bitter wind stung Ardis’s skin and flung her hair into her eyes. She stopped, frowning, and braided her hair over her shoulder. Wendel studied her face, and her fingers felt clumsy under his gaze.
    “Where are you from?” he said.
    Ardis stared at her braid. She never thought her hair was very remarkable, though it was probably the contrast that made him curious. She had tawny lion-colored hair, unmistakably Chinese eyes, and skin a shade or two darker than his.
    “I’m from America,” she said. “I’d rather not get into long and boring genealogy.”
    Wendel arched his eyebrows. “Oh, I’m sure your genealogy isn’t boring.”
    “If you think that’s flattering, it’s not. And you’re wasting your time trying to flatter me .” She gave him a look. “Prisoner.”
    He laughed, then doubled over, his hair in