Storms of Lazarus (Shadows of Asphodel, Book 2) by Karen Kincy

Author:Karen Kincy [Kincy, Karen]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2014-07-13T07:00:00+00:00

A glass shattered. Wine darkened the floor like a bloodstain. Juliana sprang to her feet as if stung, her earrings swinging.

“How are you still alive?” Juliana said.

Wendel sneered. “Pardon?”

“You burned that ballroom in Vienna to the ground.”

“I walked away.” Wendel spread his arms. “Don’t look so disappointed.”

Wolfram clutched the back of a couch, then walked to Wendel and held out his hand. Wendel stared down at Wolfram, who wasn’t quite as tall, then grabbed his little brother’s hand and dragged him into a crushing hug.

“I knew you would come back,” Wolfram said, his words muffled.

Wendel’s face tightened, and he closed his eyes for a moment. Then he stepped away and clapped his brother on the back.

“Where are Mother and Father?” Wendel said.

“You didn’t tell them you were coming, did you?” Wolfram whistled. “Christ, Wendel.”

Behind Ardis, a breeze drafted from the door. Someone cleared their throat.

Ardis sidestepped. “Sorry.”

A lady regarded Ardis with jade green eyes and a flawless smile. Diamond earrings quivered by her slender neck. Silver glinted throughout her black hair, the color echoed in her shimmering gown of silk and lace.

“Are you here for the dinner?” said the lady.

She spoke English with an accent reminiscent of British royalty.

“Yes, ma’am,” Ardis said. “I should be the mercenary on the guest list.”

The lady inclined her head. “Lady Cecelia. Welcome to Königsberg.”

Wendel stared at the carpet like he wished for nothing less than invisibility. His face was no more than a blank white mask.

Cecelia frowned at him, then touched her gloved fingers to her mouth.

“Oh, good God,” she whispered.

Wendel looked at her with a distant sadness in his eyes.

“Mother,” he said. “It’s me.”

With a quivering smile, Cecelia reached for him. Wendel’s shoulders stiffened, but he allowed her to embrace him. He stooped to her height, patted her shoulder like she was porcelain, and retreated from her touch.

“My poor Wendel.” Cecelia touched his cheekbone. “What have they done to you?”

Wendel closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he had buried his emotions deep. He stared at his mother with nothing but haughty disinterest on his face. Like he didn’t give a damn what she thought about him.

“You know what they did to me,” Wendel said. “You sent me there.”

Cecelia sighed. “Wendy, dear, we had no choice.”

“Please don’t call me that.” His fingers curled into fists. “Wendy died a long time ago.”

Cecelia flared her nostrils, her chest heaving against her corset. She seemed to be struggling to keep a stiff upper lip.

Ardis coughed, aware of everyone in the room staring at them.

The door swept open, and a man marched into the drawing room. Uniformed in Prussian blue, he had polished boots and a salt-and-pepper beard. A plethora of ribbons and medals decorated the front of his jacket.

He stopped dead and stared at Wendel. The color drained from his face.

“My God,” the man said.

“Waldemar,” Cecelia said. “Our eldest son has returned.”

Waldemar’s mouth hardened. “He wasn’t invited.”

“Isn’t this my home?” Wendel said. “No, wait, I’m sorry. For one heartwarming moment, I forgot I was disinherited.”

Father and son stared at each other with eyes cold enough to rival the winter.

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