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The warm glow of the dining car contrasted with the wind-driven sleet outside the train’s windows. I leaned back in my chair, my spine aching, and relished this hard-won moment of rest. The polite murmur of conversation and the clink of silverware on porcelain were a far cry from the sounds of the battlefield.
“Ma’am?” said a waiter. “Could I start you with something to drink?”
“Just water,” I said. “Thank you.”
“Very well, ma’am. Please let me know if you need anything else.”
I had to admit, I could get used to this first-class service.
At the table nearby, a woman wrapped in furs giggled at her companion, a portly man in a top hat. I doubted they had started their journey in Transylvania. More likely they were just passing through on their way to Budapest. They likely couldn’t even see the rebel skirmishes from the railways.
Where was Wendel?
I hadn’t seen him since our conversation in the cabin, when he had excused himself and vanished elsewhere on the train. I could only hope he hadn’t passed out, considering how he was still looking poorly.
“May I join you?”
I glanced up, armed and ready with a sarcastic comment—but it wasn’t Wendel.
A slender man with sandy curls and a neatly trimmed beard stood there. He wore a well-cut charcoal suit with an edelweisspin at his lapel. He looked a bit sunburned, and I wondered if he had been somewhere faraway.
“Oh,” I said, “yes, I suppose so.”
“Allow me to introduce myself.” The man smiled at me and bowed. “I’m Konstantin Falkenrath. And I didn’t mean to be so presumptuous, but I’m afraid this dining car is rather popular at this time of night.”
“It’s fine.” I unfolded my napkin. “I haven’t ordered yet.”
“Are you dining alone?” Konstantin said.
I hesitated, then wondered why. It wasn’t as if Wendel and I were going to dine together every night, or at all.
“Yes,” I said. “Please, sit. And my name is Ardis.”
“What a pretty name.” His eyes were sky blue, a shade that reminded me of summer. “Ardisis derived from the same root asardent, if I’m not mistaken.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
I had chosen the name because it sounded right. But even after living for three years as Ardis, I would never forget my birth name. I was still Yu Lan inside, which translated to Jade Orchid, the Chinese word for the magnolia flower.
“Where are you from?” Konstantin said.
“America.” That was vague enough.
“Oh? Which part?”
Chinatown, San Francisco was the place I called home. Whenever I stood in the street, I would breathe in the confused perfume of fried restaurant food and cigar smoke and ever-present sandalwood incense.
I blinked away the memories. “California.”
He nodded. Thankfully, he didn’t question me more.
The waiter returned with my water. “Anything for you, sir?”
“I’ll have a gin and tonic.” Konstantin didn’t even look at the menu. “And I hear the asparagus and trout are excellent tonight.”
“And you, ma’am?” said the waiter.
I stared at my menu, but it might as well have been written in ancient Greek. “The asparagus and trout as well.”
