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“Ardis, I?—”
I interrupted him with a kiss, still trembling from the adrenaline in my blood. He grabbed me by the hips, pulling me closer like he couldn’t get enough of me. The bitter taste of the curse lingered on his tongue.
We broke apart, breathing hard.
“Walk with me,” he said. “I want to show you something.”
I followed him across the slick stones. He halted at the edge of the strait, his eyes narrowed against the wind. The Bosporus spat saltwater onto his boots. He pointed across the water to a lighthouse on an island.
“The Maiden’s Tower,” he said. “Long ago, an oracle foretold that a beloved princess would die by snakebite on her eighteenth birthday. Her father, the sultan, built the tower to keep her safe. When she turned eighteen, the sultan gave her a basket of fruits. And of course, the story ends tragically, like all fairy tales.”
“What kind of fairy tales have you heard?”
“The old ones they tell to scare children at night.” His smile didn’t touch his eyes. “When the princess ate the first fruit, she startled an asp hiding in the basket. One snakebite was enough. And she died in that very tower.”
I shivered. “How morbid.”
“There’s another tower.”
He curled his arm around my shoulders and turned me to the left. The heat of his body on mine accelerated my heartbeat. Wind buffeted us, a perfect excuse to press against him and shut my eyes.
“Look.” His breath warmed my neck.
I opened my eyes. He pointed to a second, bigger island in the Bosporus. This island also had a tower, but it wasn’t alighthouse. It jutted from a fortress that braved the waves like a stone battleship.
“The Serpent’s Tower,” he said.
I shivered. “For the asp that killed the princess?”
“So the story goes, though you won’t find any asps there. Only assassins.”
Dread clenched my stomach. “The Order of the Asphodel?”
“Yes.”
I turned in his arms. When the wind blew his hair across his face, I smoothed it away, but his expression remained unreadable. My fingers traced his cheekbones. He was beautiful in such a heartbreaking way.
“You have me until nightfall,” he murmured.
My stomach dropped. “Nightfall?”
“Yes.” His throat worked as he swallowed hard. “I can’t escape my destiny forever.”
48
Wendel took me to the Grand Constantinople, a luxurious hotel which overlooked the Bosporus. Our boots rapped on the lobby’s black marble floor. Gilded flourishes decorated the wallpaper in art nouveau style. White lilies perfumed the air with sweet spice. Porters bustled through with luggage, the Orient Express Airways label marking some of the suitcases.
Wendel booked us a room for one night. He slid an ungodly amount of money across the front desk to the concierge. Just how expensive was this place?
Wendel strolled away with the key. “Good news. I’m nearly bankrupt.”
“You spent all your money?”
He brushed away my comment with his hand. “Remember? I wasn’t planning on taking a cent to my grave.”
I glared at him. “Don’t joke about dying. I liked your idea to loot the Order better.”
He grinned. “You remembered that plan.”
