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“Good choice.” Konstantin had a warm smile, the kind that made me return it.
I glanced at his edelweiss pin. “You work for the archmages?”
He steepled his fingers on the table. “Iaman archmage.”
I sipped my water to disguise my surprise. The man sitting across from me was one of my employers. Though I couldn’t remember hearing of Falkenrath.
“Or I will be,” he admitted, “once I arrive in Vienna. Then it will be official.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You must be one of the youngest archmages there.”
He looked down at his fingers. “Is it that obvious? I had hoped the beard would help.”
“It does.”
He stroked his goatee and made a face. “Do you think I should aim for long and gray?”
I laughed. “No.”
“I have a few good decades left in me before that, I should hope.”
I cocked my head. “I’m curious where you got that sunburn.”
The waiter returned with Konstantin’s gin and tonic. He sipped the drink before he smiled. “The Dodecanese.”
“The what?”
“The where.”
Konstantin flipped the menu over. On the back, there was a map of European railways. His fingertip rested on the Mediterranean.
“There,” he said, “in the Aegean Sea. Twelve marvelous islands called the Dodecanese. The water there is a remarkableturquoise.” He furrowed his brow. “Unfortunately, of course, the islands are still occupied by Italy.”
“Why were you there?” I asked.
He broke into a boyish grin. “The Hex.”
“I thought the Hex covered only Austria-Hungary?”
“Last year, when Italy invaded Tripoli, the Ottoman Empire turned to us for help. The archmages pledged their aid to extend the Hex.” He ran his finger along the borders of the Kingdom of Serbia. “Everyone keeps fighting like dogs over the scraps of the Ottoman Empire. We will muzzle them until they obey.”
Sipping my water, I almost choked.
Wendel stood in the doorway of the dining car. He narrowed his eyes at me before shaking his head and exiting the car.
What the hell was he doing lurking in the shadows?
The waiter delivered our plates with a flourish. On each, a tiny filet of trout rested in a sea of sauce, with no more than six grilled spears of asparagus on the side. Tender white asparagus, the kind they calledspargelin German.
It was hardly a dinner. I resisted the urge to sigh.
“Believe it or not,” I said, “I work for the archmages.”
“Is that so?” Konstantin shook his napkin loose. “Please, tell me more.”
“I’m a mercenary.”
“The rebels in Transylvania really are troublesome, aren’t they?”
