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“Neither.”
“You aren’t a very good liar.” He drained the rest of his absinthe, then licked his lips. “Tell me the truth.”
“You first.”
“Truthfully, you surprised me when you kissed me. Desperate enough for even a necromancer.”
Heat flared inside me, chased by cold shame. “Go fuck yourself.”
“Is that an invitation?”
Before he could reply with yet more sarcasm, I strode out of the lounge car. I retreated to our cabin, slid the door shut, and locked it for good measure. Legs trembling, I paced between the seats like a wild animal in a cage. Instinct urged me to run back to Wendel and fight him—or fuck him.
God, I needed to get out of here before he came back to our cabin.
I didn’t trust him.
Or myself.
9
Where was Konstantin?
I hunted for him until I finally found him outside the train. Snow dazzled me in the morning sun. A dozen or so passengers clustered around the archmage. Gentlemen, mostly, with their cigar smoke curling into the cold, but a few ladies too, who were fanning themselves as if waiting for a show to start. A flighty lady in a fox-fur coat nearly stepped on a blood splatter in the snow and shrieked dramatically.
“Watch your step!” Konstantin called out. “My preparations are nearly complete.”
“Don’t meander too close,” a gray-bearded gentleman told me. “I’m afraid this is rather too complicated for a feminine mind.”
Fuck you, I thought to myself.
Konstantin waved me closer. He wore leather-and-steel bracers that left his fingers bare—it’s armor common to archmages, though I knew little about its function. He had set up an apparatus about the size of a bread box, constructed of steeland polished maple wood. Brass knobs circled a glass window that flickered violet-white with caged magic.
“Technomancy?” I asked. “To repair the Hex?”
“Precisely.” Konstantin lowered a pair of goggles over his eyes. “Imagine sewing a patch to the enchantment in the sky.”
“How can I help?”
“Make sure nobody wanders too near. I don’t want to singe a wayward duchess.”
“Understood.”
“Good!” His bracers clinked when he clapped his hands. “Let’s get started.”
I walked back to the crowd. The gray-bearded gentleman who had been rude to me scowled at my return.
“Keep your distance.” I kept a relaxed hand on my sword. “Orders of the archmage.”
“Why?” asked the lady in the fox fur. “Is it terribly dangerous?”
I shrugged. “Very.”
Behind me, there was a pop like a small firecracker.
“That’s not quite right,” Konstantin said. “Let me adjust things a bit…”
Bluish smoke wafted above his head. He fiddled with the apparatus, then cupped his hands heavenward. Between his palms, an arc of violet-white lightning lashed out like a viper and crackled into the clouds.
