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Our boots clicked on the marble floor, the sound echoing under the vaulted dome. Wendel glanced heavenward at the dome’s celestial mosaic of blue-and-gold tiles, then down to the halberds of the guards.
Ornamental, of course, and useless as weapons in battle.
“The archmages certainly love pomp and circumstance,” Wendel muttered.
Once, I had found this all magnificent, but now I was too tired to give a fuck. My eyes were gritty, my muscles exhausted, even though it couldn’t be past seven o’clock. It felt like I had spent an eternity with Wendel.
It was time to say goodbye.
We might never see each other again. My throat ached, our impending separation transmuted into physical pain. I brought him deeper into the warren of corridors. My pounding heartbeat sounded louder than our footsteps.
Finally, we reached the office of my employer: Archmage Margareta.
When I knocked, she called out, “Enter.”
I opened the door.
Archmage Margareta stood by the fireplace and stoked the indigo-burning flames. An elderly woman, she wore her pewter hair in an intricate braid. The red color of her robes signaled her expertise in incendiary magic.
I cleared my throat. “Ma’am.”
“Ardis.” When she turned around, her frosty blue eyes latched onto Wendel. “You must be the Prince of the Undying.”
He swept into a curt bow. “I am.”
“What is your name?”
“Wendel von Preussen.”
Her joints stiffened by age, Margareta lowered herself into a leather chair behind her desk. “A Prince of Prussia.”
“Correct, though I was disinherited.”
“Please, sit.” Margareta waved her hand imperiously. “Both of you.”
Wendel pulled out a chair for me, playing the part of a gentleman. My stomach twisted into a knot when I sat down.
Why did he look so aloof? Like he didn’t care?
Wendel lounged in his chair as if it were a throne, with all the indolence of a prince. “Why am I here, archmage?”
“Pardon me, I failed to introduce myself. My name is Archmage Margareta.”
He arched his eyebrows at her frosty tone. “Noted.”
“We require your services as a necromancer.” Archmage Margareta steepled her hands on the desk. “The details are confidential.”
I cleared my throat. “We met Archmage Konstantin on the train.”
“Did you?”
“I overheard something about Project Lazarus.”
Margareta sighed. “I would suggest not eavesdropping next time. If you overheard any interesting details, forget them.”
Embarrassment scorched my ears. “Yes, ma’am.”
Margareta slid open a desk drawer and tossed a coin purse to me. “Your payment for a successful mission.”
