Chapter Twenty

Twenty

The next day, her opportunity arose.

Outside the window of the mess hall, the evening was clear save for the haze chuffing from the Prinzessin ’s smokestacks. It drifted lazily across the sky and veiled the pale face of the waning moon. Its dwindling was like an hourglass: only ten more days until the Vanishing Isle would appear.

Lorelei surveyed the room from her usual corner table, a cup of coffee warming her hands. The ship’s crew had filtered in for dinner and spent most of their allotted fifteen minutes casting resentful gazes her way. She did not blame them. To make it to Ebul on time, they needed to work around the clock, and she’d been the one to give the order. God willing, they wouldn’t mutiny—and the steam engine wouldn’t overheat and blow them all sky-high before they arrived. They’d survived far too much to suffer such a mundane death.

The double doors of the mess swung open to admit Adelheid and Heike—together and laughing, to Lorelei’s surprise. Evidently, they’d swung back into each other’s good graces. The two of them folded themselves into a table, and the kitchen staff leapt to attend to them. With grim efficiency, they laid out flatware and brought two portions of tonight’s meal: carp pounded thin, breaded, fried, and laid atop a veritable mountain of boiled potatoes.

Heike inspected her plate for a moment, then primly nudged it to the side. She leaned across the table with her hands folded under her chin, clearly prepared to share a juicy morsel of gossip. Lorelei strained to listen in out of idle curiosity—but perked up when Heike said, “So, did you hear the big news? Ludwig sat up today.”

Adelheid’s expression did not change, nor did she glance up from her plate. She was consumed with the task of sawing her carp in half with painstaking care. “Yes, Johann mentioned it to me this morning. It’s heartening.”

One could always count on Adelheid for a bland appraisal, Lorelei supposed. It was far more than heartening. If he’d recovered enough to sit up, perhaps he was lucid again—lucid enough to tell her what had happened on the night he disappeared from camp.

Heike deflated at Adelheid’s non-reaction but pressed onward. “Well? Have you seen him yet?”

Adelheid had moved on from her fish and began cutting her potatoes into tiny cubes. “No. Johann is not allowing visitors until his condition stabilizes.”

Heike scoffed. “I’ve never once seen him show such concern for Ludwig. But if he isn’t letting you see him…” She frowned, preoccupied. “Has Lud said anything yet?”

After swallowing her mouthful, Adelheid said, “Not that I’m aware of. Are you going to eat that?”

Heike sighed exasperatedly and pushed the plate across the table to her.

Of course Heike wanted to see him. If he’d begun improving, then she would want to silence him before he talked—which meant Lorelei had to get to him first.

Damn Johann for making it more difficult than it needed to be. Fortunately, the man was exceedingly predictable; she could practically set her watch to his schedule. At the top of each hour, he gave Ludwig a dose of pain medication. Lorelei consulted her pocket watch. About now, he’d be on his evening walk, circling the deck as though he meant to outpace something trailing hungrily behind him.

Lorelei glanced back up at Adelheid and Heike. By the looks of it, they’d begun bickering over something or another. With any luck, they’d be occupied for another ten, fifteen minutes at most. A narrow window, but if Heike caught her sneaking into the sickroom, she’d ensure Lorelei never got another opportunity to speak to Ludwig alone—or ever again.

She had to go now.

As casually as she could manage, Lorelei rose from her seat and headed for the doors of the mess. She strode out onto the main deck and let the cool night air wash over her. Too late, she noticed the figure careening toward her and nearly collided with—

“Sylvia.”

Lorelei steadied her by her shoulders, then all but dragged her into an alcove. A lantern swung above them, scattering light across the deck. In the gloom, she could make out the starlit fall of Sylvia’s hair and the alarmed shine of her pale eyes.

“Thank God,” Lorelei said.

Some of the wariness slipped off her face. “Oh?”

Lorelei did not know so much hope could be contained in one syllable. She realized, dazedly, that she’d all but backed her against the wall—and that Sylvia was wearing a coat with an unusually high collar. The golden buttons gleamed in the dim lantern light, fastened to conceal her throat and the bruise Lorelei had left behind. Mortification seized her all at once. How could she have—

No, for the greater good, she could set aside her feelings. Slowly, she loosened her hold on Sylvia and took a step back. “I need you to distract Heike for me. She’s in the galley.”

The tentative hope in Sylvia’s expression vanished. Fury and—worse— hurt took its place in an instant. Apparently, she could not expect Sylvia to adhere to her same standards of professionalism. “Why?”

“Just do it,” Lorelei hissed. “I don’t have time to explain.”

“You have a lot of nerve, Lorelei Kaskel. Is that really all you want to say to me?”

Sylvia was nowhere near as tall as Lorelei, but she made a valiant effort to rise to the occasion. In retrospect, asking for Sylvia’s help mere hours after kissing her—and rejecting any possibility of finding happiness with her—was not her brightest idea. Now she’d left herself open to a discussion of their relationship . She could have gagged on the word.

Lorelei raked a hand through her hair. “What is there to say that I haven’t already said?”

Sylvia looked stung. “Is that all I’m to expect from you, then? I know you think I’m silly and empty-headed. Perhaps I am. But some of us do have feelings. They’re real, and they matter.”

Lorelei felt almost dizzy with the accusation, the very same one Sylvia had lobbed at her on the night after Ziegler’s murder. You really are coldhearted. It struck her harder than she’d anticipated. How desperately she wanted to prove Sylvia right. It would make her life far easier if she truly were as heartless as she wanted everyone to believe.

“I’m sorry,” Lorelei gritted out. “Truly. Will that tide you over for now? I need your help. Ludwig was awake today. I need to speak with him without alerting anyone.”

Sylvia’s expression softened some, but she crossed her arms guardedly. “Fine. But I must remind you that Heike does not enjoy my presence. What am I supposed to say to hold her attention?”

“You have known her for the better part of twenty years. Surely you can think of something.”

Sylvia seemed to consider it. “Perhaps I will try to apologize to her again. Or perhaps I could suggest my feelings have changed. Yes, that will hold her attention. I will tell her that I have long mourned our broken friendship, but over these past few weeks, I have come to realize that I have been blind to my own ardor. That my capacity for deluding myself extends far beyond—”

“God, no. Don’t do that,” Lorelei said, without bothering to mask the horror in her voice. “You sound like you’re auditioning for the lead in a two-bit melodrama.”

Sylvia gasped. “Oh, you insufferable, clueless…! Give me one good reason I should not throw you overboard this instant.”

“Because I’m going to save both of our miserable lives.”

Sylvia was standing far too close to her again. Even when she was like this— especially when she was like this—Lorelei could not help wanting her. It made her sick. It terrified her. It would be so simple to close the gap between them. To shove her against the wall and kiss her until she couldn’t remember her own name. To let herself believe in all her wild, impulsive promises. Her expression must have revealed the turn of her thoughts. Color rose high on Sylvia’s cheeks. She looked like she wanted to kiss her—or, indeed, throw her overboard.

She did not have time for this. Her window was closing.

“I trust you to handle it,” Lorelei said hastily. With that, she turned on her heel and left Sylvia to stew in her indignation.

Never in her life had she felt so self-sabotaging.

The wall sconces illuminated the corridor of the expedition’s quarters and winked off the dust swirling through the orbs of light. Lorelei stopped in front of Ludwig’s door with her heart lodged firmly in her throat.

At long last, she might have the answers she sought.

When she knocked, the sound reverberated through the empty hallway. No answer came from within. But then, what had she been expecting? No doubt Ludwig had drifted back to sleep. Johann kept him well sedated. Lorelei curled her fingers around the knob and carefully eased it open. She was met with the sweet, rich smell of growing things—and decay. Inside, it was dark, but the narrow window behind the headboard let in the faintest wash of moonlight. A silhouetted figure stood in front of the glass.

Lorelei stumbled backward in surprise. “Fuck.”

At first, she could only make out the hulking shape of its shoulders. Then, blink by blink, her eyes adjusted. Johann inclined his head toward her, his medical case open at his feet and a syringe in hand.

“Kaskel,” he said, a wary edge to his voice. “What are you doing here?”

When her heart stopped trying to launch itself from her rib cage, she replied, “I thought I would come see him. I heard he sat up.”

“He did. But he’s sleeping now.”

A thin blade of moonlight fell across Ludwig’s pallid face. She could still see the faint green lines creeping up his neck. Despite the stubble on his jawline, he still looked boyish and fragile in slumber. Lorelei tore her eyes from him and studied Johann. In truth, he did not look well himself. Exhaustion carved hollows beneath his eyes. Belatedly, it occurred to her that he had not lit any candles. He only leered out of the dark at her, looking for all the world like a child caught with his hand in a biscuit jar.

Her stomach twisted into a knot of dread. “What are you doing here?”

Johann flicked his syringe. “I’m administering his pain medication.”

“In the pitch-dark?”

“I don’t need much light,” he replied. “When you’ve done this as often as I have, it becomes second nature.”

As a strange pressure built in her skull, chills erupted across her arms. It was an instinct far beyond rationality—one she had relied on many times before. Danger. Looking at Johann now, she could not help thinking of the tale of Godfather Death.

Back in the days when wishes still held power, there was a poor man who searched high and low for a godfather deserving of his son. After rejecting all his family—and God himself—he at last settled on Death, who promised to make his son a rich and powerful man. When the boy came of age, Death came to him in the dead of night and led him into the woods. Eventually, they arrived on the banks of a spring, one that granted the ability to mend any wound or cure any disease.

Once you drink from this spring, you are destined to become the most renowned physician in the world, said Death. But in exchange, you must grant me my due. I shall appear at your patients’ bedsides. If I stand at the head of their bed, you may save them. But if I stand at the foot, their soul belongs to me.

As Death promised, the boy grew up to be a famous physician—and a scheming, ambitious man who believed he could cheat his godfather. Whenever he wished to save a patient fated to die, he would simply turn them around in their bed so that Death stood at their head. Death, believing his godson no longer worthy of the power he’d been granted, collected his due in the end. The magic turned sour within the physician and rotted him from the inside out.

Lorelei had always thought it a strange tale. The Yevanisch God admired such craftiness in finding loopholes in his laws, and their folklore reflected it. Now, it struck her cold. She swore she could see Death standing dutifully at the head of Ludwig’s bed, regarding Johann with his twinkling, familiar eyes. Here was the godson Death deserved: a man willing and eager to cut souls loose too soon.

Frowning, Johann followed Lorelei’s gaze to the dark corner of the room. When he saw nothing, his cold blue eyes snapped back to her face.

“I just can’t help noticing it’s early for his medication.”

Johann’s expression turned flinty. “I suppose it is.”

“What were you going to give him, then?”

“A fatal dose of morphine,” he said with unsettling calm. “What do you intend to do now?”

So he wasn’t denying it. Her every sense felt alive—sharpened. She’d been so certain he hadn’t done it, but she could not bring herself to feel much of anything at all.

“I don’t know yet,” she said. “I could scream.”

“You’re welcome to.” He set aside the syringe. “Perhaps Sylvia will believe you, but Adelheid certainly won’t. Heike already thinks you killed Ziegler. I’m only doing my job. You came in spouting accusations—or perhaps to finish him off yourself.”

Cold rage tore through her veins. It took every ounce of strength she possessed to root herself in place. “So it was you. You tried to kill him.”

“Not exactly. If I had wanted to kill him, I would have.” His spectacles glinted in the moonlight. “I couldn’t allow him to lead us out of the woods. This seemed a good way to delay him.”

Lorelei let out a humorless laugh. “Why bother? Sentimentality?”

“Something like that,” he said flatly. “Unfortunately, he’s proven more resilient than I’d expected. It’s too much of a risk to let him live any longer. The same goes for you.”

Lorelei took a reflexive step backward and hit the door. Slowly, the weight of the situation sank in. Johann was a soldier, easily twice her size in weight. She could not hope to survive against him. Perhaps she could appeal to his prejudices. Play the role he expected: the cowardly, conniving Yeva. “I can keep quiet. Just let me go.”

“I don’t believe you.” Johann smiled ruefully. “You’re like Sylvia—a rare example of your kind. Neither of you ever learned when to stay down or mind your own business.”

He rose from his seat, nothing but a looming shadow in the dark.

Her mind whirred with terror. Even if she escaped him now, she wouldn’t make it long. Adelheid would believe whatever he told her. Heike already thought her guilty. And Sylvia…She couldn’t stand against the three of them alone. But Johann was right about her. Lorelei had been fighting for too long to roll over and die now. She’d spent too long running from Death.

She felt for the flask around her belt and unstoppered it. Calling on her magic, she threw her arm out in a wide arc. Water burst forth, following the path her hand carved through the air. Cold unfurled within her as she froze it solid and sent two thin daggers of ice hurtling toward him. One smashed against the wall with a brittle sound like shattered glass . The second notched itself into Johann’s shoulder—far from any vital point. He let out a startled shout of pain.

For a moment, Johann seemed stunned. He touched the wound and stared at his fingers, slicked red with blood. Then, his eyes locked on hers. A terrible, ravening hunger lit them from within: pure bloodlust.

It said, You’re dead.

Lorelei slipped through the door and ran blindly. Her heart thundered in her chest, and her frantic breaths sounded far too loud in her own ears. She felt like that terrified girl again, sprinting through the alleyway with blood caked on her boots. She could hear the sound of bone splitting. She could hear jeering laughter and shattering glass.

It took only a few moments for Johann’s footsteps to echo behind her. Lorelei dared to glance back. Aether shivered over her skin as the fog gathered over the river poured in through the windows and slipped beneath every door. With a sinuous curl of his fingers, it swirled around him like a wraith summoned to attend him.

Lorelei threw open the doors to the war room and stumbled inside. She shoved a chair beneath the doorknob and all but collapsed to the ground. Her vision pulsed black with terror both urgent and half-remembered. Still, the fog slipped in and bloomed through the room. The air sighed ominously, beading against her face like sweat. It slid an insubstantial finger down her back.

“There’s no point in hiding,” he called. “No one is coming to save you.”

And now she’d trapped herself in here—in the very same room where Ziegler had died. The doorknob twisted threateningly. When it did not give, he threw his weight against the door.

“Think, goddamn you,” she muttered. “Get ahold of yourself.”

There had to be some trick—something, anything, she could do. With trembling hands, she pulled the moisture from the air. If she could get just one good shot…

The barricade groaned, then gave way. Lorelei scrabbled backward as the doors flew open. All she could see was his golden hair, loose and wild around his shoulders—and the fog unfurling around him like Death’s cloak. It all happened too quickly. Before she could think to move, water crashed toward her in a torrent.

She went sprawling across the ground, the wind knocked out of her on impact. Through the rheum over her vision, she could see the glint of ice—and the cold shine of his eyes as he loomed over her.

“Don’t struggle.”

A spear of ice burrowed itself into each of her palms. She strangled a scream as he pressed the heel of his boot into one of the shards. Her vision went momentarily black, her lungs seizing with agony.

When she came to, she hardly recognized him. She had seen him miserable and brooding; she had seen him dark and threatening. But this was something else entirely. His eyes were bright, the pupils blown so wide they nearly consumed his entire iris, and his face was split in a wild grin that chilled her. He looked practically giddy.

Although adrenaline had blunted the worst of the pain, the animal part of her wanted to thrash free. “Before you kill me, tell me why. Why did you do it? Why did you kill her?”

He seemed surprised. “I didn’t.”

Shock had dazed her. She must have misheard him. “What?”

Johann crouched beside her. As he leaned over her, the ends of his hair brushed her cheeks. “I didn’t lie to you. I do believe in Wilhelm. But if I must choose between them, I’ll choose her every time.”

Of course. If he hadn’t killed Ziegler, then he was protecting whoever did.

“You…You idiot !”

What else could she say? She had thought all of them besides the murderer would be allied on this one point: to expose who had done it. But she had failed to take into account all the ways people were flawed.

Johann straightened again, gazing down at her as though she were an insect he could crush underfoot. He raised his hand, and the water obeyed, coiling like a serpent ready to strike. “Spitting venom until your last. I almost admire you.”

“Johann!”

Like a puppet with its strings cut, the water dropped.

A pale gray smudge appeared in the threshold of the war room. Through the lattice of curls plastered to her face, Lorelei saw Ziegler’s murderer standing there with a cold gleam in her eyes.

Adelheid.