Clockwork Menagerie: A Shadows of Asphodel Novella (5 page)

Sure enough, Alexsandr met him in the lobby wearing a formal uniform. Metals gleamed across his chest, overshadowing the rather insignificant edelweiss. Konstantin forced a polite smile. “Good evening, Herr Dmitriev.”

“Alexsandr.” He smiled crookedly. “No need for such formalities.”

Konstantin coughed. He meant to flatter him, not be flattered, though this did accelerate the process. “Where are we eating dinner?”

“Zinoviya Victorova, the dowager countess, has graciously invited us to her home.”

“Sounds lovely. Shall we wait for the captain and the ambassador?”

“They left already.” Alexsandr arched an eyebrow. “We will be fashionably late.”

“Then let’s go.”

With a slight bow, Alexsandr escorted him from the Grand Hotel Europe. Despite his admittedly impeccable manners, the ice in his eyes sent a prickle over Konstantin’s skin. Would the Russian even allow him to walk through the streets of St. Petersburg unescorted? He doubted he could sneeze without it being reported.

They took a cab in silence, stopping outside a magnificent townhouse, more of a mansion. Konstantin did his best to look bored, as if he encountered luxury every day. Honestly, he was rather sick of royalty, particularly princes.

Like that bastard of a necromancer, Wendel, who had had the nerve to kiss him…

“Archmage Konstantin?” Alexsandr gave him a peculiar look.

“Sorry. I find my mind wandering. Please, after you.”

They entered the townhouse together. In the salon, guests mingled beneath glittering chandeliers. No sign of Himmel anywhere. Cradling a flute of champagne, Baron von Bach chortled as he gossiped with a gray-haired lady.

“Is that the dowager countess?” Konstantin said.

“No.” Alexsandr touched his elbow, startling him, and nudged him to the left. “Her.”

A slim young brunette tilted her head, listening to a gentleman, diamonds sparkling in her ears. Red and gold butterflies perched in her hair, as if she were the most delectable flower, wings quivering in the slightest breeze.

Squinting, Konstantin wove through the crowd to stare at the butterflies.

Clockwork, of course.

“Do you like them?” She peeked through her eyelashes, a head shorter than him.

“They are exquisite.”

A smile bent her lips. “Have we met?”

“Now we have.”

Her laugh chimed like birdsong. She held out a gloved hand so he might kiss the air above it. “Countess Zinoviya Victorova.”

“Archmage Konstantin Falkenrath.”

“Charmed.”

If she thought he was flirting, she hadn’t the slightest clue. He never flirted with women. Well, he never flirted at all.

Bravely, he plunged onward. “May I ask where you acquired your butterflies?”

“Don’t you know?” The countess arched her eyebrows. “I suppose you wouldn’t.”

His stomach knotted. How had he blundered? Were the butterflies a memento from her late husband? God, he hated diplomacy.

“My apologies,” he said, sweating. “This is my first day in St. Petersburg.”

“You are such a sweet young man.” She patted his wrist. “These butterflies are my own. It’s a little diversion of mine.”

“A little diversion?” He shook his head. “What a modest thing to say.”

Zinoviya averted her eyes. “It wouldn’t be proper for a lady such as myself to boast.”

When the butler rang the gong, everyone proceeded into a dining room decorated with endless blue-and-white china plates. Konstantin found himself seated at the countess’s left; he spotted Himmel sitting across the table. The captain flicked his eyebrows upward in greeting, and Konstantin couldn’t help smiling.

Just seeing him made him giddy like a lovesick boy.

The young lady opposite Konstantin returned his smile, mistaking it as a compliment to her beauty, and fanned her pink cheeks. He tried not to wince; pretending to court the ladies in St. Petersburg would hardly be productive.

Except, obviously, Countess Victorova herself.

As the footmen poured white wine, Konstantin leaned closer to his target. “What other clockwork marvels have you created?”

She lifted her shoulders in a little shrug. “This and that.”

He sipped his wine, which tasted crisp with a hint of honey. “Have you studied technomancy at university?”

“I leave such professional work for men more capable than me.”

“You seem quite capable.”

Her smile turned wistful. “Ever since my dear husband passed on, I have found such solace in decorative clockwork.”

“Yes, it’s quite captivating.” He glanced into her eyes. “As are you.”

She hid her smile behind her hand, demurely, as the footmen served borscht, a traditional cabbage soup garnished with dill and sour cream. Across the table, Himmel glanced at them and narrowed his eyes, no doubt eavesdropping.

Konstantin smoothed his napkin. “May I look more closely at one of your butterflies?”

“Why, certainly.”

She unpinned an insect, a lock of her chestnut hair tumbling, and cradled it in her palm. With utmost delicacy, Konstantin transferred the butterfly to his fingertip, where it perched, legs prickling his skin, wings flexing. He peered at the tiny coil of its proboscis, as if a mechanical butterfly might need to drink nectar.

“I would love to dissect this,” he murmured. Seeing her face, he hastily added, “Not that I wouldn’t reassemble it afterward.”

The countess returned the butterfly to her hair. “I’m sure you would to do a splendid job. You have such long fingers.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you play the piano?”

“A bit.”

“I would love to hear you play.”

“It would be an exceedingly short concert, one or two songs at most.”

Zinoviya laughed. Himmel cleared his throat, though when Konstantin looked at him, he shook his head. Who knew why?

After the soup course, they dined upon filet of salmon, followed by a salad of beets and walnuts. Zinoviya chatted with the gentleman to her right, who seemed approximately a century old and almost deaf, while Konstantin pondered the most productive methods of flirtation. At last, he thought of something.

“Are you fond of travel, Countess Victorova?”

“Yes.” Her eyes focused somewhere faraway. “The late count brought our family to many countries during his service to our Tsar.”

“Vienna?”

“Once.”

“When you return, I would be honored to show you my laboratory.”

“How generous of you,” she said airily, as if she received such invitations regularly.

Grimacing, Himmel sliced his finger across his neck. Oh, dear. Perhaps it would be best not to reveal too many secrets about the Archmages of Vienna around so many potential spies. His ears on fire, Konstantin finished his salad and polished off two more courses: beef stroganoff, then tarts stuffed with cherries.

Zinoviya’s spoon chimed against her wineglass. “Wasn’t dessert simply magnificent?” Murmurs of approval rippled around the table. “Though we have yet another treat. Shall we all see the clockwork menagerie?”

onstantin!” As the guests filed from the dining room,
Himmel fell in step beside him. “What are you playing at?”

“Pardon?”

Grabbing his elbow, Himmel muttered in his ear. “You and the countess.”

“Are you… jealous?”

The captain laughed and let him go. “Are you insane?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Don’t look so offended.” He laughed again. “You really have a way with women.”

Somehow Konstantin detected sarcasm. “Don’t laugh at me. It might prove useful if I earn the favor of the countess.”

Himmel clapped his forehead. “God, leave the poor widow alone.”

“Was it that bad?”

“Worse.”

Konstantin groaned. “What an utter waste of my time.” He hesitated. “Other than this clockwork menagerie, of course.”

“Of course.” Himmel stroked his mustache. “Walk with me. Explain this technomancy.”

Konstantin’s pride wasn’t wounded enough to refuse him. “If you insist.”

Her hands clasped, the countess waited outside an imposing pair of oak doors. “Thank you all very much for coming tonight.”

Von Bach puffed like a rooster. “My pleasure, Countess Victorova.”

With a smile, she summoned the footmen. They opened the doors to a ballroom with enough mirrors to rival Versailles. There wouldn’t be any room for dancing, however, with the clockwork beasts wandering about.

A rooster with feathers of blood-red enamel bristled as it crowed; chickens pecked at the marble, their clockwork ticking. A fantastic peacock fanned its gilded tail, glittering beneath a chandelier. Near the windows, a little blond boy laughed and clapped his hands as a great black bear danced on mechanical paws.

“What a fantastic expenditure of money,” Himmel said dryly.

Konstantin arched an eyebrow. “Undoubtedly.”

The captain pointed to the peacock. “That’s entirely clockwork?”

“It’s difficult to tell without dissection.”

“You and your dissection.”

The little blond boy ran to the countess, who bundled him in her arms. “Mama!”

Chin in hand, Konstantin stalked over to the black bear. The monster settled on its haunches, paws dangling, claws carved scythes of jet. The bear stared at him with golden gemstone eyes, waiting for something.

The hairs on his arms stood at attention. Those eyes…

“Impressive.” Himmel cocked his head. “Why not a grizzly?”

Baron von Bach joined them. “Because the Victorov coat of arms has a black bear. I understand the countess intended it as a gift for the count’s birthday, though the poor fellow bit the dust prior to the occasion.”

Himmel grunted. “How did he die?”

“Yacht accident. Most unpleasant. Drowned under the ice.”

The men fell silent as Countess Victorova glided closer. The baron dipped his head as a courtesy. “Countess, please excuse me.”

That left Konstantin groping for words while Himmel abandoned him with a little smirk. He decided to play dumb; perhaps Zinoviya would lower her guard. “Countess, if I’m not mistaken, the bear’s eyes look like chalcedony.”

Her earrings glinted as she shook her head. “Chrysoberyl from Siberia.”

“Isn’t that rather rare?”

“Yes, though I find it quite practical.”

“Aha!” He snapped his fingers. “The Sokolov Effect.”

“I believe you mean the Silvestrov Effect.” She corrected him with a gentle smile, though her eyes hardened around the edges.

“Remarkable.” He struggled to keep a straight face.

“How sweet of you to play coy.”

“Coy?”

Countess Victorova tilted onto her toes as she whispered in his ear. “Aren’t you the man dissecting my clockwork dragon?”

Words shriveled in Konstantin’s throat. “Pardon me?”

“You would love my latest experiment.” Her eyes glittered, liquid in the light. “Perhaps you might see it for yourself.”

“Christ, are you confessing?”

She laughed, her earrings swaying. “Oh, dear, didn’t you know?”

Heat scorched his face. He had been trotted out like a pawn on the chessboard, ignorant of the bigger players. “Why
you
?”

“Tsar Nicholas finds my talents useful.”

“Your clockwork dragon killed dozens of men.” He hated how his voice shook.