Shadows of Asphodel Read Online Free PDF Page B

His wound was bare and bleeding again.

Wendel met her eyes in the mirror. “Ardis.”
    “What are you doing?” she said.
    “Doctoring myself.” He held out his hand. “Could you pass me the alcohol?”
    Ugly black sutures ran the length of his wound, and blood still seeped past the stitches and trickled down his chest.
    “The alcohol?” Wendel repeated. “To clean the wound?”
    Ardis glared at him. “You don’t use alcohol to clean wounds. It’s too strong. And why did you take the bandage off?”
    Wendel’s outstretched fingers twitched. “The medic told me to apply a new one.”
    “But you haven’t stopped bleeding. You need to put it on the old one.” She shook her head. “You shouldn’t have been running around.”
    He lowered his head and made a noise between a growl and a sigh. “I’ll fix it.”
    “Have you never bandaged yourself?” she said.
    “No.”
    Ardis grabbed the first aid kit from the counter. “That’s it. I’m taking over.”
    “I said, I’ll—”
    “Shut up and let me do this before you pass out.”
    “I’m not going to—”
    Ardis dabbed at the wound with a damp towel, and he sucked in his breath. He wasn’t bleeding too badly, but she wasn’t sure he had any more blood to spare. She was impressed he had lasted this long without keeling over.
    “Hold still,” she said.
    “I am,” he said. “It’s this train swaying back and forth.”
    Ardis finished cleaning the blood, then washed her hands and unwrapped the gauze. She tore off a piece, then taped it over the wound. Wendel clenched his hands when she touched him, but he let her continue. She reached around him to wrap a bandage around his chest, and he grimaced when she tugged it tight.
    “Are you always this sadistic?” he said.
    She glanced at him. “Are you always this delicate?”
    He scowled. “I’m so glad you aren’t a nurse.”
    “Me, too.”
    Ardis fastened the bandage and stepped back to inspect her work. Wendel looked at himself in the mirror, his face white.
    “Damn cold in here,” he muttered.
    The train jolted on the tracks, and Wendel stumbled forward, catching himself on the edge of the sink. He didn’t look like he was going to stay upright much longer, so Ardis grabbed him by the arm and hauled him out of the bathroom. She let him drop onto his berth. He fell back in a slump, propping himself with his elbows.
    “Thank you,” he said.
    “Not going to pass out?” she said, though her voice didn’t have as much bite in it.
    He mustered enough strength for a sarcastic smile. “God, maybe I will. This berth is comfortable. And look, two pillows.”
    Ardis raised her eyebrows. She was not going to go there.
    Wendel’s smile twisted into something nasty. “How was dinner with the archmage?”
    “Do you know him?” she said.
    He snorted. “I think not.”
    “Then how could you tell—?”
    “Anyone who stinks of so much foul magic must be at least an archmage.”
    Ardis stifled a laugh. “A necromancer, complaining of foul magic?”
    Wendel gave the ceiling a look of cool disdain.
    “Necromancy,” he said, “is a natural magic. The archmages toy around with spells and tricks memorized from books.”
    She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think there’s anything natural about raising the dead.”
    He glanced sideways at her. “Natural meaning inborn. Inherited.”
    “Ah.”
    “I know you think necromancers are monsters,” he said.
    Ardis’s throat tightened, and she couldn’t meet his eyes. Yes, that was what she thought, but hearing him say it sounded… unfair?
    “But believe me,” he said, “that’s a fraction of the hatred archmages have for us.”
    “Is Konstantin your enemy?” she said.
    “Konstantin? Is that his name?”
    She nodded.
    Wendel let himself fall back on the berth. “Perhaps all this blood loss is a good thing. It will make me that much harder to find.”
    Ardis made an impatient noise. “Why?”
    “My magic is very weak now,” he muttered.