Night of Blood and Beauty

  NIGHT

  of

  BLOOD and BEAUTY

  A COMPANION NOVELLA TO

  THE ORDER OF THE CRYSTAL DAGGERS

  ◊◊◊◊

  C. S. Johnson

  Copyright © 2019 by C. S. Johnson.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher.

  1st Edition.

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-948464-25-3

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-948464-26-0

  This book is first dedicated, as nearly always—at least so much that it’s strange, especially if you don’t see it with the spirit of my intent—to Sam.

  But it is also dedicated to my good friends, Jennifer, Cathy, and Laura, whose support and enthusiasm helped bring this story into being­, if for no other reason than their insistence made it so.

  To Get Awakening (A Special Christmas Episode of The Starlight Chronicles) as a bonus for picking up this book,

  Click Here

  Or Download It At:

  https://www.csjohnson.me/awakening

  *1*

  ◊

  “Miss Eleanor.”

  The desperation in his voice was only matched by his irritation, and the moment he said anything, Amir feared he had inadvertently given himself away.

  The sapphire eyes he had come to both love and hate twinkled mischievously at him. “Why, Mr. Qureshi, I do believe you’re quite flustered. Especially if you’re going to use your manners. Where are those mongrel ways of yours? I might mistake you for a real gentleman with such a formal tone.”

  Her lyrical, teasing voice did nothing to lighten his mood; rather, it plucked at his heartstrings with a bittersweet twang, and Amir had to force himself to remain still as he stared down at her.

  It would do nothing for his case if he showed any further sign of compromise, especially now that his partner sensed his weakness.

  “It is only proper I address you as such, Miss Eleanor,” Amir said, keeping his voice stripped of all his conflicting emotions. “Your mother, Her Grace, would be the first to agree with me.”

  At the mention of her mother, her gaze only grew bolder. “We both know my mother’s favorite thing in the world is being a hypocrite,” she said, crossing her arms and tapping her toe. “Call me Naděžda, as I’ve told you to before several times now.”

  Inwardly, Amir groaned. He should have known better than to say anything. If there was anything Eleanor Naděžda Ollerton-Cerná excelled at—and there was plenty—it was arguing with him. And while there was enough wrong with that in itself, it unnerved him how often he found himself losing those arguments.

  “Miss Eleanor, propriety demands—”

  “Is this my punishment, after all these years, to have you give me the same lecture I gave you when we first met, Amir?” Naděžda asked, arching her brow as she pouted.

  Amir hated how he stared at her mouth. His Abba had always been so concerned about him looking into a woman’s eyes that Amir never realized how sinful looking at a woman’s lips could be. Even beneath her yashmak, the transparent veil worn by women on the streets of Constantinople, seeing Naděžda stick out her bottom lip was like watching a rose bloom under misty moonlight.

  He was secretly relieved when she crossed her arms and let out an indignant sigh, turning her face to the side; her patience was dwindling as quickly as his resolve.

  All I have to do is outlast her. Amir relaxed in the slightest degree; it was always easier to outlast her than it was to outwit her.

  “If I didn’t know you better, I would question your intellect,” she said.

  “What is stopping you? You’ve questioned it often enough in the past several months we’ve been working together on the Order’s missions.” Amir frowned, his own patience wearing thin. “Unless, of course, you have good reason to agree with me in this case?”

  “I fail to see why finding a way to engage the target would be a mistake. He’s old enough to be more patient with someone of my age.”

  “He’s old enough to see you as a nuisance.”

  “Doubtful. He’s likely no more than ten years older than I am, probably married with a wife and an heir at home. A little flirtation from someone like me will make him feel like a young, attractive, appreciated hero. We’ve followed him long enough to know he’s a soft touch.”

  Amir frowned. “Now I really don’t like your idea. He could fall in love with you on sight.”

  “What better way to get him to slip up?” Naděžda sneered. “If anything can ruin your life, it is love.”

  He hated both her tone and how much he agreed with her. “Spies are not supposed to fall in love.”

  Though his tone did not betray it, that reminder was one that was burned into him daily, often multiple times as he worked with Naděžda.

  She was a member of the Order of the Crystal Daggers, an ancient group of spies and assassins, specializing in political security and clandestine reconnaissance missions. Naděžda’s mother was its leader, and Lady Penelope took great pride in her responsibilities, with an unrivaled, orderly fervor. While their adventures varied in location, task, and time, Amir always embraced the chance to work beside with Naděžda. While he was not a member of the Order, he was a medical adviser and companion on many of their assignments.

  Above all else, he sought to honor that trust. That was why he had to keep Naděžda safe—perhaps despite her wishes otherwise on such matters.

  Amir cleared his throat cautiously. “Right now, it would be an unnecessary complication, especially if you are right about the wife and nursery at home.”

  “But it would be so easy.” She clasped her hands together. “He’s drawn to books. What better way to get his attention and earn his respect than engaging him at the book vendor?”

  “No matter how much he loves books and no matter how much charm you throw his way, the Bohemian ambassador is not going to discuss business with the likes of you.”

  Amir glanced back at their target. They had been following him for hours now, ever since he walked through the construction site where the sultan’s new Dolmabahçe Palace was being built.

  Considering the crowded streets of Constantinople, and the finer points of the Bohemian’s diplomacy, finding him was a miracle more than anything else. Amir did not want to lose him, and Amir especially did not want to lose him because he was too distracted from arguing with Naděžda.

  And over such nonsense, too.

  “I should go anyway,” Naděžda murmured behind him, just loudly enough he knew she was angry enough to be serious. “You never let me do what I want.”

  “That’s enough,” Amir told her sharply. “The ambassador is the one who is supposed to meet with the merchants from the Haberecht Shipping Company, and we need to find out where they are located and why he is meeting with them. Her Grace says the company has rebellious sympathies. She suspects they could be behind the missing shipment themselves, rather than the Ottomans who supposedly took off with it.”

  “King Ferdinand is not concerned about the rebels. He just wants the weapons for himself.”

  “A king is allowed to protect his own country.”

  “Yes, but how can he protect himself from his own country? There is trouble brewing in Bohemia, just as there is trouble in Italy, Germany, and other Austrian principalities.”

  “That is why we need to find out where the shipment went.”

  Naděžda wrinkled her nose. “My father would likely know. If we really wanted to find out, all we would have to do is ask him.”

  “You know how Her Grace feels about that,” Amir said quietly.

  “She probably thinks he is behind it, given his own history with the League of Ungentlemanly Warfare. That’s likely the main reason the Order is here, isn’t it? There is nothing my mother would love more than to strike out against my father, especially now that she has the full weight of the British Empire behind her as a League member herself.”

  “Even if he’s not behind it, we need to find the truth. Those weapons could unwittingly cause a lot of trouble for the people, even if they are the ones who end up wielding them.”

  “I suppose that is true,” Naděžda agreed, her voice full of sad resignation.

  Amir fell silent. He did not know what to say, especially since, from what he knew, Naděžda was likely correct. Ever since her parents’ tumultuous affair and failed partnership, there was nothing but enmity in Lady Penelope’s eyes at the mention of him.

  Naděžda sighed. Seeing the soft vulnerability in her features made Amir want to reach out and comfort her.

  Instead, Amir turned away, allowing her privacy while she grappled with her family’s brokenness. A long moment passed in silence between them, before Naděžda sighed.

  Amir took it as a sign she was ready to move on. “Right now, we just need to find the actual destination of the shipment.”

  “It could have been easily dispensed on the black markets already.”

  “That’s true, but you said it yourself. This is something that is tied to the unrest in different countries, and we need to be prepared if fighting breaks out.”

  “Yes.”

  “So we need to follow the ambassador now, not flirt with him.”

  Naděžda whipped out a small fan from underneath the embroidered shawl she carried, fluttering it playfully in front of her half-covered face. “Well, my dear, you wouldn’t be the one flirting, would you?” She
straightened herself, drawing herself up to her full height, just shy of meeting him at eye level. “That is my area of expertise.”

  “You needn’t remind me.” The words came out softer much more husky, more provocative than he had intended. There was a quick, fearful gleam in her eye, and he saw she was uncomfortable, too.

  She quickly played it off, snapping her fan shut and brushing off the billowing folds of her striped walking gown.

  “Goodness, do all the women in this town have to be so covered up? I’m dying in these multiple layers,” she said.

  “The privacy of women is sacred here,” Amir reminded her, more than grateful for the change in topic. “When something is sacred, it becomes law, and as such, modesty is the law of the land.”

  “There is no tyrant quite like one in place for one’s own good, is there?”

  “You should appreciate it. Wasn’t your mother in Her Majesty Queen Victoria’s court this past month?” Amir could not resist provoking her. “And even now you’re wearing the bustle that’s à la mode, and that seems much more troublesome than a veil.”

  The large, bulbous bump at the back of her gown twitched as Naděžda huffed.

  “I might as well wear the Western fashions. I’m not going to blend in here,” Naděžda insisted. “Even with the veil.”

  She was right about that, Amir thought to himself. In all the years since he had known her, she had never fit into any aspect of his life comfortably. Being so close to his childhood home, he was disheartened to see she never would.

  He studied Naděžda out of the corner of his eye as she stood next to him in the small, dark corner of an alleyway. They were just outside the Court of the Mosque of Sultan Ahmed I, where tents poured out into the middle of the crowded streets and shops were tucked away behind them. The bright wooden buildings bordering the streets were interspersed with lattice-covered windows, hinting at the private sitting rooms afforded to women, allowing them a safe escape from the surrounding world of men and their markets.

  Yes, Amir thought, Naděžda was indeed out of place. But knowing her as he did, he also knew she was accustomed to the experience.

  “It’s so hot.” Naděžda waved her fan distractedly. “I’ll be lucky if I don’t die of here.”

  “You get used to the dry heat after a time,” Amir told her. “And it is not all bad. It allows you to taste the salt in the air from the Bosporus, once you’re close enough to the harbor, and you feel the full blessing of Allah from the wind.”

  “You could also assume that the heat was flying up from hell itself,” Naděžda murmured, and despite his better judgment, Amir smiled.

  Not one of his family members would approve of Naděžda in the slightest. She was everything he had been taught to abhor in a woman—outspoken, brash, impatient, stubborn, and at times domineering. She had an enormous awareness of propriety, if only because she learned how to break it so beautifully. Many times they had fought, on everything from customs to food to manners, to religion and politics and family.

  Given his own upbringing, he should have hated it. But Naděžda was smart and passionate, and he almost always enjoyed fighting with her just to see that spark of challenge light up her eyes.

  Almost always.

  “As I see it, the faster we get the information we need, the sooner we can head back to the ship and report back to Uncle,” she said, gathering her skirts. “Talking with the ambassador would save us time.”

  “Mr. Prasad would not approve of your methods,” Amir countered, thinking of his mentor and sponsor.

  If there was ever a man he was indebted to, it was Harshad Prasad, and he would not see Naděžda come to ruin for anything. Part of the reason Harshad insisted they work together was so Amir could protect her. With the medical training he had received as a doctor, both from his father and Harshad’s patronage, and having the benefits of understanding Western and Eastern cultures, he was more than capable of seeing to Naděžda’s safety as she worked for the Order of the Crystal Daggers, especially in places such as Constantinople.

  In theory, anyway.

  Naděžda pursed her lips, reminding Amir of her mother, and he groaned. The newly proclaimed leader of the Order, Lady Penelope Ollerton-Wellesley, the dowager duchess of Wellington, was a force of nature, and she had taught her daughter to wield chaos just as skillfully than she did, if not more so.

  Queen Victoria was no doubt very fortunate to have Lady Penelope’s loyalty, Amir thought. The Order of the Crystal Daggers was an ancient society, one that was originally established to protect and maintain peace in Constantine’s empire. When the Empire fell, the Order remained, quickly aligning themselves with those who were able to protect and assist them.

  Which is why Harshad was here, Amir recalled. They had arrived with Harshad on the Splendor, one of the teak clippers from the East India Company. As an honorary member of the League of Ungentlemanly Warfare, Harshad was overseeing the fulfillment of the Treaty of Nanking, ensuring Chinese were complying with the terms of their loss. He would report back to Queen Victoria and the House of Lords when they returned to London.

  It was fortunate Harshad was here, too, or they might never have realized a shipment of weapons intended to go to Prague had gone missing, or that the Bohemian ambassador had arrived for unexpected meetings with the Sultan and the Haberecht Shipping Company.

  Naděžda cleared her throat, drawing Amir back to the moment.

  “Are you sure it’s Uncle who would not approve of my idea, Mr. Qureshi, or is it just you? Because I do believe Ambassador Svoboda would approve of me, and his approval is more important.”

  “What are you saying?”

  Naděžda leaned toward him, batting her eyelashes flirtatiously. “I do believe you’re jealous.”

  “Why would I be jealous?” Amir frowned, suddenly defensive. “This has nothing to do with that.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes, and it never would,” Amir insisted. He immediately regretted the sharpness in his voice.

  Naděžda smiled bitterly, her eyes suddenly much sharper than before. “Well, then, as long as you have no claim on me, I’m overruling your order, Amir, with the stern reminder I am here as your partner, not your associate and certainly not your underling.” She flipped her shawl over her shoulder proudly. “If anything, you are here under my seniority, given that I am the one in the Order, and you are merely here at Uncle’s wishes.”

  “Miss Eleanor.” This time, his voice came out as a hiss, but it was too late. She feinted and sidestepped him, before bustling out into the sunlight of the street, where the bazaar was full of mid-morning shoppers.

  *2*

  ◊

  As Naděžda coyishly dabbled from vendor to vendor, Amir wondered if time had slowed merely to torment him. A woman’s privacy was sacred among the streets of Constantinople, but he knew, much more than he wanted to, that the harems and concubines of the Turkish court were full of Western fashions, and as much as Naděžda might have adopted the yashmak to soften her charm, he had a feeling it would only enhance her appeal. He watched as she alternatively enchanted and horrified various sellers with her confident demeanor.

  She could be in danger.

  His hand closed around the Wahabite Jambiya at his side, the curved dagger his father had passed onto him before he had set out for the Western universities.

  “For your protection, and the blessing of the family,” his Abba had said, and Amir was more than thankful that in all his years abroad, and even during the past months working alongside Naděžda, he had never needed it to use it to protect himself.

  He was a doctor, after all. He worked to preserve life, not take it away.

  “Pardonnez-moi, madame.” Naděžda’s voice cut through his musings, and Amir sneaked a glance at her as she questioned a flower-seller over the different blossoms she had available.

  Amir frowned, watching as Naděžda handed over her payment, recognizing his coin purse in her hand. He groaned, realizing she must have grabbed it when she had dashed past him.

  “Merci beaucoup, au revoir.” Naděžda gave a little curtsey to the flower-seller, her arms now carrying a slightly wilting bouquet of crocus, and the gypsy woman seemed to stand much more proudly as she waved farewell to her customer. Amir did not have to ask to know she had paid full price for the flowers.