Crown of Ice (12 page)

***

“Will he be all right? Holger, I mean.” Kai shifts awkwardly on the seat of the sleigh. He lays his gloved hand on my arm as I gather up the reins. “He was so still when we left, I thought perhaps…”

“Perhaps what?” I shake off his hand and yank up my hood, shadowing my face.

“Perhaps the shard was all that was keeping him alive. He said the mirror has greater magic than even Voss knows.”

“I think Master Holger likes to exaggerate.” I cluck at the ponies, who take off from the ledge and gallop into the clear sky.

Kai’s very quiet as we travel back to the palace. He keeps one hand in his pocket, obviously fingering Holger’s shard. “You were a bit scary back there, you know,” he says as we fly over sparkling fields of snow.

“That was the idea.” I press my spine into the rigid seat of the sleigh. I wonder if I slowed Holger’s heart too much—crossed the border between sleep and death. I sigh, knowing I shouldn’t dwell on such thoughts.

Luki stretches his neck over the seat, sniffling at my ear. I gently push his nose away. He whimpers and drops his head onto Kai’s shoulder. The boy lifts his free hand and pats the wolf absently while staring blankly at the drifting clouds.

I still see Holger’s bald head bent over his limp hands. I slap the reins and the ponies pick up speed.
Never mind
, I think, my eyes fixed on the white horizon.
Such thoughts hold no power. Let them fade. Let it go.

DECEITS AND DIVERSIONS

Kai is restless. After a night spent calculating and arguing over equations, we placed Holger’s fragment into the mirror this morning. Now Kai wants to travel to the university to collect the two other pieces.

“I’ve something I need to do first,” I tell him as we stare into the looking glass.

“What’s more important than recovering those fragments?” Kai’s brown eyes rake over me. The color that yesterday’s cold and wind whipped into his face has drained away, leaving him pale and drawn.

“I told you—I’ve other responsibilities.” The truth is that Bae has returned with news of Gerda, but I can’t tell Kai that.

“So I’m stuck here, I suppose?” Kai picks up another piece of glass and holds it over the dark section of the mirror

“Yes, stay here with Luki.”

Curled up in the sunlight that spills through the room’s tall windows, the wolf raises his head at the mention of his name. His amber eyes regard me steadily. He has aged rapidly in the last few months and now resembles an adult wolf more than a pup. But he’s still all legs and tail and head. He hasn’t quite grown into his bones.

“Keep him locked in here when I leave so he won’t try to follow me.” A little smile curves my lips. Luki is likely to follow me anywhere, even into danger.

“Luki, it seems we’ve been given our orders.” Kai leans over the mirror and slides a few pieces about, his eyes narrowed in concentration. He does not look up when I turn and stride to the door.

Luki rises and pads after me, but I press my hand into the dense gray fur of his chest and push him back as I close the door. I hear whining and scratching before Kai calls him away. There’s a flutter in my stomach, and I bite the inside of my cheek to refocus my mind. It’s a strange sensation, realizing that any creature bears that much love for me.

I make my way down several icy corridors, careful to illuminate the walls before I step into each passageway. At the end of one hall is the chamber I seek—a simple storeroom. I step inside and head for the black trunk that sits against one wall.

Bae’s news is sending me on another journey. Apparently Gerda’s been located at a country estate, the same estate where gossip claims a young man may also seek refuge. A brilliant scholar, the boy is the new ward of the Stryker family, whose wealth is piled as high as the timber they cut and sell. In two days the boy returns from the university. The Stryker clan is taking the opportunity to throw a grand ball to introduce the boy to their friends and neighbors. According to Bae, Gerda’s convinced that this mysterious young scholar is Kai.

Of course, I know better. But I won’t forgo the chance to confront Gerda and convince her to return home. She’s already astonished me with her ability to track any information that might lead her to Kai. Her success causes me concern—I see another hand behind her actions. On her own, I don’t believe Gerda presents a major threat to my plans, but I fear she’s gained the support and protection of Sephia. Logic leads me to think that the enchantress is using Gerda as a pawn in her war against Voss and, by extension, me.

So, like it or not, I must pause in my search for the missing fragments to chase down Kai’s friend and get to the bottom of Sephia’s plans. Bae tells me that Clara, the youngest of the Stryker children, has taken an interest in Gerda, who appeared on their doorstep, cold and hungry, a few weeks ago. I silently thank the Strykers’ well-known devotion to charity and Voss’s transformation of Bae. I’ve puzzled over the mage’s decision to grant the reindeer the power of speech, but perhaps Voss’s magic whispered something of the future. He obviously sensed I’d need a servant who could convey messages.

I slowly lift the domed lid of the trunk. Nestled in the black velveteen interior is a jumble of delicate garments. I sift through the velvets and satins until my fingers close about a hank of silk. Pulling the garment from the trunk, I hold it up against the soft blue light emanating from the walls. It’s a pale gray silk gown, shot through with threads of silver and lavender. Tiny opalescent beads are sewn into its puffed cap sleeves and larger pearls encrust the low neckline. I lay the silk against my plain wool gown. The dress is sized perfectly for me. Just the thing to wear to a ball.

I suspect that the silken gown is out of fashion, but that’s of no consequence. I plan to disguise myself as a lady from a distant land, hoping that my foreignness will excuse any oddness in my dress. I certainly can’t attend a ball wearing one of my woolen gowns.

Rummaging through the trunk I uncover a pair of delicate satin slippers. Balancing the shoes on top of the folded gown, I close the lid and wonder again why Voss has such garments stored in the palace. When I first discovered the trunk I surmised that it was the discarded clothing of a former queen, but logic soon disproved that theory. Voss chooses his Snow Queens from surrounding towns, not royalty. No ordinary village girl would own such finery. I shake off my curiosity as I step back into the hall. It’s a mystery, and will remain so. I’ve no intention of asking Voss who owned these elegant garments. Personal questions are a sure way to evoke his wrath.

It’s time to track down the young girl whose determination surprisingly seems to match my own.

***

Freya paws nervously at the ground as I slide the gown and slippers, carefully wrapped in a linen shift, into my saddlebags. I’m wearing my white furs over my chamois traveling clothes. Not my usual riding habit, but the furs are the only cloak I own that matches the elegance of the silk gown.

As we take to the sky I consider my options. If Gerda is protected under Clara Stryker’s wing, I’ll need to tread carefully. It won’t do for me to be barred from the estate before I’ve a chance to talk to Gerda alone. I plan to use whatever magic is required to convince her that the Strykers’ ward is indeed Kai, and that any interference will damage his opportunity for a first-class education and untold riches. I calculate that such an argument will convince Gerda to abandon her search for Kai and return home. But I must meet with her before the young man arrives at the ball. Once she sees that he isn’t Kai, she’ll undoubtedly resume her quest. I don’t want her to slip through my fingers again.

I urge Freya on unmercifully, stopping only for brief periods of nourishment and rest. As we cross the valley that lies between the mountains and the Stryker estate, I direct the tired mare to the ground. She’s quite willing to land and slow her pace to a walk. I guide the horse to a small grove of trees that borders the Stryker stables. Sliding off her back, I walk Freya about for some time, until the sweat has dried on her arched neck and flanks.

“Now for my disguise,” I whisper to the exhausted mare. Concentrating my power, I conjure the image of a high-born lady from foreign lands. I leave my angular features as they are but darken my skin to a creamy olive tone and convert my mass of white curls into an upsweep of sleek ebony locks. I turn my ice-gray eyes the color of walnut hulls. Satisfied with my transformation, I pull the linen bundle from my saddlebags and tuck it under my cloak. I hide my tunic and breeches by pulling my white furs tightly about me and walk Freya around to the front of the stables.

A young stable boy rushes to meet me. His blue eyes widen as he takes in my appearance. His ruddy face is round as a full moon. “Take your horse, madam?” He flashes a smile that reveals a broken front tooth.

“Thank you, yes,” I reply, handing him Freya’s reins. “See that she has sufficient feed and water, and two flakes of hay.” I color my words with an odd inflection. I hope it will fool the boy into assuming I’m not a native speaker of his language.

“Your name, madam?” The boy’s clearly confused by my unusual looks and accent. “So I can be sure to take good care of your mare,” he adds, ducking his head.

“Lady LaNévé.” I stress the last vowel of the word. “Take good care of her. We have traveled far.”

As the stable boy bobs his head and leads Freya away, I walk toward the large timber and stucco manor house, shortening my stride to create a more ladylike impression. The gravel path that leads to the house is lined with towering elms, their branches still bare of leaves. The path ends in a great cobbled courtyard that’s filled with carriages of every size and color. I note the coat of arms painted on the door of one of the coaches and wonder if I can pull off my masquerade. These are true ladies and lords and I’ve no experience with their society. I tightly lap the front edges of my cloak and sneak around the side of the house, searching for a way to make a quiet entrance.

I find a door ajar near the kitchen garden. Sliding into the back hallway, I spy a large kitchen through an open archway to my right. The opposite passageway is a more promising route, leading to a narrow stairway. At the top of the stairs I realize that I’m in the servants’ quarters. I hurry past a row of closed doors, finally discovering a small room that’s empty except for an iron bedstead and a small dresser. I slip into the room and latch the door. It’s time for my transformation.

As I change into the silk gown and satin slippers I debate what to do with my discarded clothes, finally shoving them into one drawer of the empty dresser. I’ll be pleased if I can retrieve them later, but if not, I won’t fret over the loss of some old garments.

There’s no mirror, but given that most of my appearance is an illusion, I don’t concern myself with this minor inconvenience. I slump on the lumpy bed and calculate some equations to clear my mind. Staring at the narrow window, I wait patiently for darkness to flood the dusty panes.

IN THE KINGDOM OF THE CROWS

When I’m sure that it’s time for the ball to begin, I leave the room and stride to the end of the hall. A simple wooden door opens with one twist of the knob and I step into a different world.

Creamy plaster walls rise above dark wood wainscoting. Ivory candles set in silver sconces light the hall and a brilliant crimson runner covers the mahogany floor. A series of paintings line the walls—darkly varnished portraits in gilded frames. I allow my cloak to fall open, exposing the exquisite silk gown, as I stroll past the paintings. I wonder how many of these glassy-eyed lords and ladies are actual ancestors of the Strykers, and how many were simply purchased to lend an air of antiquity to the family line. My limited knowledge of the family, gleaned from Inga’s rhapsodies on their wealth and virtues, leads me to imagine that few of these elegantly dressed puppets are any relation to the family that built an empire from a single logging camp.

The end of the passageway opens onto a balcony that overlooks the manor’s grand entrance hall. A double staircase, its treads wide enough for three people to walk abreast, curves away at either end of the balcony. I cross to the intricately carved railing and survey the scene below.

A swirl of vivid silk, satin, and velvet gowns is set off by the somber black of the men’s clothes. The women bob and weave like songbirds among crows. I grip the railing and search the crowd for Gerda, but I don’t spy her amid the flock of guests. A tall man sporting a brilliant tapestry waistcoat under his black jacket glances up and stops talking to his companion, a tiny woman lost in the ruffled excess of a sapphire gown. As the man stares directly at me his hazel eyes narrow in concentration. He leans down to whisper something in his companion’s ear. She glances up at me and shakes her head.

I move to one set of stairs and descend slowly, allowing my fingertips to glide along the polished banister. Sapphire-gown whispers to her companion. She’s holding up her black lace fan so that I can’t read her lips. They’re discussing me, of course. A stranger at the party, someone whose dress and appearance is at odds with every other woman in the room. Reaching the bottom of the stairs I approach the couple.

“Lady LaNévé,” I say, extending my hand. “So good of you to invite me.”

The man and woman exchange a look. “Ah, yes. You are connected to one of our gentry, perhaps? Lord Lind, is that right?” The man takes hold of my fingers and gallantly kisses the back of my hand. “I am Hans Stryker, your host.” He nods his head toward his companion. “My wife, Elise.”

I smile and concentrate on my fantastical accent. “It is very nice to meet you both. I have heard so many wonderful things about your family. Your charity work is renowned.” A young chambermaid flutters forward. I shrug my cloak off my shoulders and hand it to her.

“What an unusual gown.” Elise Stryker’s face is a study in confusion.