Crown of Ice (17 page)

Ravn’s smile tightens. “No man controls our movements.”

“Voss might, if you refuse to give me the mirror fragment.”

Mirela glances from me to her father, fingering her gold necklace. “This?” Surprise colors her voice. She frees the long chain from the folds of her linen blouse and holds it out before her breast. A small object dangles from the chain. It winks in the flickering lantern light.

It’s the final shard, encased in an oval frame of gold.

“Yes, that’s what I seek.” I struggle to keep my hands in my lap.

Mirela closes her fingers over the pendant. “But this was my mother’s. And her mother’s before her. It’s been passed down in our family for generations.”

Ravn doesn’t meet his daughter’s pleading gaze. He keeps his eyes on me. “So—you’re Mael Voss’s emissary? Why didn’t you say so when we met?”

“I was assessing the situation.”

“I see. Being thrown into a shed with another prisoner was part of this survey?” Ravn sheathes the knife and takes a seat on the other bench.

I order my thoughts. It won’t do for Ravn or his daughter to suspect my real connection to Gerda. “It was. I wanted to see if your prisoner was also seeking the shard.”

“She isn’t,” insists Mirela. “I told you—she’s looking for her lover, Kai. Papa wanted to kill her because she was grabbing one of our ponies, but I stopped him.” Mirela matches her father’s scowl. “I know stealing’s wrong, but she was just desperate. Love can drive you to do almost anything, you know.”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” I reply as the girl turns to me, her dark eyes filled with emotion.

“That’s enough, Mirela.” Ravn leans back and crosses his arms over his chest. “Our guest isn’t interested in your notions of love.”

So I’m now a guest. I stretch out my legs and relax my clenched hands.

Mirela sighs gustily. “I know what love is.” She slumps into the corner where the bench adjoins a brightly painted cabinet.

“You think you do.” Ravn smiles at me. “Please forgive my daughter. She believes that love trumps wisdom.”

“Gerda will do anything to find her Kai,” mutters Mirela. “She loves him and lovers can’t be kept apart. Just like Paavo and me.” Mirela’s dark eyes flash as she casts a glance toward her father.

“Yes, yes, you and that foolish boy.” Ravn raises his hands in a dismissive gesture. “A discussion for another time. Now we must consider our guest’s request.”

“You’re not going to give her my necklace, are you?” Mirela straightens, clutching the pendant.

“I haven’t decided.” Ravn eyes me speculatively. “Voss’s power can’t be easily dismissed. If she’s telling the truth I’m afraid we must relinquish the mirror fragment.”

“No!” Mirela leaps to her feet. “I won’t have it!” She stamps her booted foot.

Ravn’s expression changes to something that would freeze anyone’s blood but mine. “You have nothing to say about it.” Ravn holds out his hand. “Give me the necklace, Mirela, or join your friend Gerda in the darkness.”

Mirela chews on her lower lip. Her face is a stony mask but her hands are trembling. She inhales deeply before whipping the chain over her head and stepping forward to drop it in her father’s open palm.

“Thank you, my daughter. Now, please leave us.” Ravn motions toward the door.

Mirela’s boots shake the floor as she stomps out of the wagon.

“Forgive my daughter.” Ravn’s expression softens. “She believes herself to be in love, you see. With the most unsuitable boy. Of course, it’s all nonsense, but it leads her to do foolish things.”

“Love often does, I’m told.” I watch Ravn’s hands as he rolls the golden chain between his fingers.

Ravn raises his eyebrows. “Don’t you know? Ah well, I suppose you may be too young for such things. As is my daughter, though she claims otherwise.”

“I know nothing of love.” I shift on the bench, my gaze fastened on the pendant. It’s time for a new subject. “I suppose you’ve traveled your whole life?”

“Yes, quite far and wide.” Ravn balls up the chain and pendant in his palm and makes a fist, hiding the shard from my view. “As Voss’s proxy surely you’ve traveled as well?”

“No, not really.” I sink deeper into the cushions. My bones feel like melting ice. It’s been some time since I’ve had any real rest.

“There’s nothing like it,” says Ravn. He glances about the interior of the caravan. “This has been my place to sleep, never my home. My home is the road. Every place I travel becomes a part of me.”

“Tell me,” I say, not entirely sure why I’m encouraging his reminisces. I allow my head to drop back against the down-filled pillows.

Ravn smiles and speaks of mountains without snow and wide plains of golden grass, of cities whose spires pierce the sky and lakes whose depths have never been plumbed. Lands where great drifts of sand replace mounds of snow. Countries where men guide tall ships by the stars and women waltz about ballrooms with tiny replicas of those ships sailing through towering wigs. Ravn’s words wrap about me like a blanket of soft wool as he talks of strange creatures and even odder human habits.

“Birds that talk?” I ask, wondering what sorcerers live in such realms.

Ravn shakes his head, as if guessing my thoughts. “It’s no magic. They merely mimic what they hear.”

“Have you ever seen …” I gaze at him from under my half-closed eyelids, “women attending any universities in these other lands?”

Ravn wrinkles his brow. “Few,” he admits. “But I did see that, yes. Far from here, in warmer climes.”

“Ah, far.” I close my eyes. “So far away.”

Ravn speaks again but after a few moments his words lose all meaning and I drift into a dreamless sleep.

***

I wake to sounds of shouting and metal hitting metal. Springing from the padded bench, I glance about and realize I’m alone. The noise is coming from outside.

As I stride to the door of the caravan I feel something move against my neck. I raise my hands to my throat and touch the links of a chain. Sliding my fingers along its length I encounter a smooth oval object and pull it away from my body. It’s the pendant containing the shard. Ravn must have slipped the necklace over my head while I was asleep. I stare at the mirror fragment for a moment, then tuck the pendant into the bodice of my gown, pleased that my gamble’s paid off. Ravn’s obviously willing to trade the fragment for the freedom to travel through Voss’s realms.

I make my way to the door and open it slowly, trying to determine the source of the commotion before I step outside. I poke my head out and a metal ladle flies past my ear.

Pots and pans and other cooking utensils are caught up in a whirlwind that swirls about the clearing. Standing near the fire, seemingly unaffected by the gale, is a tall, slender woman. Her auburn hair gleams like flame in the firelight. I pull my head back and crouch behind the door, peering out into the darkened clearing.

Sephia. I wonder if she’s protecting Gerda or tracking me.

Ravn battles the gusts to reach the fire pit. The wind obliterates his words but I can imagine his rage as I watch him gesticulating wildly. Sephia reaches out and covers his hands with hers. Instantly the wind dies down and the suspended objects fall to the ground with a clatter.

“Simply give me the girl,” says Sephia. “I have no wish to cause you any more trouble.”

Ravn faces the enchantress without flinching. “The girl, as you call her, tried to steal one of my ponies. She’s a horse thief. I’m within my rights to kill her.”

“But you haven’t yet.” Sephia’s clear voice is filled with amusement. “I suspect you’re not one to kill indiscriminately, Nicu Ravn.”

“My daughter saved her.” Ravn pulls his hands from Sephia’s grasp. “She has a weakness for thwarted love.”

Sephia’s smile is clearly visible, even from a distance. “Ah, yes. Young girls often do.”

I take a deep breath and push open the caravan door. As I step to the ground, I relinquish my illusionary form. Ravn’s face reflects the shock that most mortals display when they view my actual appearance, especially when I’m calling forth my power.

“Sephia, how surprising to find you here.” I stride into the center of the clearing.

“Who are you?” Ravn moves away as I draw closer. He’s glancing about and his hands are clenched. When his gaze falls on a dark-haired girl standing at the edge of the clearing he visibly relaxes. Of course, he’s making certain that his daughter’s safe.

“I am Thyra Winther.” I say to Ravn. “And I am the Snow Queen.”

“Here to stop Gerda, are you?” Sephia smiles sweetly. “Perhaps you should have spoken with her instead of sleeping.” Sephia’s eyes are as green as spring leaves.

“I have spoken with her.” I pace slowly, circling the enchantress. “I know she’s determined to locate her friend, Kai Thorsen.”

“The boy she loves.”

“Yes. But I think, if you care, you’d encourage her to go home. Especially after this incident. She’s fortunate to still be alive.”

“That would suit you, wouldn’t it, Snow Queen?” Sephia lays her hand on Ravn’s arm, preventing him from moving farther from us. “Then you’d be free to complete the mirror with no interference.”

“What mirror?” Ravn’s dark eyes sweep over me, his gaze coming to rest on the golden chain about my neck. “You lied to me.”

I touch the chain with two fingers. “I didn’t lie. I simply didn’t tell you the whole truth.”

“You didn’t reveal your true form.”

“No, I didn’t. But you see, I am that other girl too. Just Thyra Winther.”

Ravn’s eyes darken. “You’re not just anything. I gave you the mirror fragment, thinking you an emissary from Mael Voss. Now I find you’re the Snow Queen, with magic of your own. How do I know that you won’t keep the shard for yourself, and my people will still suffer Voss’s wrath?”

“I’ve no interest in the mirror once it’s completed.” I shove my unruly white curls away from my face. “And I’ve no desire to see you or your people punished. The shard’s in my possession—that’s enough for me. Now, if Sephia will allow me to depart without further incident, I’ll trouble you no more.”

“I cannot permit you leave with that necklace.” Sephia moves toward me.

I throw up my hand, palm facing out. A blast of cold air knocks Ravn off his feet. Sephia plants her legs apart, bending but not crumpling under the force of the freezing gusts. Her fingers trace a figure-eight in the air and a warm breeze swirls through my icy whirlwind.

A column of mist forms as our winds collide, filling the clearing with clouds. There is nothing but whiteness, punctuated in the next instant by Sephia’s hand thrusting toward me. I grab her fingers and allow blighting cold to seep through my skin.

The acid touch of frost forces Sephia to rip her fingers from my hand. “You witch!” she shrieks. “You deserve your fate, wraith-girl!”

The mist clears, disclosing a tableau of Ravn and several of his men flanking the enchantress. Sephia stares at me, her emerald eyes glittering. She’s cradling her injured hand against her breast.

“This one,” Sephia jabs toward me with her other hand, “brings nothing but death. Ice and snow and the blight of winter. Will you not cast your lot with me? Give me Gerda and I will protect you from this so-called queen.”

“Can you do so?” Ravn stares pointedly at Sephia’s hand. He shakes his head. “I want no more dealings with either one of you. This is not my fight.” He motions for the burly man who acted as my guard earlier. “Go—bring the girl from the shed. I’ll release her.” He glances from Sephia to me. “But not into either one of your hands.”

“What will you do with her?” Sephia straightens and tosses her head. A faint scent of roses wafts through the clearing.

“Give her a pony and send her on her way.” Ravn smiles as Mirela runs to him from the edge of the clearing. “As my daughter wishes.” He wraps his arms around Mirela, who presses her dark head against his shoulder.

The enchantress levels her stare on me. “Very well. I will not interfere. But you may wish to detain this one. She wants to harm the girl.”

“I don’t.” I shake the remnants of icy power from my hands. “I’ll do nothing, if you allow me to leave with the shard.” I meet Sephia’s gaze and hold it. “But if you attempt to take the fragment of the mirror, I promise you”—I clasp my hands about the golden chain—“I’ll track down Gerda and slow her heart as she sleeps. She’ll fall into a state that no spring warmth can thaw.”

Sephia looks down her nose at me. “I’ll protect her.”

“You forget, Sephia—you can’t travel to my realm. While Gerda must, if she’s to find Kai.” I turn as Sephia’s eyes darken. I stride over to the milling horses and grab Freya’s halter. “If someone will provide my tack, I’ll take my leave.”

Ravn barks out orders and Freya’s soon saddled and bridled. Swinging up on the mare’s back, I cast a final, icy glare about the clearing. I kick Freya into a trot as a guard leads Gerda, blinking and shaking, from the stone shed. Mirela rushes to her side as Sephia nods at Ravn and stalks out of the clearing.

“Do not follow me, if you value your life,” I call over my shoulder as I guide Freya into the woods. Gerda’s clear voice is carried on the wind, asking who I am, but I’m too far away to hear if she receives any answer.

THE FROZEN PRINCE

Bae’s standing in the paddock when I ride into the yard outside the stables. His liquid brown eyes follow my every move as I dismount and hand Freya’s reins to a waiting groom, a polar bear whose fur-backed hands tremble slightly. I read pain and confusion in the bear’s beady black eyes. It’s the expression that all our animal servants wear—the questioning look that asks why they’ve been ripped from their natural state and transformed into creatures neither fully human nor truly animal. I look away.

“So, you’ve returned, Snow Queen.”

I turn to face Bae. “I have the final missing shard. The mirror will be completed.”

“And Voss will have eternal life, and you will have, what?” The reindeer lifts its shaggy head and stares at me.

“My own immortality, as the Snow Queen.”

Bae snorts. “Are you certain of this, Thyra Winther? You only have Voss’s word, and what is that worth?”