Crown of Ice (2 page)

Kai calls out two large numbers and I write them down. “Multiplied,” he says, closing his eyes for a moment before giving the answer. “Divided, smaller into larger.” This answer takes a little longer.

I stare at my notebook, where I’ve figured with pencil and paper. Kai’s answers are correct. “You aren’t bad.”

“Now you,” commands the boy.

I hand him my notebook and pencil. “You call out the numbers,” I say, twirling a strand of my curly hair around my finger. “Make it difficult.”

He gives me a complicated series of numbers to add. After a moment I provide the answer.

“You got it right.” Kai looks up from the paper and smiles for the first time. “Now multiply the first two, if you remember.”

I concentrate and provide the answer. Kai scratches the pencil across the paper and whistles loudly.

“Not in church,” says a girl who has wandered up to our pew. She looks to be a few years younger than Kai. Her hair, the color of aspen leaves in autumn, is tightly braided and wound about her head. Her cheeks are blushed pink as a ripening apple and her eyes are light blue and clear as water in a mountain stream. “No whistling in God’s house. You know better, Kai.” The girl places her plump fingers on Kai’s thin forearm.

“Gerda, this is Thyra and she can calculate”—Kai shakes off her hand—“Almost as well as me.”

“As well,” I say. The girl stares at me. I lift my chin and glare back.

“You have strange hair,” says Gerda. “It’s almost white. And your eyes are clear as ice.”

“My eyes are gray,” I say with a sniff. “And it’s not polite to comment on other people’s appearances.”

“But you’re beautiful.” Gerda smiles and I realize as her face lights up that she’s the pretty one. I’m unusual, odd, peculiar. Or so I’ve been told, many times, by my foster sister Begitte and her friends.

“Is this your sister, Kai?” I take back my notebook and pencil.

“No.” Kai gives a dismissive shake of his head. “My parents and her parents are friends. They traveled with us. They know my uncle too.”

“And we’re friends.” Gerda reaches for the hand Kai has draped over the arm of the pew. “Right, Kai?”

“I guess,” mumbles the boy.

Gerda giggles and clutches Kai’s hand. “Of course we are. Best friends. Now, it’s time to go. Grandmother’s waiting for us outside. And it’s a bit cold out.”

Kai shoots me a little smirk. “Gerda’s my shadow—she follows me everywhere.”

“Oh.” I tap the pencil against my palm. “Well, you’d better run along then. Don’t want to lose your shadow.”

They depart, Gerda clinging to Kai’s hand. As they head down the aisle Kai turns to glance back at me. “Calculate this.” He calls out two numbers. “Divide. Larger into smaller.”

After a moment I yell back the answer. I catch sight of his smile before he leaves the church.

“What is all this racket?” snaps Inga, bustling up to me.

I stand and slip the notebook and pencil back into my pocket. I compose my face and steel myself against the slap I’ll receive when we step outside.

Kai
, I think.
Kai Thorsen
. A most unusual boy.

***

I stare at my notebook. I’ve run every equation that I can imagine at least twice. I’ve done well so far, but I know that I’ll never complete the mirror on my own. Not in five months. Not before my fateful birthday.

I never spoke to Kai again after that day in the church, although I heard that his family moved to the village to inherit the mill after his uncle died. With them came their closest friends, the Lunds, Gerda’s family. When Gerda’s father died unexpectedly, Kai’s father took over the business, but the Thorsens made sure that Gerda’s family continued to receive an equal share of the profits.

These events occurred after I was taken away by Mael Voss. Ripped from my mortal life to survive in a palace of ice, I live alone except for the servants Voss conjures from lesser creatures. I only return to the village in the winter, the wind and snow swirling about my sleigh, disguising my true form. But I always notice Kai and Gerda—Kai, tall and slim, a mathematical genius, destined for the university, for greatness. Gerda, plump and merry, fair as a summer morning, destined—everyone says—for motherhood, for love.

I have five months to consider every variable and reassemble the final portion of the mirror. I have my intellect, and will, and an unquenchable desire to survive at any cost. But logic informs me I can’t complete this puzzle on my own.

I need someone to assist me. Someone whose ability to understand complicated equations will allow me to triumph over Voss and the mirror. A human who can provide the one thing I require for my survival.

I do not need a lover, or even a friend. I have survived this long without such blessings. But I do need someone—a very special someone. A mortal with a mind to match my own.

Kai Thorsen
.

The boy who can calculate almost as well as I can.

STALKING PREY

It won’t be easy to lure Kai Thorsen to my palace. He has a logical mind, not given to fancies. He won’t be dazzled by magic alone.

I spend several days, disguised by a swirling robe of snow flurries, observing Kai as he attends school or assists his father at the mill. He’s a quiet, level-headed boy. Little seems to distract him, but I note his special affinity for animals. As I watch him play with a litter of pups, his face bright with delight, I realize that I’ve discovered my lure.

Early one morning I cloak myself in furs and head for the stables. As I pass by a dark hallway, a wisp of smoke gathers into the form of a girl. Her large eyes are as black as the sockets in a skull.

“Burning,” the wraith howls, “always burning.” She rubs her translucent hands over her arms as if to erase the memory, but her fingers merely slide through her vaporous skin.

I pause, leaning against the icy wall of the corridor for support. I can guess her story. She must have died during her transformation from girl into Snow Queen. I know not all Voss’s creations survive the awful force of his magic. I have glimpsed them amidst the wraiths—the most pitiful of all, their final agonizing memory their constant torment.

“Burning.” The wraith extends her filmy hands.

“Leave me.” In her ghostly face I spy my future, if I do not prevail over Voss and the mirror. “You’ve no power here.”

The wraith wails, reminding me of cries that released an avalanche. I clench my fist, creating a spear of ice, and throw it toward the creature. A foolish gesture. The wraiths feel nothing, or at least nothing outside their tortured minds.

I hurry into the stables and hitch my favorite pony to a sledge. I don’t need my sleigh today. I’m not yet ready to capture Kai. I’m after smaller game.

As we fly over mountain peaks and valleys, I scan the ground, searching for any movement against the jagged planes of snow and ice. A herd of shaggy reindeer and a few lumbering bears cross below me before I spy a solitary dark form streaking toward a small cave. I call to my pony, slowing his pace and directing him to the ground. We land just outside the cave.

I leap from the sledge, dropping the reins into a snow bank. I know the pony won’t bolt. He, like all our horses, is trained to remain still when any part of his harness touches the earth. No moose or bear can spook this pony—he’s far more afraid of me.

I stride toward an opening in a large outcropping of rock, my boots not breaking the crust on the snow. At the mouth of the cave I call forth a ball of cold light and hold it before me, cupped in my ungloved hands. It illuminates the interior of the cave, showing me what I’ve come to see—a female wolf and her pups.

The wolf bares her teeth as a low growl resonates through her lair. I fix my gaze upon her face. She stares back, her golden eyes scarcely blinking. I draw upon one of the powers I possess—magic that Mael Voss has granted me. The wolf’s eyes glaze as I slow her heartbeat. She lowers her head with a sigh that seems to expel all the air from her lungs. She gives one of the pups a final, gentle, lick as her eyelids flutter and close.

The wolf pups whimper, immediately sensing something’s wrong. They crawl over their mother, nuzzling her still form with their snouts. I lean in and grab the smallest of the pups and thrust it, wriggling and whining, beneath my cloak. The others I leave with their mother. I’m not certain that the wolf will wake—one curse of this power is that I can’t always determine the line between life and death. With any luck, the mother will shake off the effects of my magic after I’ve gone. But I cannot be sure. If she dies, I know the pups will starve, if they don’t freeze first.

I clutch my prize to my breast and regulate my uneven breathing. I’ve no desire to harm these creatures, but I only need one pup. I cannot risk the wolf attacking me, and I certainly can’t care for all the pups. There’s nothing to be done. It’s the way of things.

With my squirming baggage bundled in a bearskin wrap, I take up the reins and urge the pony into the pearly gray sky. We head back to the palace, swift as the eagles circling us, the pup’s whimpering drowned in the rush of the wind.

***

I don’t release the wolf from his bindings until I reach my chambers. By this point he’s soiled the white fur wrap and gnawed a hole through one of the leather straps. I ball up the bearskin and throw it into a corner of the room. One of our servants will collect it later.

The pup bounds away, racing across the stone floor so fast that his legs slide out from under him. He skids into a wall, yelps, and nips at the reindeer hide hanging above his head.

“So”—I throw off my cloak and sit on my bed, staring at the wolf—“I suppose I must find you something to eat.”

The pup’s gaze pierces me like a shard of ice. He waddles toward me, but stops and sits in the middle of the chamber. His eyes never leave my face.

“I imagine reindeer milk might do.” I eye the animal. Although Voss has enchanted many creatures to do our bidding, he’s never brought a wolf into the palace. He claims that they are far too intelligent to imbue with any magical powers.

I am not concerned. This pup won’t live here long, and I have no intention of conjuring him into anything. He isn’t a work animal or a pet. He is merely bait.

“Come along, then.” I rise to my feet and cross the room in a few strides, opening the heavy wooden door that seals my chambers. I step into the hall and illuminate the icy blocks of the walls. Glancing back, I notice that the pup is trailing me. A smile twitches the corners of my mouth.

It’s almost too easy
, I muse as I make my way to the kitchens. The pup pads along behind me. To my surprise he doesn’t run off when one of the wraiths attempts to block our path. He stands his ground and barks sharply until the wraith whimpers and wafts back into the shadows.

“Good boy.” I give him an approving nod before I stride into the larder. Its wooden shelves bend under the weight of stone crocks and tin boxes. Barrels line the walls. It reassures me that there’s plenty of food stored for the winter. There should be enough, even if I bring another human into the palace. The stores will only be needed for two of us as Voss has long since abandoned the need to eat, and the wraiths require no such sustenance. “Come now, I’ll give you some dinner. We must keep up your strength. Tomorrow we travel far.”

The pup looks up into my face and cocks his head. Of course he can’t speak, but those clear eyes are bright with some form of comprehension.

“You’re my lure,” I tell him, reaching for a heavy crock that holds reindeer milk. I pour the milk into a small bowl carved from ice. When I sit the bowl on the floor the pup sniffs the air before inching forward to lap a few mouthfuls.

“You’ll draw Kai to me.” I touch the pup on the head as he buries his nose into the milk. His fur is soft as feathers, and warm. Warmer than anything I’ve felt in many years. I yank back my hand and press it against the icy surface of the kitchen table. “And with Kai’s help, I will survive.”

***

The following morning I feed the pup before bundling him in a clean fur wrap. I carry him to the stables and place him on the floor of the sleigh to wait while I harness the ponies. When I climb into the sleigh he doesn’t wiggle or whimper, but rather drops his head upon one of my reindeer hide boots and sighs gustily. He rolls his eyes so that he can stare up into my face.

“Yes, you’re being good,” I say. This seems to satisfy him. He gives one sharp bark, closes his eyes, and falls asleep.

We travel across my kingdom, over a country devoid of any human habitation, finally reaching the mountain pass that leads to Kai’s village. I call up a light drift of snow to hide my sleigh as we land and speed across the frozen ground.

At the edge of the village I slow the ponies to a trot. Anyone viewing my arrival would see an ordinary gray sleigh, its only occupant a slight figure swallowed up in white furs. Just a stranger passing through. Always careful, I conjure snow flurries to whirl about my face and blur my features.

It’s merely a precaution, as no one in the village will recognize me. Even when I lived with them they did their best to avoid me. They called me cursed—some even claimed I might draw a blight upon them. Whenever I sail over the thatched rooftops, I observe the village where I spent my childhood with barely repressed anger. The place holds no fond memories except for my earliest recollections, before my parents died.

This does not touch me, let it go.

No, not one of them will recognize me. I’ve been transformed from that young girl who lived among them, yet never lived as one of them. My hair, always pale, is now white as mist. My once gray eyes are clear as new ice. Gerda saw it, that day in the church, what I would become. But even Gerda won’t recognize my features now—every curve chiseled into an angle, every angle sharpened by time and necessity. She can’t possibly glimpse that young girl in my beautiful and terrifying mask of a face.