Crown of Ice (3 page)

I halt the sleigh behind the mill owned by Kai and Gerda’s families. The wooden walls of the mill, weathered a pale silver, rise above a foundation of large stones. The great wheel sits silent, its bottom third sunk into the frozen lake, stalactites of ice decorating its paddles. I glance over the lake and observe a group of people skating on its crystalline surface. I know, from previous scouting missions, that Kai and Gerda are likely to be part of that crowd.

The wolf pup stirs at my feet. I lean down and open his fur blanket, then lift him into my lap. “Now’s the time for you to do me some good.” He yawns and stretches before flopping over on his back, his paws flailing. I lay my hand against the downy fur of his belly to keep him still.

“Enough of that,” I say, as he nuzzles my fingers. I thrust him beneath my heavy cloak, one hand cradling him against my breast as I climb from the sleigh. It won’t do for anyone to see the pup before my plan is put into action. I walk to the edge of the lake, near the water wheel. A tumble of grasses, desiccated and tipped with ice, clutters the shore between the mill and the wheel. I watch the skaters until I spy Kai and Gerda gliding in my direction. In one swift movement I pull the wolf pup from beneath my cloak and deposit him in the tall stalks of dead grass, then turn on my heel and flee to my sleigh.

The pup’s howls ring through the clear air, but he can’t follow me. I’ve employed a touch of magic to freeze him in place, preventing him from moving from his grassy nest. Standing by the head of one of my ponies, I spin a whirlwind of snow about my sleigh and watch as Kai skates closer, drawn by the wolf pup’s cries. Gerda doesn’t follow him—I make sure of this, sending a gust of wind that blows her backward. She calls out to Kai but he tells her to return to the others while he investigates the source of the noise.

As Kai approaches the tangle of grasses I step forward, moving closer as he pushes aside the weeds to uncover the wolf pup.

“What have you found?” I ask, adjusting the hood of my cloak until it shadows my face.

“A wolf.” Kai turns and I’m astonished by the wonder in his dark eyes. “Just a baby. All on its own, poor thing.” He bends down and picks up the pup, cradling it gently against his felted wool coat.

The wolf lifts his head and looks into my eyes. He whimpers and strains against Kai’s arms.

“He seems interested in you.” Kai checks me over for the first time. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I know you, miss.” His eyes narrow. “And I know everyone in this town.”

“I’m just passing through.” I turn my head to avoid Kai’s direct gaze. “What should we do with him, do you think? The pup, I mean. It seems a pity to leave him here on his own.”

“Well, I’d take him home, but my father would have my hide.” Kai strokes the pup’s head. “We’ve a few sheep, you know, and chickens. Our dogs would probably try to kill it, anyway. They’re pretty territorial—don’t like other dogs about, and as for a wolf …”

“Yes, that might be a problem.” I move a little closer to Kai. “I may be able to help.”

“How’s that?” Kai’s voice radiates suspicion.

“I have a sleigh. Rather fast, and quite capable of crossing the fields beyond the village. If you came with me—you and the wolf pup, I mean—I could take you somewhere he’d be safe.”

“On his own? This little guy?” Kai clutches the pup tighter. “I don’t think he’d survive out in the wild.”

I close my eyes for a moment, calling upon my reserves of magic. “I know where there’s a pack that might take him in. High up in the mountains.” I push back my hood and stare directly into Kai’s eyes.

He gasps, almost dropping the pup. The wolf barks and nips at the air.

“Who are you?” Kai’s eyes are glazed.

I sigh. So it is with every human who looks upon my face when I wield my magic. They forget what they’re doing and where they are. Some even forget who they are.

Kai’s not so weak-minded. “Do you really know the whereabouts of a wolf pack?”

“Yes, I do.” I lay my gloved fingers on his heavily padded arm.

He shivers. The magic still coursing through my body renders my touch like ice, even through my gloves. “And you can carry us there?”

“I can.” I slip my hand through the crook of his elbow. “My sleigh’s just over there, behind the mill.” I gesture with my other hand as I lead him from the lake.

As we reach the ponies the wolf squirms and breaks from Kai’s hold. Leaping to the ground, the pup bounds into the sleigh.

“You see”—I tighten my grip on Kai’s arm—“he wants to go.” I turn my gaze upon Kai’s face. “And you—you want to come with us.”

“Yes, I …” Kai rubs at his forehead with his free hand. “I do, I think. But, it doesn’t make sense, really …”

“You do want to save the pup, don’t you?” I pull off one glove and touch Kai’s face with my bare fingers. The remnants of my magic make his lips tremble and turn blue.

“Of course.” Kai grabs my hand and drops it as if burned, even through his heavy mittens. He may suffer a touch of frostbite, but I can heal that easily when we reach the palace.

“Kai! Kai, where are you?” Gerda’s voice shatters the stillness.

I back away, slumping against the side of the sleigh. Kai’s head swivels at the sound of Gerda’s voice, and I know that he’s lost to me, at least for now.

“I’m here.” He speaks softly but his next words are louder and firmer. “For some reason, I’m here.” He stares at me as I pull up my hood to shadow my face. “Will you still take him, the pup? Will you find little Luki a home?”

“Luki?” I fight the sarcasm that threatens to edge my tone.

“His name. It’s Luki. At least it should be.” Kai smiles. His face has regained its usual color.

I bite the inside of my cheek in frustration. “Very well, Luki it is. And I shall find him a home, never fear.”

Gerda calls for Kai once more. He turns from me, following the sound of her voice.

Not wanting Gerda to see me, I grab the reins and slap them hard against the ponies’ flanks. We speed away as Kai spares me one last glance. He can see nothing, of course, but whiteness. I have conjured a blinding drift of snow in this one small corner of the world, obscuring everything from view.

I have failed today—a failure that may cost me all my tomorrows. But I won’t allow that to happen. I must design a better plan, that’s all.

The wolf pup stirs at my feet. I glance down at him, meeting his unblinking gaze. “So—Luki, I suppose you must live with me, at least for a while. I may have a use for you yet.”

The pup jumps into my lap and I allow him to remain, curled within the folds of my heavy fur cloak. When I shift the reins into one hand and drop my other hand beside me Luki sniffs it, sensing that the freezing power has left my body before licking my bare fingers.

THE MAGE AND THE MIRROR

Mael Voss is seldom in the palace. I never know where he goes or why he travels so often. He won’t tell me anything of his life, or of the world beyond these icy walls. It’s one of the reasons that anger burns like hoar frost in my heart. Bound to the cold and snow, I can’t venture beyond northern realms.

I don’t understand why, but I know Voss chose me when I was a child—I was his property from the moment my parents’ sleigh disappeared beneath that roaring tide of snow. While I grew from a toddler to a young woman there must have been many other girls who tried, and failed, to reassemble his precious mirror. Yet I know that his hand was always on me—his plans and schemes ruled my life. I have never fathomed why I should be so important to him. It is surely not because he feels any affection for me.

I sigh and roll over in bed, staring at an embroidered bell pull hanging on the far wall. When I was first dragged to this icy fortress I found the tapestry buried in a trunk in one of Voss’s storerooms. It shows a young mother surrounded by her children. Her face is alight with love as she watches the children play amidst a verdant garden. All is green and blooming about this happy family. The needlework trees brim with the vivid colors of ripe fruit. I sigh and drape my arm over my eyes.

When I was orphaned, only one person stepped forward to take me in—Inga Leth, a widow with two children of her own. Most of the villagers marveled that this woman would take on another mouth to feed, and praised her kindness and charity. But I was uneasy as I stood outside the bakery, clutching a soft roll that the baker’s wife had thrust at me.

Inga was as broad as she was tall, her dark hair pulled tightly up under a white linen cap. Her face was ruddy and her eyes blue as chips of delftware. It should have been a merry face, but I spied shadows in the bright eyes and shivered.

Inga looked me over as if she were buying a calf at market.

“Come along then.” She turned and strode off, her boots ringing on the cobbled streets. I scrambled to keep up with her

Wiping my eyes, I trailed Inga into her small, snug cottage. She brusquely introduced me to her children—a tall boy named Nels who was already too old to spare me any attention and a scrawny girl named Begitte who eyed me with suspicion.

“You will sleep up there,” said Inga, pointing to the loft. I gazed at the ladder that leaned precariously against the rough wooden beams and burst into tears.

“Enough of that.” Inga slapped me hard across my backside. “Stop that blubbering or I’ll give you something to cry about.”

My bouts of weeping did not disappear overnight. But Inga’s threats and well-placed slaps convinced me, over time, to hide my tears. I learned to swallow them until I was safely tucked up in the loft. Far from prying eyes and hard hands, I could draw them up, like water from a well. I’d bury my face in the scratchy folds of my straw-filled mattress and allow the tears to soak the cotton ticking. Silently, of course. It wouldn’t do for anyone in that cottage to hear me.

Over time I trained myself to stop crying altogether, even when alone.

Lingering in Inga’s garden, which was mysteriously never touched by frost until far into November, I’d stare into the heart of the roses. The exquisitely layered construction of their petals diverted my thoughts from a daily barrage of harsh commands and snide comments. By the time I was eight I allowed such words to swarm about me like bees, never settling upon my skin. “This does not touch me,” I told myself. “Such words hold no power. Let them fade. Let it go.”

When I learned to bury my emotions Inga was more indulgent, allowing me to eat dinner with her children rather than sending me to the corner stool with my bowl of stew. But she still treated me like the pigs she raised, with a care never quite touched with kindness. “Can’t get too close to them,” she’d say, yanking me away from the pen as I tried to pet the tiny, squealing, piglets. “One day they must be carted away and slaughtered.”

I later understood why she kept her distance. Inga knew that one day I too would be taken away. A knock would rattle the cottage and as the door opened my true master would be revealed. Inga had made a deal—not with the devil, but with a being just as evil. In exchange for a protective spell that shielded her garden from early frosts, Inga had promised me to Mael Voss.

When I was younger I made a few feeble attempts to talk to my new master about his journeys, his work, or anything at all. I was alone, and desperate to hear another voice. But Voss brushed me aside, his cold disdain crueler than any slap. So I learned to talk to myself and the animals that roam the halls of the palace—bear and fox, owl and rabbit and reindeer. All of them conjured into creatures that can perform simple tasks. Paws transformed into hands, hooves into claws. Yet despite their presence my conversations are one-sided. Voss never grants these creatures the power of speech. They understand my commands but can’t respond.

I sit upright as a hare hops onto my bed, a slip of paper in his hand-like paws. He drops the paper onto my bearskin coverlet and leaps away, racing through the small opening Voss insisted on carving into my door. He wants his messengers to reach me, whatever the hour.

I glance at the paper with blurry eyes, registering Voss’s command that I meet him in the Great Hall. I’ve slept later than usual and know it’s due to my failed attempt to kidnap Kai. I’ve yet to design a new plan to lure him to the palace, and sleep offers escape from my darker thoughts.

Dressing swiftly, I hear a noise and turn to see Luki bounding from his bed of furs. He approaches me, his eyes bright with expectation.

“I suppose you’re wanting breakfast.” I pull on my boots. “Well, first we must see what Voss demands of me. But come along—we’ll stop by the kitchens on our return.”

The pup follows me down passageways of glittering ice. My inside boots, stitched of soft leather, make no sound on the stone floors. The palace is built inside a mountain and maintains the architecture of its great caverns and meandering tunnels. I was often lost in that first year after Voss brought me to the palace, but eventually learned to navigate every inch of the frozen rooms and corridors.

“This way,” I say, although I assume the pup will trail me wherever I go. I drag open the heavy doors that lead into the Great Hall. They clang against the walls and a fissure runs through one large block of ice. It’s of no concern. I flick my hand and the ice repairs itself as I stride into the hall, Luki padding behind me. I feel the pup creep upon the train of my robes when I stop short just inside the door.

The Great Hall does justice to its name. No ice blocks line its walls—this room is built in a cave that opens upon the world. A row of tall, arched windows marches along the stone outer wall, providing a view across a wide expanse of snow-clad lands. The thick glass set in the windows is clear enough to display the jagged ridge of mountains rising against the far horizon. A domed ceiling soars above the chamber, braced by rafters boasting the breadth of towering trees. In the center of the room stands a wooden table so large that a small boat could dock upon its surface.

The mirror lies flat upon this table. My task. My challenge. My nemesis.

Voss’s enchanted looking glass possesses a rustic frame of dark wood, thick as the span of a man’s hand. The graceful lines of the vaulted ceiling are reflected in the lower portion of the mirror. The upper third, though, remains dark. I have yet to fit all the shards in place upon the oak backing board.