Crown of Ice (9 page)

He scoots away and we discuss equations and calculations and other logical matters for more than an hour. I must confess, despite his very human failings, Kai does possess a most remarkable mind.

***

I saddle one of the horses that Voss keeps for his sojourns into other lands. A compact bay with slender legs and a delicate black muzzle, the horse trembles at my touch. I know that Voss never names his creatures, and decide to call the mare Freya. “Goddess of the spring,” I say, tightening the girth, “you’ll carry me to warmer climes.”

Calling Bae to me, I order him to accompany us. “We travel into realms without constant snow or ice. You must follow, no matter how hot the sun.” I suspect that I may need the reindeer’s ability to speak, if only to track Gerda.

“I will not leave you, Snow Queen,” says the reindeer, “unless you command it.” His dark eyes remain fixed upon me as I turn away.

Luki whimpers when I tell him to remain at the palace. “Stay with Kai, and watch over him,” I command, certain the wolf won’t disobey me. I stroke his head before adjusting the saddlebags that hold my provisions and extra clothes. I’ve dressed in my chamois tunic and breeches, but packed lighter garments in anticipation of warmer weather.

When I reach the edge of my realm I’ll alter my appearance to present a more human visage. For now I don’t concern myself with such things, merely tying back the heavy mass of my white hair with a piece of rolled leather.

As I swing myself up into the saddle I cast one final glance at Luki. “Guard Kai,” I command, digging my heels into the mare’s flanks. The wolf lifts his head and howls as the horse breaks into a gallop that lifts us into the sky. We fly over the snowy valley, Bae sailing alongside.

***

After we cross the second range of mountains I guide Freya down to the earth. Although it’s still cold, the snow is fading. Patches of bare dirt and brown grass dot the landscape like islands in a foamy white sea. I know I must stay anchored to the ground and alter my appearance now. Soon we’ll be traveling past homesteads and villages.

I haven’t seen anything green in so long, except for a few hardy spruces, that I kneel and slide my fingers across a bit of moss that clings to a large outcropping of stone. I sniff the air, reveling in the faint scent of vegetation.

Rising to my feet, I lean against the stone and concentrate, spinning a web of magic about my form. I don’t attempt major changes as I’ve discovered it’s tiring to maintain such a transformation. No need to tax my powers now. I simply darken my hair to a pale gold and dull my icy eyes to pewter. Veiling my angular face in rounded flesh, I paint a blush of color across my cheeks and smudge my hands and wrists with dirt. Now I can pass as an ordinary country girl. Someone who won’t stop a human in their tracks. Someone like Gerda.

“Bae”—I motion for the reindeer to approach me—“run ahead and scout for any trace of Kai’s young friend. You know her face, her scent. She can’t have gotten far on foot.”

The reindeer rattles the metal rings of his leather bridle. “I will find her. But though you may beat me or kill me, I will not harm her, Snow Queen, if that is your desire.”

“It isn’t. I simply want to distract her. When you locate Gerda”—I fix Bae with my fiercest glare— “return to me. If you don’t, I’ll hunt you down. And believe me, death will seem preferable to what I’ll put you through.”

Bae tosses his head. “I understand, my queen. I’ll bring you any news of the young miss, as swiftly as I can.” He gives me one last mournful look before disappearing into a stand of wind-whipped pines.

“Come, Freya,” I say, mounting the horse. “Let’s see what we can find. Surely we can track a simple country girl and send her back home where she belongs.” I jab my heels into Freya’s flanks and she breaks into a fast trot, carrying me farther from my icy kingdom, closer to my goal.

THE SCENT OF ROSES

The farther Freya carries me from my realm, the more disoriented I feel. There’s warmth in the breeze that seeps into my skin, reminding me of days spent in Inga’s garden. I was often forced to weed her flower beds and the scents that now wind about me recall the feel of crumbly earth between my fingers and heat upon my neck. Such thoughts awaken other memories—of slaps, and tears, and long nights spent staring at smoke-blackened rafters. Loneliness and longing and hopes for another life.
No. This can’t touch me. Release these thoughts. Let it go.

Making camp beside a shallow stream, I eat a meal of bread and cheese and drink cold, fresh water from a tin cup, rising to my feet as I hear the reindeer’s approach.

“What news?” I step forward and take hold of Bae’s bridle.

The reindeer presses his muzzle into my hands. He’s breathing hard and his flanks are streaked with sweat. “I found the young miss,” he says, raising his heavy head. “Not far from here. But I must warn you, Snow Queen, that she is under the protection of a woman who possesses magical powers.”

“What makes you say that?” I toss the cup into my saddlebags and wipe my hands on my breeches.

“Her garden is filled with flowers, even though it is still winter.” Bae paws at the hardened ground. “All about her cottage it is chilly and gray, with only tiny kernels of buds dotting empty branches. But her garden is bright with blooms, as if she has captured summer and kept it enclosed behind stone walls.”

“Gerda’s there? You’re sure?”

“Yes, I saw the young miss wandering about the garden. She was talking to the flowers, poor thing, and tipping her head as if she heard them answering.”

I don’t really care about Gerda’s state of mind, though it might be easier to convince her to abandon her quest if she has gone mad. “Show the way, Bae. We’ll rescue Kai’s young friend from this witch. Then you may escort Gerda safely home.” I step into the stirrup and swing my leg over Freya’s back. The mare sidesteps nervously but I quickly bring her under control.

The reindeer leads us down a series of narrowing paths until we find ourselves on a track barely wide enough for Freya to pass. Slender pines line the way, straight as soldiers at attention. I hold back thorn bushes with one hand as we move farther into the forest, careful to duck to avoid their trajectory when I release my grip. At last we step into a clearing. A cottage rises from the middle of a leaf-strewn circle, a small building of rough stone capped with a thatched roof. A wisp of white smoke spirals up from the chimney.

I dismount at the edge of the clearing, dropping Freya’s reins to the ground. She won’t move as long as the leather touches the earth. Ordering Bae to stay with the mare, I stride toward the cottage. I knock decisively upon the door, which is painted the bright emerald of new grass.

The door opens slowly, disclosing a weathered, knotted hand attached to a boney arm. I lift my eyes and stare into the face of an old woman. Her wispy gray hair is pulled into a tight bun and her skin’s webbed with wrinkles. Green eyes, strangely bright in her wizened face, survey me with interest.

“May I help you?” Her voice is as cracked as old porcelain. She’s much shorter than I, though this is partially due to the fact that she’s bent almost double. She leans heavily on a thick branch polished to a smooth sheen.

“I’m looking for a friend.” I modulate my voice to fit my unassuming appearance, softening my tone and adding the lilt I’ve heard in the speech of the villagers. “A young girl, who may be lost. She wandered away from our village a few days ago, distraught over the disappearance of a young man. Have you seen anyone that fits that description?”

“Perhaps.” The old woman waves me inside.

I step into the cottage, immediately feeling heat flush my neck and cheeks. Strangely, despite the smoke, bright red geraniums fill the stone fireplace instead of flames. Still, it’s warm inside the snug room. As hot as remembered summers.

“There was a girl I rescued from the river,” says the old woman. She’s dressed in a faded black gown with frayed white cuffs and a tattered hem. Jet buttons march up the bodice from her waist to her neck. “She was asleep in a small boat, just drifting with the current. I pulled her to shore and kept her with me for some days. But she fled this morning. I do not know where she’s gone.”

I swear under my breath as I plaster a smile upon my face. “Really? Did she tell you her name, or why she was wandering?”

The old woman toddles to a table piled with fresh vegetables. “She said her name was Gerda, and that she was searching for her friend Kai. I begged her to stay with me a little longer, as she was exhausted from her travels, but she was quite determined to locate her friend. Such devotion—it touched my heart, I must say.”

“Indeed, that sounds like Gerda.” I move closer to the woman, staring at her narrow back as she fiddles with a basket of cherries. “You’ve a wonderful harvest, especially for this time of year.”

The old woman turns about slowly. “It’s from my garden. Would you like to see?”

I nod my head, not entirely sure why I’m agreeing to this diversion. I follow the woman out the back door of the cottage and step into a garden that’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.

A riot of color assails me. Flowers of every hue and description fill the enclosed space—orange lilies waver atop spear-like stalks that thrust up from tumbles of azure pansies, while fat purple hyacinths snuggle amid drifts of bell-like snowdrops. I know that such flowers can’t exist together, can’t bloom at the same time, but somehow this garden feels perfect. I blink and examine the climbing roses that cover the rough stone walls. The roses range in shade from moon white to deepest crimson. Their velvet petals open as I watch, disclosing the golden stamens at the heart of their delicate layers.

“This isn’t possible,” I say, breathing in the scents that lace the air. The hum of bees wraps me in a cloak of peace. I slide to the ground, my back pressed against the stone wall of the cottage. I’d like to stay here forever.

“Anything is possible, Thyra Winther,” says the old woman. She moves with unexpected grace to stand before me and straightens into the figure of a tall, slender woman. The black gown splits and falls away, revealing a sparkling white gown pulled in tightly by a bright green bodice embroidered with an intricate pattern of vines and flowers. She raises her walking stick into the air and it bursts into bloom, the surface covered in apple blossoms.

I gaze into the woman’s face. Gone are the wrinkles and sunken cheeks—her skin’s as smooth as the petals of a lily. Her lips are plump and red as cherries. The gray hair is now a tumble of auburn curls. Only her emerald eyes remain the same—bright and implacable as faceted gems.

“How do you know my name?” I press my back against the rough stones behind me.

“I am well acquainted with you, Snow Queen. I have watched you for some time. Ever since Mael Voss chose you, and carried you off to his palace of ice. I have followed your progress in reconstructing Voss’s magic mirror. You have accomplished much—more than any girl before you. I have seen this, and despaired. You, my dear, have the capacity to give Voss what he desires. And that cannot happen, Thyra Winther. I cannot allow that.”

“Who are you to direct my actions?” I claw my way to my feet, my fingers digging into the cracks between the stones.

The woman’s smile lights her face like sun glittering off an expanse of snow. “I am Sephia, enchantress and guardian of all growing things. I am Voss’s teacher, and adversary. I am the one who will prevent him from achieving immortality, with all the power I possess, with the last breath in my body.”

“Immortality?” I force myself to meet the woman’s brilliant gaze. “What do you mean?”

“You do not know?” Sephia’s eyes shine like emeralds. “So—you have not been told why Mael Voss wishes the mirror made whole? Interesting.”

“No,” I say, lifting my chin. “He has not disclosed its purpose to me.”

“I see.” Sephia turns her head to stare at the pink blossoms festooning a cherry tree. “Well, perhaps you should know of Voss’s history, Snow Queen. At least as it involves the mirror.”

“You know it?”

“I do. As I said, I was his mentor, long ago. But he abandoned me to pursue other interests.” Sephia turns her gaze back on me, a shadow dimming those bright eyes. I wonder just how close she and Voss grew before he left her side.

“Did Voss find the mirror on his own?”

Sephia studies me, her expression grave. “No, and for that I suffer terrible regret. I was the one who told him of its existence. A mere mention of a fabled glass, buried deep in a cave, the cast-off plaything of some ancient god.” Sephia toys with one of the cherry blossoms until she pulls it from the branch and tosses it to the ground. “I hoped to impress him with my great knowledge of arcane lore. But he was not focused on me, only on the things I could give him. He left me and found the mirror—and shattered it.”

“He broke it? So all this time …”

“He’s been seeking its restoration. Yes.” The enchantress taps her full lips with one finger. “All those years, all those girls …”

“But how?” So Voss shattered the mirror, then sacrificed young women to repair what he had destroyed. I dig my fingernails into my palms. Despite my own desperate fate, if he were standing before me I would slaughter him and throw his carcass to the bears.

Sephia’s gaze pierces me, as if she can read the fury in my mind. “You should know, Thyra Winther, burdened with the mirror’s curse as you are, that Mael Voss can conjure eternal life for others but not for himself. He possesses powerful spells that prolong his life, but only one object can grant him immortality——the magic mirror he discovered as a young man, so many decades ago. But he was young, and proud, and rash. He attempted to command the mirror before he fully mastered his powers. Chanting the spell that would allow him to cheat death, he cracked the looking glass, shattering it into thousands of glittering fragments.”

“Why not repair it himself? Are his powers so lacking?” Anger crackles through my voice.

Sephia shakes her head. “He cannot reassemble it. The mirror resists him, still wielding its primal magic. So Voss found other hands to piece together his portal to eternity.”