Crown of Ice

by Victoria Gilbert

  Kai doesn’t falter. “Well, Professor Daman,” he says smoothly, “thank you so much for showing us about, but we don’t want to keep you any longer. We’ll just find our own way out.”

  The professor turns to face us. “Yes, I must go. Perhaps, Master Thorsen, you’d like to sit in on my lecture? Just to get a taste of what you can expect next year.”

  I can tell by Kai’s rapid blinking that he’s attempting to solve this problem. “Uh, very nice of you, Professor. I’m not sure, though, if I should leave my sister ...”

  “Nonsense,” I say firmly. “You should go. I’ll simply wait for you in the main hall. I believe I saw some benches there, along one wall.”

  Kai shoots me a glance but I refuse to acknowledge his glare.

  “You are very observant, Miss Thorsen,” says Daman. “Indeed, there is some seating in the entrance hall.” He smiles encouragingly at Kai. “Your sister will be quite safe there, I assure you.”

  “Oh, I’m sure she will be, sir.” Kai waits to grip my arm until Daman steps out of the room. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking,” I reply, under my breath, “that the good professor will be occupied with his lecture and you’ll possess a wonderful alibi when you’re seated right in front of him. And no one will suspect”—I allow a cold smile to flicker over my face—“your sweet sister of stealing anything from a dusty old storeroom.”

  Kai releases my arm and steps away. “You can be quite terrifying, you know.”

  “It’s a gift.” I rub my arm. Somehow the sensation of Kai’s touch always seems to linger longer than it should.

  Daman insists on escorting me to one of the benches in the front hall before he leads Kai into an adjoining lecture hall. I watch as other students run in from outside and pile into the room. Many dash inside just before the heavy oak doors are closed. A few stragglers find the door shut in their face and turn away, their expressions ranging from dismay to elation. I wait until the hall clears before I rise and make my way back to the storeroom.

  The tingling returns to my fingers as I enter the small room. I move to the center of the wood plank floor and drop my hands to my sides. Clearing my mind of everything except thoughts of the shards I allow my feet to carry me to the shelving lining one wall. I hold one hand over each shelf, until my fingers flutter. Dropping my hand onto the surface of a glass curio box I feel the magic of the mirror radiate into my body.

  I gently lift the glass box with both hands. Blowing off a layer of dust, I glimpse a jagged, glittering object. I clutch the box to my bosom. The lost pieces of the mirror are in my possession.

  The box is locked, but that’s of no consequence. I rub my fingers over the lock, willing it to release, and the lid springs open. Peering into the velvet-lined interior, I spy only one shard.

  “So where’s the other one?” I mutter, glancing about the room. Carefully lifting the shard out of the box, I wrap it in my silken handkerchief and tuck the small bundle into the bodice of my gown.

  With the first shard secured, I attempt to sense the second piece, to no avail. There’s no other pull of magic in the room. I move back to the shelf where I found the box and search again. My fingers, scrabbling over the wood, fall upon a piece of heavy paper the size of a calling card. I lift the paper and carry it to the window to read the faded writing. It’s a label detailing where and when the mirror shard was found. “Nothing is known of its powers,” the note reads, “except it appears to exert a strange hold over anyone who keeps it in their possession.” At the very bottom of the card is a notation in another hand—“Another piece was found but lost on the journey home, when we encountered the wanderers who haunt the forests outside the city.”

  This does not touch me. It won’t defeat me. Let it fall away.

  After several deep breaths I brush the dust from my gown and make my way back to the entrance hall, where my cloak’s draped over the back of the bench. I grab the wrap and pull it about me, tight as a comforting embrace. Staring at the wooden doors of the lecture hall, I decide to slip inside to hear at least a portion of Professor Daman’s class. It might be the only opportunity I’ll ever have to attend a university lecture.

  Fortunately the heavy doors are not locked. I pull one slightly ajar and shimmy through the narrow opening. Keeping my back pressed against the wall, I slide to a point where I can see the front of the lecture hall.

  Professor Daman is illustrating a point by writing on a large slate board. I watch his plump hand move across the dark surface, creating an equation that takes my breath away. It’s simple, yet elegant. As he speaks I realize I can follow his explanation of this mathematical theory without difficulty. It’s perfectly logical, and I wonder why I never envisioned this particular calculation before.

  I glance about the room until I spy Kai’s dark head. He’s sitting to one side, his gaze focused on Daman. Kai’s expression is one I’ve only seen before at Inga’s church, illuminating the faces of the most devout believers.

  As I listen to the professor’s brilliant explication of another theorem I sneak glances at Kai, knowing my face must reflect the same wonder and delight. To sit in classes like this, and learn, and be able to reach beyond what my own mind can conjure is a dream—one I know I can’t entertain for longer than this lecture. But Kai can obtain this goal, if he can leave his village.

  My lie rolls up the back of my throat like a ball of acid. Of course, Kai loves his father, and wants him returned to health and vigor. There’s guilt, too. But more than that, much more, I realize, is Kai’s need for his father to be well enough to manage the mill. Because without that, Kai may have to sacrifice his university dream so he can support his family.

  I slip back through the doors and walk slowly across the hall. Settling on the bench with great deliberation, I stare at the dome above my head. Phases of the moon. The passage of time caught in a never-ending cycle. I close my eyes for a moment, allowing my mind to entertain the thought I’ve held at bay for some time now—only two months remain before my eighteenth birthday.

  The doors fly open and a whirlwind of young men pours into the hall. They’re gesticulating wildly and talking over one another as their eyes glow with the light of new ideas. Amid the beaming faces, Kai’s shines the brightest. He strides to me and grabs both my hands, pulling me to my feet.

  “It was amazing, inspiring, brilliant! You should’ve been there, Thyra.” He blanches as he realizes what he’s said.

  I lean forward to whisper in his ear. “It’s all right. No one can hear you amid this din.” I pat the neckline of my gown. “I found it. One of the shards. I have it.”

  “One?” Kai releases my hands and steps back. “I thought ...”

  “The other was lost in the forest.” I slip my hand through the crook of his arm. “Now escort me out like a good brother. We can talk more later.”

  We walk in silence until we reach the edge of the university grounds. I hitch up my skirt, exposing my breeches and earning shocked glances from a cluster of students. Staring them down as I untie Freya, I toss my head before I look away. I stroke the mare’s velvety neck for a moment and lay out my plan.

  “You must return,” I tell Kai. “Take the mirror fragment we found today and carry it safely to the palace. Then you can continue our work of reconstructing the mirror while I track down the final shard.”

  Kai swings up into his saddle and sits facing away from me. His dappled-gray gelding side-steps nervously as Kai fiddles with the reins. “I suppose that’s the most rational plan, considering our deadline.” He wheels the horse around to face me. The glow from the lecture has faded from his face. “But how do you intend to locate this lost fragment?”

  I mount Freya in one swift movement and turn her toward the city gates. “The card said the other shard was lost to the wanderers who haunt the forest beyond this city. I’ve heard of these people—a band of folk who roam far and wide. I don’t know if I’ll find them in the forest, but I may be able to glean i
nformation on their current whereabouts.”

  Kai’s brown eyes survey me solemnly. “And you think they still have the mirror piece after all this time?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know, but it’s our only lead. I must pursue it.”

  “Very well, give me the shard and I’ll make for the palace. I only hope”—Kai takes the small silken bundle from my hand—“I can find my way back.”

  “I can help with that.” I pull Freya up close beside Kai’s mount. Leaning forward, I whisper magic words into the gelding’s twitching ear. Backing Freya off, I meet Kai’s bemused gaze. “There. He knows what to do now. Let him carry you home.”

  “So I just hang on?” Kai tucks the wrapped shard into an inner pocket of his tunic. “Well, I suppose it’s better than getting lost.”

  Outside the gates of the city Kai turns to me again. “Are you sure you’ll be all right? I don’t know anything about these wanderers, but they don’t sound like they’d welcome strangers.”

  “I’ll be fine.” I shake off my altered appearance until I’m once again the Snow Queen. “Don’t forget what I really am.”

  “I never forget that.” Kai bends forward, granting me the ghost of a bow.

  I straighten in my saddle and cast Kai a frosty smile. “I’ll meet you at the palace soon. With the final shard.”

  Kai kicks his horse into a trot. “Safe travels, Thyra,” he calls over his shoulder, “and happy hunting.”

  I watch him ride away before turning Freya about and urging her into a fast walk. We follow a narrow path leading into the forest. I don’t know what lies within that gloomy green cathedral, but I’ll brave any danger to find the final shard. Nothing can scare me more than what waits for me if I fail in my mission. The wraiths’ words never leave my mind, their hollow voices howling my doom. “Soon you will be one of us. Soon.”

  No. Never. I urge Freya into a gallop and we plunge into the woods.

  Chapter Fourteen: Truth in The Shadows

  SPRUCE TREES TOWER over my head, their heavy branches bobbing and swaying in the light breeze, infusing the air with the sharp scent of pine. The forest’s sunk in a hush and Freya’s hooves ring against the rocks studding the path. I listen in vain for the sound of birds or small animals rustling amid the leaves and undergrowth.

  Something urges me on, despite the folly of my quest. Kai’s right—it’s unlikely the lost fragment’s still in the possession of those who stole it. There’s also no guarantee the wanderers currently roam these woods. But a gentle force tugs me forward. It’s as if a thin, silken line’s attached to my breastbone—a thread of magic unreeling off an unseen spool.

  The pull grows stronger as Freya and I move deeper into the forest. As I guide the mare down a side path the reins flutter in my trembling hands, and I know the shard is here, somewhere close.

  The path ends in a large clearing ringed by a motley assortment of wagons and carts. A clump of shaggy horses and ponies mill about under one stand of trees. In the center of the clearing a fire pit’s piled high with ashy logs, their dark hearts glowing red. A dozen people turn and stare at me. They have strong-jawed faces weathered brown by the sun, their noses and cheeks chapped pink by the wind. Their eyes and hair are dark as newly turned soil, save for one or two whose fiery locks blaze in the gloom. I cast a bit of magic, taming my appearance until I’m simply a gray-eyed girl with dull blonde hair pulled back into a single plait.

  “What have we here?” asks one of the dark-haired men as he strides toward me. “A creature pale as a ghost. Are we to be haunted?” He’s short, but his well-muscled arms bulge beneath his white linen shirt. He’s wearing a brightly embroidered black vest and brushed leather breeches tucked into knee-high boots.

  “I am no spirit.” I swiftly dismount and tug down my skirt with a flourish as I stand face-to face with the man. “My name is Thyra Winther and I’m searching for something that belongs to me.”

  “And why would we”—the man’s black eyes flash—“hold anything of yours?”

  “I can feel it.” There’s no point in denying magic. I suspect these people believe in its existence and respect its power. “It calls to me.”

  The man looks me up and down before thrusting out his hand. “Nicu Ravn. Leader of this group of wanderers.” He clasps my fingers tightly and pulls me close. “You are more than a young woman trespassing in our woods, aren’t you, Thyra Winther?”

  I lift my chin and counter his bold stare with my iciest glare. “As I said, I’m a seeker. Tracking something lost for many years. I’ve reason to believe it’s here, and I’ve no intention of leaving until I obtain what’s rightfully mine.”

  “Really?” Ravn’s bushy eyebrows rise to the ragged edge of his thick bangs. He releases my hand and his gaze flickers over the faces of the people who’ve formed a circle about us. “The young lady wishes to reclaim her property. But I don’t think we’ve anything of hers, do we, my friends?”

  The crowd shouts out a chorus of “no” liberally laced with jeers and laughter.

  I slide my hand down Freya’s neck, soothing her. “You may not recognize this object. It was lost long ago.”

  “If it disappeared so far in the past, how can it be anything of yours?” Ravn’s dark eyes bore into me. “You’re quite young to have lost anything for many years.”

  “I’m older than I look.” I draw up to my full height, which is several inches taller than Nicu Ravn.

  The other wanderers take several steps forward, tightening their circle. I watch them out of the corner of my eye, noting the distrust on their faces. One blast of my magic could disperse them but I don’t wish to disclose my identity yet. I must first uncover the location of the shard.

  “Another girl stumbled into our camp about a week ago.” Ravn draws a knife from a leather sheath fastened to his belt. He examines its gleaming blade, turning it over and over against the palm of his hand. “She claims to be looking for something as well. But her lost object is some boy. You wouldn’t happen to be seeking the same thing, now would you?”

  “No.” So Gerda’s here. I bite the inside of my cheek to prevent a swear word from flying off my tongue. “I’m seeking a simple piece of glass—a fragment of a mirror.”

  Ravn’s eyes narrow. “Broken glass? This is your treasure?” He throws the knife up in the air and catches it by the handle. With one sweep of his arm he thrusts the weapon forward until the point of the blade is tickling my chin. “Why do you need a scrap of mirror, Thyra Winther?”

  I press one finger against the blade and push the knife toward Ravn’s chest. “That’s my business.”

  “Perhaps, but I’m making it mine.” Ravn whistles and two men step out of the circle and stride to his side. “You’ve ridden into my camp, demanding some object that you cannot prove is yours.” Ravn gives me a broad smile and taps the knife lightly against his front teeth. “There’s something not quite right about you. Not sure what it is, but I can tell you’re not being entirely honest with me. I think until you’re willing to tell us the truth you should cool your heels with our other little friend.”

  I consider my options. I could unleash an icy blast or simply freeze anyone who attempts to touch me. But I’ve no desire to display my true powers at this point. Logic tells me these wanderers are adept at disappearing if threatened. A storm could scatter them and leave me no closer to finding the shard than when I entered the forest.

  “You needn’t put hands on me.” I hand Freya’s reins to Ravn. “Just promise to take good care of my mare, and I’ll come with you quietly.”

  Ravn’s eyes rake over my face. “We always treat animals with respect. As well as girls who don’t lie or try to steal from us.” He gives a jerk of his head and the two brawny men move to flank me. “We’ll talk again later, Thyra Winther. I’ve a feeling you’ll have more to tell me once you’ve time to think things over.”

  The men march me to the edge of the clearing, where I spy a small stone shed hidden beneath the drooping limbs
of a pine tree. One of the wanderers pulls an ornate metal key from his pocket and opens the padlock holding the wooden door fast. Without a word the other man shoves me through the half-open portal. I stumble and fall onto the hard-packed dirt floor, catching myself with my hands. The door slams behind me, and I hear the rattle of the padlock as the key is turned, sealing me inside a small, windowless room. It’s dark and musty—the only air seeps in through the bundles of thatch that cover the wooden rafters. I slump back onto my heels and glance about me, but can’t see anything except the vague outlines of lumpy sacks and wooden boxes.

  One of the sacks shifts and I realize it’s a person, curled against a stack of boxes. “Who’s there?” asks my fellow prisoner.

  I recognize that voice. “Just another traveler,” I tell Gerda. “Caught by the wanderers while searching for something I’ve lost.”

  “You’re a woman?” Gerda’s voice radiates relief. Of course it’s only natural she’d fear some strange man thrown into a locked room with her.

  “Yes. And you, it seems.”

  “I’m just a girl.” Gerda shifts again and I hear the rustle of her gown and petticoats. “I wish I could see you, or move closer, but they’ve chained my ankle to a ring in the wall.”

  “Oh,” I think quickly. There’s no advantage in Gerda getting a good look at me. I’ve abandoned my illusionary appearance to give my mind a respite. “Me too.”

  “Really?” There’s a tinge of suspicion coloring Gerda’s voice. “But no one came in with you, did they?”

  I don’t reply and Gerda sighs deeply. “Or maybe they did.” Desperation sharpens her tone. “I don’t know anymore. It seems I’ve lost all sense of time.”

  “What’s your name?” I settle back against the rough stone wall.

  “Gerda. Gerda Lund. What’s yours?”

  “Clara,” I reply, using the first name that comes to mind. “Clara Hess.”