Scepter of Fire

by Victoria Gilbert

  Erik’s body, pressed to my side, vibrates with suppressed rage.

  I lay my free hand over Erik’s rigid fingers. “I’ll keep my promise.”

  “Of course you will.” Rask turns aside as Gerda reappears, her arms laden with furs and other winter garments. “Come.” He strides to the front doors, pausing only long enough to snatch up his greatcoat and the scepter.

  Forced by sorcery, Erik and I follow.

  We step outside. The coach waits, the black horses harnessed by unseen hands.

  I shudder. Rask glances back at me. “There is nothing to fear. Gerda will be perfectly safe. Although I must warn you, I travel in a most unusual way.”

  “Through the air?” Gerda’s clear voice rings out. “That’s not so unusual. I’ve done that before.”

  She walks past us, clutching the winter garments to her breast. Boots, hanging from their leather shoestrings, dangle from her fingers. With the furs bundled in her arms, she looks like a guinea hen, small and plump and entirely harmless. It’s the fire in her eyes that betrays her. She pauses at the coach, waiting for Rask to open the door.

  The black horses paw at the ground, their harnesses jangling. There is no driver. Apparently magic controls them.

  Rask gestures grandly with one hand. “The rest of you will be free as soon as we depart.”

  He flings open the coach door. “We must hurry, Gerda. I’ve already given the command and even I cannot hold these horses back much longer.” As he steps onto the footrest, an unseen force grabs him and pulls him inside. The door slams behind him.

  The coach jerks forward.

  Rask’s roar of anger drowns out Erik’s shouts and Gerda’s cries.

  “Anders!” Erik leaps at the coach, but it’s rolled beyond his reach. The horses, as if chased by devils, make a circuit of the courtyard.

  The tincture. Anders took it from Erik as if he meant to keep it safe, but all along, he planned to do something, anything, to help us.

  He must have swallowed the potion, and once invisible, made his way outside without our knowledge. He walked past a sorcerer without a weapon, without even a cane or any other support. Dragging his damaged leg behind him. Driven by sheer will.

  I glance at Gerda’s stricken face. No—driven by love.

  As the coach passes the steps again, Anders’s disembodied voice sails out. “Gerda’s not coming. I will be your hostage, Sten Rask. Either take me, or kill me.”

  “You promised to free him!” I shout, praying Rask will honor that vow.

  The horses pull the coach through the open gates, their trot rolling into a gallop.

  Gerda dashes after them. She only makes it to the gates before the horses soar into the sky, the coach sailing behind them like a dark flag.

  I stare upwards until clouds obscure the magical sight. Erik says something about getting back to Sephia’s cottage as soon as possible, but all I hear is Rask’s voice echoing inside my head.

  I will keep my promise, Varna. But in exchange you must fulfill your own vow. One day, and soon, you must come to me. Or no one you love will ever be safe again.

  Chapter Nineteen: Out of the Garden

  WE FLEE THE MANOR HOUSE and head for the horses, who wait down the trail. Erik attempts to navigate the steep hill at the end of the road on his feet, but Gerda and I just sit down and scoot. I figure we will end up on our backsides anyway. Erik proves my theory when he falls and rolls to the bottom of the hill.

  After much swearing and dusting off, Erik places Gerda in front of him on the gray gelding, leaving me the dun mare. We ride without stopping, ignoring the change of day to night and back again. We push past hunger and weakness, sheer willpower driving us forward.

  “The sooner we can inform Sephia, the better,” Erik says, when Gerda stirs in his arms.

  Gerda nods, her lips quivering. “I’m fine. Keep going.”

  I say nothing, despite Erik’s piercing looks. I obsess over Rask’s final demand, turning it over and over in my mind.

  When we reach the cottage, Erik dismounts and locks his trembling legs before Gerda gives into exhaustion and tumbles into his arms.

  Erik waits until Sephia rushes outside to take charge of Gerda before turning to me. “I’ll help you down if you wish.” He raises his shaking arms.

  “Thanks, I can manage.” I slide off the mare’s back. As my boots hit the ground, my legs give way and I crumple.

  “Such foolish pride.” Erik kneels and hugs me to his chest for a moment before helping me to my feet.

  I lean against him as we make our way into the cottage. “I’m sorry about Anders.”

  “I know.” Erik pats my shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault. It was his choice.”

  I straighten as we cross the threshold. “He made that sacrifice for Gerda.”

  “For all of us, I think.”

  Christiane runs in from the garden, her arms laden with lilies. She looks from Erik to me to Gerda. “Where is Anders?”

  Erik tightens his grip on my arm. “With Rask. He sacrificed his freedom to save us.”

  Christiane blinks rapidly. “No, that cannot be.” The glossy white flowers spill to the floor.

  I hold out one hand. “Rask has promised to bring him back, after he locates the mirror.”

  “And you believe him?” Christiane slumps against the kitchen table. “The word of an evil sorcerer?”

  “I believe it, but only because it’s also the word of a man.” I pull away from Erik and meet Christiane’s stricken gaze. “He’s kept his word before.”

  Sephia shoots me a sharp glance. “We can only hope. Christiane, please collect those flowers and place them on the table. I need your assistance arranging some sleeping quarters for our travelers. Pull some comforters from the wardrobe, please.”

  Erik shifts from one foot to the other. “Any word from Thyra and Kai?”

  The enchantress shakes her head. “No, although I expect them back any day. Now, as for you three—time for some rest. No, do not argue. You look like you might fall asleep on your feet.”

  “I need to go after Rask, to rescue Anders.” Erik slurs his words like a drunkard.

  “Of course you do, and you will. But only after some sleep.” Sephia guides Erik to the bed in the curtained alcove. “Take off those dusty clothes and boots and lay down,” she commands, pulling the curtain behind him.

  Sephia crosses to Gerda and me. “You two can share the quilts Christiane’s arranging in the corner. Strip down—you can wash up later.” She leads us to far side of the room, where the pile of comforters waits, soft and inviting.

  I touch the back of Christiane’s hand. “He’ll come back. Rask will keep his promise.”

  She limps toward the kitchen without a word. Of course she doesn’t believe it. Why should she?

  Why do you, Varna?

  “And if not, we’ll go after him.” Gerda slumps into the down-filled quilts. “I will, anyway. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have allowed Anders take my place. I should have stopped him, somehow.”

  I remove my outer garments, mechanical as an automaton. Clothed only in a chemise and pantaloons, I fall into the mountain of comforters. “No, it was my fault.” I yank a soft blanket up to my chin. “I should’ve gone with him. It’s me he wants. Rask wants me.”

  “Does he?” Sephia kneels beside the makeshift bed. “What does he want with you, Varna?”

  “I don’t know.” Exhaustion deprives me of the ability to make sense of anything.

  Sephia presses the back of her hand against my cheek. “Be careful, my dear. Whatever it is, it could prove dangerous for you.”

  “Do not know,” I mutter, before drifting into the blessed darkness.

  WHEN I WAKE, THE LIGHT filtering through the curtains is tinged pink. It must be morning. I sit up and stretch my arms above my head.

  “Welcome back,” Sephia says.

  I blink and look up into her lovely face. Her auburn hair falls forward as she bends over me. “Is it morning
?”

  “Yes, but it’s the morning after the day you slept through.” Sephia smiles and holds up her hand. “Hush, no need to feel ashamed. The others are still asleep. Except for Christiane, of course. She’s gone for a walk in the woods. The trees seem to call to her these days.”

  I slip out of the pile of comforters, careful not to disturb Gerda. “I slept an entire day?”

  “You needed the rest.” Sephia helps me to my feet and hands me a silken robe the color of spring violets.

  I slip on the robe and tighten the sash. “How is Christiane? I’m sure it was hard on her, expecting to see Anders and then discovering he’s still in danger.”

  “She is fine. She’s stronger than she appears.” Sephia looks me over. “Walk with me in the garden, Varna. I believe we should talk.”

  I follow her out the back door. As we step into the luscious jumble of scents and colors, I stop and breathe deeply. “I will never get enough of this.”

  Sephia lays her slender fingers on my arm. “I know. I see how much you love it—how you desire to step away from the world and stay here, enclosed within these garden walls.” She presses her nails into my skin, forcing me to look at her. “This is not your destiny, Varna Lund. I wish it could be, but I know in my heart you must walk a different path.”

  “Why?” I try, and fail, to silence the whine in my voice.

  “I do not know. I only see it, or glimpse the shadow of it. I cannot see the future with perfect clarity. No one can. Each decision we make shifts the images.”

  I shake off her hand and walk deeper into the garden. Pausing in front of the herb bed, I touch one finger to the star-shaped flowers of a borage plant. “So you see me doing what? At least working as a healer, I hope.”

  Sephia appears at my elbow. “Your future is hidden in a mist. It’s one reason I wanted to speak with you alone.”

  I turn on her. “To tell me to forget about being your apprentice, because you’ve already chosen Christiane?”

  “I have not chosen Christiane. She’s been sent to me by a greater power. But I do hope she’ll elect to stay and become my pupil. She has a connection to growing things I have rarely seen. I do not believe she ever suspected this, living in the city. She started dance training at such a young age, and has been buried in rehearsal rooms and the artificial world of the ballet all her life.”

  “But she loves Anders. If he ... when he returns she will abandon you for him.”

  Sephia’s red-gold eyebrows arch higher over her green eyes. “Will she? Christiane and I have spoken on this subject at some length, and she’s admitted her love for Anders was as ephemeral as dew. Oh, she still cares for him—she just knows her feelings were tied up in pretty words and dancing and other baubles. It was nothing substantial. Now she seeks something real and true. Which is for the best, since I believe Christiane will realize, soon enough, who Anders loves.”

  “Gerda.” I twist off one indigo flower from the borage and roll it between my thumb and forefinger. “But he’s very loyal. He will not abandon Christiane, especially not now.”

  Sephia smiles. “Love has its ways. I cannot envision any future where Anders chooses another girl over Gerda. And Christiane will break their pledge before forcing him to give up his true love.” Her smile fades. “We must bring him home safely first.”

  I stroll beneath an arbor blanketed in wisteria. “Can you see that?”

  “Unfortunately, no. Perhaps because his fate is in the hands of another sorcerer.”

  I lean against the wooden frame of the arbor, allowing the heavy scent of the blossoms to fill my nostrils. “I hope Thyra and Kai won’t encounter Rask. I don’t want any harm to come to them. Or to Luki and Bae.”

  “They will be fine. Thyra Winther is a resourceful young woman, and Kai Thorsen is her equal in all ways.” Sephia moves close to me and takes hold of my wrists. All the softness melts away, revealing a visage as terrifying as it is beautiful. “Varna, what has Sten Rask promised you?”

  I stare into her eyes, now hard and glittering as gems. “He says he can give me beauty and power.” I lift my chin. “I am not a fool, Sephia. I don’t expect he means me any good. Nor do I necessarily believe him.”

  “I never said you were a fool.” Sephia lays her hand on my rigid arm. “I simply know the lure of magic. It’s difficult to resist, even for the wise.”

  I pluck a cluster of the wisteria blossoms dangling over my head. They look plump and solid as grapes, but the blossoms crush easily between my fingers. “It’s not his offer of some mysterious transformation that will send me to him, Sephia. It is my own promise. When Gerda and Anders were caught in the fire, with no way to escape, I vowed I’d do anything he asked, if he would save them.” I toss the crumpled flowers to the ground. “Somehow he heard me, and he did save them, even if it was by a kidnapping.”

  “He also probably started the fire.”

  “Yes, but ... I made a vow. Perhaps it was foolish, but I was desperate.”

  “Of course.” Sephia touches my cheek. “You did what you had to do, to save your sister and friend. No one can fault you.”

  I grab her hand as it falls away from my face. “So, must I fulfill this vow?”

  The enchantress studies me for a moment. “Wait and see what your heart tells you. Besides, if Rask breaks his promise and harms Anders, you have no reason to comply. Varna”— Sephia squeezes my fingers—“I see something in your eyes. A deeper concern. What troubles you?”

  I focus on the light filtering through the wisteria leaves. “It’s nothing. Just—I don’t understand why Sten Rask desires my return. Frankly, I can’t imagine why he wants anything to do with me. I’m not beautiful or rich, and I hold no power. I’m sure there is a reason for his actions, but I cannot fathom it.”

  Sephia takes hold of my chin and turns my head until we are face to face. There’s a sadness in her eyes I’ve never noticed before. “Varna, one thing you must understand—those gifted with magical power experience life differently than others do. I see something in you—a fire burning within your heart. It is likely Sten Rask has seen this as well. Why it interests him, I cannot say, but you must consider every possibility, no matter how illogical. Rask’s reasons for desiring your company may have nothing to do with his quest for the mirror. Sorcerers possess powers that remove them from normal life, yet at their core they are still human. Never forget that.”

  I toy with the sash of my robe, wrapping it around my hand. “I’ll try not to.”

  “Good. Because you must never assume we’re above human frailty.” Sephia’s face softens, until she looks like a lovely woman again. “Someday I must tell you the story of a young enchantress and the boy she loved far too much. For now, trust your instincts, Varna. Do not allow magic, or desire, or even love, to blind you to the truth.” She places her arm around my shoulders. “Come, let us join the others.”

  She pulls me from the shade of the arbor. I blink and allow my gaze to wander as we walk to the back door. The morning sun outlines every stem and leaf with light.

  I do want to stay here. There is nothing I want more, not even the possibility of beauty and power Rask dangles before me. But I know, as we cross the threshold and enter the cottage, I can only visit, never live here.

  It’s a paradise, but not mine. And I don’t even know what sin I’ve committed to be cast from this garden.

  TWO DAYS PASS QUIETLY. I help Sephia and Christiane in the garden, while Gerda spends most of her time in the kitchen, whipping up batches of bread and other items to stock Sephia’s pantry.

  Dissuaded from chasing Rask by Sephia’s warnings—and, I suspect, a touch of her magic—Erik swims in the river or hikes the forest trails. He returns one day with another pistol. “I traded the rose brooch for it,” he tells me. “Some fellow wanted a trinket for his sweetheart more than his gun.” Frown lines crease his forehead as he examines the flintlock. “I can’t say that’s a bad trade.”

  In the evening, bathed in flickeri
ng candlelight, the five of us talk about many things, although never about Anders, even though I suspect he’s at the forefront of our minds.

  On the third afternoon, Christiane’s shrieks of joy draw us to the clearing. She’d volunteered to hang some damp clothes, but when I reach the front steps and trip over the laundry basket I know something else has captured her attention.

  Stumbling forward, I fall to my knees, scattering a pile of dried pine needles. A cool nose bumps my arm and I look up into the golden eyes of a wolf.

  “Luki!” I drop back, sitting on the ground, and gaze at the cluster of animals and people before me. Luki nuzzles my arm once before bounding back to join the others.

  Freya side-steps gracefully in reaction to my shout. On her back sit Thyra and Kai, fur coats draped over their laps.

  Sephia steps out from the garden’s back gate, wiping her earth-stained hands on her white apron.

  Beside Freya, Bae’s liquid brown eyes are shadowed under lowered eyelids. Christiane stands by his drooping head, looking up.

  There is someone on his back.

  “Anders!” Gerda dashes past as Erik helps me to my feet.

  “He is alive, he’s back.” I pat Erik’s wrist repeatedly.

  He curls his hand back and grabs my fingers. “Yes. Thank God. Yes.” He squeezes my fingers, then releases his grip and jogs forward. “Stand back,” he tells Gerda and Christiane, before reaching up to help Anders down. Erik keeps his arm about the slighter man, holding him steady, while the two girls flit about him.

  Thyra and Kai dismount. Kai stays at Freya’s head, holding onto her bridle, as Thyra crosses the clearing to stand before Sephia.

  “We failed.” Her gray eyes are clouded with regret. “I’m so sorry, Sephia, but we were too late. Holger is dead and Sten Rask has the mirror.”