Scepter of Fire

by Victoria Gilbert

  Chapter Twenty: Vows

  SEPHIA USHERS US INTO the cottage—all except Kai, who volunteers to look after Freya and Bae. Luki stays glued to Thyra’s side, lying next to her when she takes a seat on the rag rug, her back to the flower-filled fireplace.

  Sephia instructs Erik to seat Anders in the armchair. “Now, tell me what happened,” she commands, as she pulls up a stool by the hearth.

  Leaving Christiane and Gerda to fuss over Anders, Erik crosses to the settee and sits beside me. “Yes, I’m confused. You had such a head start. How did Rask beat you to the mirror?”

  “I can answer that.” Anders sits up straighter. “You know about flying reindeer and such. Well, Rask’s horses appear charged with the same magic. As you saw, they require no driver, and we didn’t just sail through the air at a normal gallop, we moved so fast, everything outside the coach was a blur. I couldn’t tell where we were, but I did spy wings and knew Rask’s horrible creature—the enormous bird that snatched Gerda and me—was keeping pace with us.”

  Sephia and Thyra share a worried glance.

  “Rask left you there?”

  Erik side-eyes me. The cheery tone of my voice must confuse him, but I don’t care. With Anders safe, the fact that Sten Rask reneged on his vow may free me from mine.

  “Not exactly,” Anders says, making the knot under my ribcage twist again. Christiane places one hand on his shoulder. He sits forward, breaking contact with her.

  Thyra shifts to allow Luki to lay his head across her knees. “When we arrived, Anders was insensible. He lay behind Holger, who was still sitting up, although his eyes were closed and no breath stirred his ribcage.” She absently strokes Luki’s head, her eyes focused on Sephia. “I’m sorry. I know he was your friend.”

  “He was a great man. A mighty sorcerer, although he rarely used his gifts.” Sephia rises to her feet and leans against the stone fireplace, one hand gripping the plain wooden mantle.

  Anders lowers his head. “He sacrificed himself to protect me. As soon as we arrived at the cave, Rask demanded the mirror. Holger just laughed and said something about being careful what you wish for. Rask pointed his scepter at Holger. I guessed what that could mean. I tried to jump in front of the old man, but he pushed back and took the blast from the scepter without flinching. He was not burned.” Anders looks up, meeting Sephia’s stoic gaze. “It was as if the fire could not touch him. But it must have drained him somehow, fighting Rask’s power. He held out as long as he could, then slumped forward.”

  “He was very old.” Sephia’s voice is as brittle as dead leaves.

  Luki, dreaming in his sleep, whimpers. Thyra leans in and speaks some unintelligible words into his twitching ear.

  “After Holger collapsed, Rask used his scepter to levitate the mirror out of the cave. I imagine he had that great bird of his carry it off.”

  “Sten Rask was supposed to return you here.” I curse the tremor in my voice. “Why did he leave you?”

  Anders sinks back into the chair. “He couldn’t get to me. The protective wall Holger created held. Rask could not shatter it, although he tried. He was very angry, and kept muttering something about a promise. He had to leave me, in the end.”

  “Oh, you must have been terrified! Thinking you were going to die, all alone.” Christiane’s bright face loses some of its luster, and I remember she also recently faced death.

  “No, I was resigned at that point. I’ve received a couple of reprieves from death recently.” Anders’s gaze sweeps over Thyra, Erik, and me before coming to rest on Gerda’s face. “I felt the extra time I was given was perhaps enough—just enough for me.”

  It’s all unfolding as Sephia predicted. Gerda and Anders will soon declare their love and Christiane will stay here and I ... I must go to Rask.

  I feel a tiny thrill of anticipation, like a moth fluttering its wings, deep within my heart. There’s something in me that wants to go. And that is the most terrifying feeling of all.

  I sniff back a sob. Erik turns to look at me, his eyebrows knitted together.

  Before he can question me, Kai enters the cottage, pausing by the door to yank off his boots. “Freya and Bae are cooled down, fed and watered.”

  “Thanks, my love.” Thyra pats the rug. “Come sit with me and rest.”

  As Kai settles beside Thyra, Luki stretches out a paw to touch Kai’s leg.

  “Comfortable?” Kai pats Luki’s head, and the wolf opens one golden eye and looks at him expectantly. “I know, I know—ear skritch.”

  Erik stares at Thyra. “So how did you break through the protective wall around Anders? I thought you gave up your magic.”

  Thyra meets Erik’s gaze with an icy glare. “I did. No magic was required. We found Anders lying on the floor of the cave, with nothing surrounding him.”

  “It had faded by then,” Kai says.

  Erik crosses his arms over his chest. “Just seems convenient.”

  Anders shoots a warning glance at Erik. “Please don’t doubt Thyra. She took good care of me on our return trip. She kept me warm, but only with furs and blankets. No magic was involved.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  Erik jerks as I jab him in the ribs. “What was that for?” he asks, rubbing his side.

  “Being a total ass.”

  “I’m just sick of all this magic stuff.”

  “We are all sick of it.” Anders glances over at Sephia. “I mean, the evil kind. Not the good kind.”

  Sephia smiles. “I think Erik is tired of it all, good and bad alike. It does tend to complicate things.”

  “Thank you.” Erik stretches out his long legs. “I’m glad someone actually understands.”

  Thigh muscles ripple under the tight cling of Erik’s breeches. I purse my lips and look away.

  You are the ass, Varna. Those thoughts in your head—no lady thinks like that. Especially about a friend. I shift my position on the settee until no part of my body touches Erik.

  Focusing straight ahead, I catch Kai leaning in to kiss Thyra’s cheek. I close my eyes.

  Kisses ... I now know how kisses feel. Fire on my lips. An image of Sten Rask’s handsome face flashes through my mind.

  My eyes fly open and I leap to my feet. “Does anyone want tea?”

  Six pairs of eyes focus on me, while Luki sits up, ears pitched forward, poised to confront danger.

  “Tea would be nice.” Sephia casts me an inquisitive look as she heads for the kitchen.

  Kai stands and helps Thyra to her feet. He keeps his arm about her as they walk to the center of the room. “Champagne would be better.”

  Sephia turns slowly to face them, her hands on her hips. “So what’s this then? Do you have something you wish to say, Kai Thorsen?”

  Thyra lifts her sharp chin, her haughty expression at odds with the smile tugging the corners of her mouth. “Well, in light of the possibility our world might end, courtesy of Rask and the mirror, Kai and I decided we should, perhaps, get married.”

  Gerda’s squeals are almost drowned out by the babble of congratulations. Almost. Brimming with excitement, she rushes to hug Kai and Thyra, then dashes to Anders, who has risen to his feet.

  Gerda throws her arms around Anders and hugs him tight. “It’s the most wonderful thing, don’t you think? Love is the best magic of all!”

  Christiane catches Sephia’s eye and smiles wistfully. It’s true, then. She has already given him up.

  “Very nice.” Anders stares into Gerda’s joyous face for a second before kissing her full on the lips.

  “Very nice indeed.” Erik stands and moves to my side. He tips his head toward Gerda and Anders, who remain locked in a close embrace.

  Thyra places her arm around Kai’s waist and presses closer to him. Her eyes sparkle like crystal. “Perhaps we should plan a double wedding?”

  I glance at Christiane, who has backed away to stand behind the kitchen table. She knows. Nothing will stop her from accepting Sephia’s offer now.


  If Gerda’s happy, isn’t that enough? I turn my gaze back to the kissing couple.

  “I’ve heard of stealing thunder, but this is ridiculous.” Kai’s eyes are filled with merriment.

  “Stop staring, Kai.” Thyra uses her forefinger to tip down his chin until he looks at her. “Anyway, Sephia, we would like to be married here, and soon.”

  “Tomorrow, if possible.” Kai taps Thyra on the nose. “We dare not make Thyra wait any longer. You can see how desperate she is.”

  “Hah!” Thyra leans back but Kai places his hand behind her head and pulls her in for a kiss.

  Erik shuffles his feet. “This is all very well, but we must also come up with a plan to stop Rask.”

  “We will. After the wedding.” Sephia hugs Christiane before crossing to Kai and Thyra. “I know a priest who owes me a favor, so I think I can arrange things for tomorrow. If you’re sure.” She taps Kai on the shoulder.

  He waves her aside and continues kissing Thyra.

  “Good lord,” Erik says. “Does no one need to breathe?”

  I can’t help it—I laugh.

  Erik looks down at me. “Speaking of which, why did Sten Rask kiss you in that passionate fashion?”

  I instantly sober up. “He was trying to manipulate me, nothing more.”

  Erik’s eyebrows lift. “Kissing can do that? Perhaps you shouldn’t share such information too widely, Varna.”

  “Not a problem,” I say, before I stalk off.

  Gerda and Anders finally come to their senses and walk, arm in arm, to join Thyra and Kai in a discussion about the wedding. Christiane slips by me as I fill the kettle with water from the pitcher. “Going to the garden,” she murmurs, and I nod. I can’t really blame her. She may have gained a vocation, but she has lost her dance career and first love.

  What have you lost, Varna? Without gaining anything, it seems.

  I bang the kettle onto the top of the cook stove.

  Erik appears at my elbow. “I am happy for Gerda and Anders, but we can’t forget our mission. We must either take back the mirror, or destroy it.”

  I glance over at the cluster of happy faces. “Of course. But first, as Sephia says, there should be a wedding.” I look up into his eyes. “What’s the point of saving the world if there’s no joy left in it?”

  The shadow of a smile crosses Erik’s face. “I will say one thing—you have a talent for making me see things differently. How do you do that, Varna Lund?”

  I concentrate on packing herbs into the silver acorn tea ball. “I speak the truth, Erik Stahl.”

  He presses his palm against my shoulder blade. “Well, keep doing it. I need more friends who do that.”

  Friends. It’s not just my imagination. He said it.

  “Oh, you can count on that.” I toss my head as if this means nothing, allowing the steam rising from the kettle to mist my face and hide my single tear of joy.

  THE NEXT DAY FLIES by in a flurry of preparations. With Bae pulling a cart Sephia produces seemingly from midair, Erik and Anders are sent to fetch the priest. Christiane and I help Gerda make food. “For a feast!” Sephia says, although there’re only a handful of us.

  The priest, poor man, spends most of the day sitting in the front clearing, watched over by Bae and Freya. He’s an odd choice for an officiant—wizened as a dried apple and wearing robes frayed at the hem. His surplice, although elegantly embroidered, is faded and fuzzy with loose threads. I’m certain he does not understand why he’s been transported to a cottage in the woods to perform a ceremony for people he’s never met before.

  “Where is the deceased?” he asks, when Erik settles him into one of the wooden chairs pulled from the kitchen.

  “It is a wedding,” Gerda shouts in his ear.

  He nods and flips through his prayer book, changing the location of his tarnished silver bookmark.

  “Are you certain this is legal?” Kai asks Sephia, who just laughs and pats his shoulder.

  “I have the certificate.” Erik holds up a thick piece of paper, embossed on one side with the seal of the neighboring town. “That’s all you really need, plus the blessing of the minister, of course.”

  “We’ll have to file it somewhere, I guess.” Thyra stares at the priest. “He does know we aren’t part of his congregation, or even his denomination, I hope?”

  “Oh, he no longer has a church. It’s been many years since he did anything but putter around the monastery gardens. Don’t fret—he will marry you as well as anyone, and without asking too many questions.” Sephia levels her brilliant gaze on Thyra. “We do not want too many questions, now do we?”

  Thyra shrugs. “I guess not.”

  “What did you do for him anyway, that he owes you a favor?” Erik asks.

  Sephia smiles. “Together we saved a child condemned to death as a witch, although it was I who provided the miracle. He is a good man. One of the few truly good men I’ve ever known. He tried desperately to save the child, and failed, until I made the dead staff in his hand burst into bloom. He told the authorities it was a message from God, but he always knew who granted that blessing.” Sephia gazes at the old man with affection. “Not to say God didn’t have a hand in sending him to me.”

  Erik examines the old priest, who mumbles some prayer. “What happened to the girl you rescued?”

  “She became a healer.” Sephia glances at me. “Margaret—that was her name. I believe she lived for many years and saved countless lives.”

  I snap my mouth shut and nod.

  By mid-afternoon, Sephia insists we bathe and prepare ourselves for the ceremony. She sends the young men to the river, with instructions to dress in the clothes she gives them, then wait in the clearing with the priest until she calls. The girls take turns washing up in an elegant porcelain tub set behind a screen of lilacs, before Sephia shoos us into the cottage.

  She disappears into the garden. “Don’t come out until I give the word.”

  Gerda and I dress in the hyacinth blue and sunflower yellow gowns Sephia gave us before, aired out now from their travels. Christiane uncovers a similar gown, pink as a summer sunrise, in the magical wardrobe.

  Sephia’s provided a special bundle of clothing for Thyra. Gerda lifts the gown from the soft folds of its lace petticoat. It’s the silver-tinged white of moonflowers. The elegant but simple cut fits Thyra perfectly, clinging to her slender figure and cascading in soft folds to the floor. Long, tapered sleeves open at the wrists in a waterfall of fabric beaded with tiny seed pearls. The bodice is also covered in opalescent pearls. I recognize the pattern as Sephia’s emblematic vines and flowers, now rendered in shades of white, like snow drifted over a blooming garden.

  There are satin slippers, and a crown of white roses. Gerda and I help Thyra arrange her pale hair—pulling it up with pearl-encrusted hairpins while allowing a few curls to spring free and frame her face. When we place the crown of roses on her head, Christiane claps her hands.

  “You look like a queen!”

  Thyra’s smile transforms her angular face into a beauty so bright I blink.

  Sephia appears at the back door to usher us into the garden. “Come,” she says. “I have worked a little magic to match this day.”

  When I step into the garden I gasp. Each petal and leaf is touched with drops of water—tiny liquid pearls that sparkle like diamonds. The entire garden glows and reflects the light, as if everything has been turned to crystal.

  Christiane, her cheeks blushed pink as her dress, follows Sephia, who somehow has changed into a pale green gown with a bodice embroidered in emerald green vines and vivid violet blossoms. Gerda and I follow Christiane, our slippers making no sound on the soft paths. When we reach the wisteria arbor, Sephia opens the back gate and calls for the men.

  The priest wanders in, still looking befuddled. Sephia slips her arm into the crook of his elbow and leads him to one side.

  Anders and Erik stride in, both dressed in fawn-colored breeches and crisp white shirts, their t
all leather boots gleaming like mirrors. Anders sports an embroidered waistcoat worked in the colors of autumn leaves, while Erik’s vest is as green as a summer forest.

  Kai appears behind them, walking slowly, but with great deliberation. Like the others, he wears pale fawn breeches, a white shirt, and dark brown boots, but his waistcoat sets him apart. It features an intricate pattern of swirls and geometric forms, picked out in colors as vivid and varied as Sephia’s garden.

  Luki trots at Kai’s heels, his head held high.

  The priest stares at the wolf and blinks. “I usually do not include dogs at such ceremonies.”

  Luki moves closer and licks his hand. The priest pats Luki’s head, clears his throat, and opens to the place marked in his prayer book.

  I take Gerda’s hand, but she pays no attention to me. She gazes at Anders like a lost soul might look upon the gates to paradise.

  He stares back, and it’s clear he’s also glimpsed his heaven.

  Sephia guides the priest to the center of the arbor and motions for Kai to join them.

  “It is beautiful,” whispers Christiane. “If only we had some music.”

  At that moment, a light wind wafts through the garden. The lilies-of-the-valley swing back and forth, setting off a sound like chimes. It’s as if all the blossoms dancing in the breeze are ringing.

  A voice lifts, bright as a silver bell. Sephia sings a song as beautiful and pure as the clearest rippling brook, as sparkling as the first star at twilight, as rare as a double rainbow. It’s a song whose words I do not understand, in a language I cannot fathom. But I know it’s a song about love.

  No, it is the song of love.

  Thyra appears in the doorway and walks toward us, her head held high and her face lit from within.

  Luki yips with excitement. Kai lays a hand on his back to calm him.

  I stare at Kai and tighten my grip on Gerda’s hand.

  This is what love looks like, Varna. This is what it is. Not perfection. Not without flaws or problems. A commitment that can accept everything and rise above it. Wide as the sea and deep as the heart of a rose. Fragile as a snowflake, strong as the mountains.