Scepter of Fire

by Vicki L. Weavil

  I press my palm against my heaving chest. “We should rescue Gerda and Anders first.”

  “Sit down, Varna,” Erik says.

  I turn on him. “This is none of your business.”

  “It is.” He pushes back his chair and stands to face me. “Anders is like a brother to me. I want to rescue him as much as you want to save Gerda.”

  “It’s not the same.” I fight the urge to stomp my foot.

  Erik moves closer and looms over me. “You’re acting irrationally. You need to take a walk or something. Cool your head.”

  I stare up into his green eyes. That expression—so dismissive. “You are not my master, Erik Stahl. Or my brother or father or anything to me. You have no right to tell me what to do.”

  Kai whistles. “Erik, my friend, I suggest you sit down.”

  Erik leans in and grips my shoulders. “I have the right of someone who knows what’s best. Sephia, who has always been helpful and kind, says we must wait, that Thyra and Kai must warn this Holger person before we travel back to Rask’s fortress. I don’t like it either, but I will not throw a childish fit over something Sephia calls necessary.”

  The eyes of everyone in the room focus on me. I lift my chin and meet Erik’s angry gaze with a fierce glare. “Childish? You are no older than me, and I’ve seen how you behave when something thwarts you. You’re just saying this to impress Sephia, even though she will never bend so low as to love you. You’re an ordinary man and she, as you have admitted, is far above anyone ordinary. You must find your perfect beauty elsewhere.”

  Erik thrusts me aside. “Bah! Talking to you is like spitting in the wind.” He stalks to the middle of the room before wheeling around. “You talk about beauty as if it doesn’t matter, yet you’re more obsessed with appearances than anyone else.” He jabs his finger at me. “Well, let me tell you, Varna Lund, it would not make any difference if you were as lovely outside as Sephia. Because all that petty, childish anger inside would still make you ugly.”

  I suck in a breath. Not make you. Still make you.

  I won’t cry. Not in front of this boy. Never. I swallow and tuck a loose strand of my hair behind my ear.

  “That is enough, Erik.” Sephia steps between us. “Perhaps it is you who had better take a walk.”

  “Perhaps.” He slams the door as he leaves the cottage.

  “He’s upset about Anders,” Kai says.

  I shoot him a sharp look just as Thyra elbows him.

  “So no one is going to rescue Anders and Gerda?” asks Christiane.

  Sephia sighs. “Yes, someone will. Soon. But tomorrow Thyra and Kai must travel to Holger’s cave.” She pats my rigid arm before turning to face the others. “I still have your furs, Thyra. You will need them for this journey.”

  Kai frowns. “As well as boots and hats and mittens. And here I thought we’d left winter behind, at least for a little while.”

  Thyra glances at Sephia. “I know Bae can still fly, but we have no sleigh.”

  “I will provide one. You’ll find it in a little shed, at the point where you cross into the lands of eternal winter. You may leave Freya there and travel on with only Bae.” Sephia holds up one hand as Thyra protests. “Freya will be well cared for, I promise. She’ll be waiting on your return.”

  Kai slumps in his chair. “I suppose there’s nothing for it. I don’t relish going back there, but if must, I must.”

  Thyra places her arm over his shoulders. “We will go together. With Bae and Luki, just as we did before.”

  “Well, not exactly.” Kai covers her hand with his. “Then you possessed the powers of a Snow Queen. Now we are both mortal, with no power at all.”

  “Nonsense.” Thyra leans in to kiss him on the cheek. “We have each other. There is power there.”

  Christiane claps her hands. “The power of love!”

  Observing her bright face, I swallow my harsh retort.

  Thyra and Kai rise from the table and follow Sephia to her wardrobe, where she uncovers winter clothes I don’t recall seeing stored in there before. Thyra and Kai stand side by side, their bodies almost touching, as Sephia fills their arms with hats and gloves and other garments they need for their journey.

  They are traveling to a land that can kill with one blast of wind. Without any magic, except possibly the sorcery Thyra spoke of when telling the story of Gerda’s tear.

  I don’t know if I believe in magic arising from love, but I believe if anyone could use such power, it would be Thyra and Kai.

  And Gerda, of course.

  I smile grimly. Really, Varna? Some sorcery of love? Surely you do not believe such a ridiculous notion.

  Because even after hearing the tale of the tear, I doubt such magic exists.

  Kai pulls one of the thick woolen hats over Thyra’s head, causing her curls to spring out from under the cap and halo her face. He says something about a daisy and they both laugh.

  I hope it does, though. I desperately hope it does.

  Chapter Sixteen: Shadows in the Forest

  Sephia’s garden is alive with color and the mingled scents of flowers. An indigo butterfly, its wings filtering light like stained glass, flutters about my head. I lean against the stone wall of the cottage and study the riot of vegetation, trying to name all the plants. It’s impossible now, but I will learn them, in time.

  Christiane sits on a blanket spread across a small lozenge of lawn, her injured leg stretched out straight before her. She reaches up to touch a waving frond of chamomile and laughs when it curls about her finger.

  “She has a gift.” Sephia steps through her back door. She examines Christiane for a moment. “It is not something everyone possesses, that connection to growing things.”

  I shoot her a suspicious look. “Christiane seems sweet, but she’s very young.”

  “She’s only two years younger than you, Varna.”

  “I’m not talking about age, exactly.”

  Sephia turns her brilliant gaze on me. “Her childlike nature may be what’s needed for someone who draws magic from the earth.”

  I can’t stifle a snort. “Like you?”

  Sephia’s expression grows wistful. “I was once like Christiane, long ago. Before I learned too much about the evil in this world. Before … ” She shakes her head. “You needn’t hear the tale of my folly. Come inside. I must speak with you.”

  As she turns I catch a glimpse of her somber face. “You haven’t received a message from Thyra and Kai, have you?”

  “No. But they only left a few days ago. Their journey is much longer than yours will be.”

  “Journey?” I follow her into the cottage. “What journey?”

  “Rescuing Gerda and Anders, of course.” Sephia sweeps into the center of the room. “Erik, enough rummaging about in the larder. Come and hear what I have to say.”

  He emerges with an armful of tins and small cloth bags. “You mentioned a journey, so I thought I’d gather some food.”

  “Very wise, but you needn’t pack it all yourself. I will help, as will Varna. Pile those things on the table.” Sephia motions me toward the rocking chair as she settles in the armchair. “Then come sit with us.”

  Erik drags over one of the wooden chairs and straddles it, the chair turned so the wooden slats face us. “So, is this a scouting mission? I know we must wait for the others before we attempt a rescue.”

  “Ah, there you are wrong.” Sephia leans back against the soft upholstery of her chair. “To defeat a sorcerer like Sten Rask does not require arms or armies. No, the only hope for success is through cunning and the element of surprise.” She glances from Erik’s puzzled face to mine. “That is why I sent Thyra and Kai on ahead, to complete their own mission. It’s also why I am sending the two of you, and no one else, on this rescue.”

  “The two of us?” Erik shoots me a sharp glance. “Surely not. I’m happy to go alone, if you think that best, but I’m certainly not taking Varna with me.”

  Sephia taps the arm of
her chair with one finger. “It is the only way.”

  “It is improper!” Erik blurts out, as color rises in his cheeks. “I mean, the two of us, traveling together, with no chaperone?”

  Sephia rises gracefully. “I did not take you for such a narrow-minded person, Erik. I think I know your true nature, and have no fear of you taking advantage of any young woman under your protection. As for Varna, I’m convinced she will not throw herself at you.” She crosses to stand behind my chair. “You are not that irresistible, Master Stahl.”

  I cover my mouth with my hand. A guffaw right now is probably not the best way to convince Erik to travel with me.

  Erik’s cheeks shine almost as red as his hair. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “At any rate, Varna must go. Rask wishes her to come to him, I believe?”

  “Yes,” I reply, all humor gone.

  “And so she shall.” Sephia strolls over to a small cabinet hanging on the wall. Opening it, she pulls a vial of golden liquid from a row of brightly colored glass bottles. “This tincture,” she raises the vial, “will make one invisible. Only for a short time,” she adds, holding up her hand as Erik leaps to his feet. “There is only one dose. So it must be used wisely.”

  “You want me to present myself at Sten Rask’s fortress, as if I am accepting his offer, then Erik will sneak in when Rask allows me entry?” I look to Sephia and receive a dazzling smile in return.

  “Just so. The spell will last for an hour, perhaps a little less, but that should allow Erik time to locate Gerda and Anders and free them.”

  “While I keep Rask occupied?” I rise and cross to stand before Sephia. “How shall I do that?”

  Sephia gives me a pitying look. “However you can.”

  Erik’s gaze slides from Sephia’s solemn face to mine. “I don’t understand. What does Rask want with Varna?”

  Sephia tilts her head and studies me for a moment. “I’m not quite sure. He has seen something in her that interests him. That is all I know. Yet it’s enough of a weapon to use against him, if Varna agrees.” The glint in her eyes softens. “I think this is the best chance to free Gerda and Anders. I will not command you, Varna Lund. Go with Erik, understanding the risk, and approach Rask only if you choose to do so.”

  I clench my fingers into fists. “I’ll do it. I will do anything, if it will save Gerda.” I glance at Erik. “And Anders.”

  Sephia moves toward the kitchen table. “Now I’ll help you pack.”

  “You can’t come along?” asks Erik. “Your magic might prove useful.”

  Sephia places both hands on the table and leans forward, her hair shadowing her face. “No. Now that he has encountered my power, Rask would sense my presence. I’d be a hindrance to our plan, not a help.” She straightens, tossing back her flaming hair. “I shall be with you, in spirit. Call on me in any extremity.” She turns to us, and I glimpse the fearsome enchantress beneath the human mask. “But only then. There are limits to all powers, and a cost to all magic. It is not to be used lightly.”

  “That applies to Rask as well, I hope,” Erik says.

  “Oh yes.” Sephia’s smile brings the color back into Erik’s face. “Yes, indeed. And it is my dearest hope he does not realize this yet.”

  ***

  Erik and I ride in silence for most of the day. The dappled gray gelding and dun mare Sephia whistled from the woods, the tack she produced from a shed behind her walled garden, the pearl gray cloak she pulled from the wardrobe and fastened about me with a silver pin shaped like a lily—these feel real as anything I’ve ever touched. Yet they’re all undoubtedly touched by some enchantment. As we move closer to Sten Rask’s fortress, my thoughts dwell on the magic enveloping my life.

  I did not believe, or disbelieve, in magic when I was a child. I simply never considered it. Only when Gerda returned from her sojourn in the Snow Queen’s kingdom—telling tales of sorcerers and talking reindeer and an enchanted mirror—did I spare magic any thought.

  Now it spins about me, seeping into my skin like a fog. I shiver and pull Sephia’s cloak tighter.

  Erik glances over at me. “Need to stop and rest?”

  I shake my head. “No. I’m simply thinking over everything—trying to make sure I consider all the possibilities, so I’m not taken by surprise. I don’t want to be the reason we fail in our quest.”

  “I’m certain you won’t be.” Erik’s voice is gruff, but he offers me an encouraging smile. “You’re pretty brave and resourceful, from what I’ve seen.”

  “Thanks.” I lower my head, not sure how to respond to such compliments.

  “And I’m sorry,” he continues, keeping his gaze fixed on the road ahead of us, “for being rude to you the other evening. I was upset over the situation with Anders, and when you said … To be honest, I confess your arrow struck its mark, when you spoke of my adoration of Sephia, of wanting to please her. Because of course I do. I admire her great beauty.”

  “Inside as well as outside.” I fight, and fail, to keep bitterness from tainting my tone.

  “Yes. But your words struck me to the bone for another reason.” He turns his head and I’m shocked by the naked emotion playing across his face. “The bit about me being beneath her. Well, of course I am. But I’ve heard those words so often, they cut me to the quick.”

  “What do you mean?” I tighten the grip of my thighs on my mare’s sleek sides. Following Thyra’s lead, I’m wearing breeches under my rolled up skirt, a choice that earned raised eyebrows, then a shrug, from Erik.

  “Oh, it’s just my history. You see, my family’s always thought my love of beauty was ostentation. I was getting above my station, being dismissive of my own class, that sort of thing.” The lines bracketing his mouth deepen. “They’re wrong. I don’t care about being a gentleman—I would prefer to manage a business, or work with my hands. But when they see me rhapsodizing over a painting or some perfectly worked piece of silver they call me a wastrel.” He offers me an ironic smile. “They don’t understand. I love beautiful things for themselves, not because I wish to own them. Not even because I want to be rich, or to dismiss my family as if they’re beneath my notice. Not at all. I’m not in love with beauty because I want to use it to better myself, but because I want to experience it wherever and however I find it. And add to it somehow, if I can.”

  “With your carvings? They are stunning.”

  Erik slaps the ends of his reins against the palm of his free hand. “Yes. I love creating beauty, even if I’m just a craftsman, not an artist.”

  Twilight dapples the road with dancing shadows. “Is there a great difference between the two?”

  He meets my inquisitive gaze with a genuine smile. “Perhaps not.”

  We drop back into silence, though more companionable than before. “Are we far from Rask’s fortress?” I ask at last.

  “No. We should reach it by tomorrow morning. It makes a difference, having the horses.”

  “Yes. I wonder where Sephia found them.” My mare delicately side-steps a fallen tree limb. She’s a better horse than I am a rider. I’ve ridden a bit before, but never known the luxury of owning my own mount. Thankfully, Sephia’s horses are so well trained I can stay in the saddle without much effort.

  Erik raises his eyebrows. “Found them? Or called them from the mist?”

  I pat the mare’s neck, which is soft as chamois. “She feels solid enough.”

  “I didn’t say they were phantoms. I simply believe she’s enchanted them.” Erik pulls up his gelding. “We should stop and make camp for the night. The dark is coming on fast.”

  We dismount and walk into the woods that border the narrow road. Erik leads the way, beating back the underbrush until the thin branches break.

  “This will do,” he says, when we reach a tiny clearing, only wide enough for a few people to lie down beside each other. It’s scarcely an ideal spot, but I soon realize why Erik chose it. A spring bubbles up at the edge of the clearing, offering fresh water for us
and the horses.

  I sneak into the woods to relieve myself. When I return Erik has removed the saddles and bridles from our mounts. He checks to make sure they are cooled down properly, then gives each a swat on the haunches to chase them into the trees before he hangs the saddles over a low-hanging limb. “Sephia told me they’d find their own food, and always return when we whistle,” he says, when I protest this action. “Let’s see about our own supper. Even though we can’t make a fire.”

  “It might draw too much attention?” I rummage through our saddlebags.

  “Yes. No use inviting guests. I have this”—he pats the pocket of his greatcoat, where the outline of his pistol is visible—“but would prefer not to use it.”

  I hand him an apple, a slice of bread, and chunk of cheese. “Should we take turns staying awake?”

  “Sounds good. I’ll take the first watch, then wake you for the second.” Erik finishes off his food in a few bites. “Hand me your water flask, would you? I can fill yours as well as mine.”

  I fish the leather-covered flask from my bag and toss it to him before I sit down on a fallen log to eat my own supper.

  Erik returns from the spring and moves in close, the tips of his books touching mine. He thrusts the full flask toward me “Here you go. Fresh and cold.”

  “Thanks.” I drop the remainder of my bread into my lap and grab the flask, not looking up. “Please have a seat. There’s room for both us on this elegant settee.” I wave my hand over the log.

  Erik doesn’t move. “Varna, I want you to know I don’t believe you are ugly—inside or out.”

  I finally look up to meet his intense gaze. “All right.”

  “All right? What does that mean?”

  “It means I’m glad you said it, but I know I am not beautiful, so you needn’t pretend.”