Scepter of Fire

by Vicki L. Weavil

  Erik snorts and steps back. “Don’t worry, I never said you were beautiful.”

  I lift my chin. “As long as we understand each other. I hate when people try to make me feel better by lying to me.”

  “I’ll never lie to you. I have many bad habits but that is not one of them.” Erik takes a long swallow from his flask before speaking again. “You know,” he says, studying me dispassionately, “beauty’s not everything. You act like you’ll never have a chance at marriage, but there are plenty of men seeking more than looks in a wife.”

  I yank a blanket from my rucksack and toss it across the ground. “Oh, I know. There are widowers with several children, hoping for a nursemaid, and farmers seeking someone to help milk the cows or work the fields. Not to mention old merchants mourning beloved wives, just wanting someone to cook and clean. Yes, there are many men who’d consider marrying me. The problem is, that is not what I want.” I slump down onto the blanket, keeping the log at my back.

  Erik sits down beside me. “Looking for love, are you?”

  I lower my head and toy with the silver brooch on my cloak. “What if I am?”

  “That’s always a dangerous pursuit, regardless of one’s appearance. Pull out the other blanket, would you? We need to cover up. The night air is cold.”

  “You don’t want to fall in love?” I peer up at him from under my lashes.

  “I am not sure.” He pulls me to his side and tucks the blanket so we’re cocooned together. “Body warmth,” he says, when I make a noise. “It’s the best way to keep from getting too chilled. Nothing to twist your lips over—I used to pile up with the other soldiers in camp, especially in winter. As to your question, yes, I would like to fall in love. It just has never happened, and despite some rather romantic notions about beauty, I am a practical person. Besides, I ‘ve not seen love last, or experienced much of anything that makes me believe it can.”

  I turn my head to examine his profile. His last statement, along with his comments about his family, make me wonder if he’s had a tougher life than I ever imagined.

  “So you don’t believe in lasting love?”

  Erik drapes his arm over my shoulders and pulls me close, until my head rests on his broad chest. “Think about it. Your own sister took off on a journey, all alone, with no money or companions, to track down her great love. Now she claims she and Kai are like brother and sister, and she’s delighted he and Thyra are together. What happened to that eternal love?”

  Erik’s heart beats steadily beneath my ear. It’s a comforting sound. I allow my body to relax in his arms. “That’s not a good example. Gerda was only fifteen at the time, and had adored Kai for years. Once she saw the truth—how his love for her was nothing like his love for Thyra—Gerda came to her senses.”

  “But that’s my point.”

  I tap my forefinger against his shoulder. “You must admit Thyra and Kai seem truly devoted. I believe their love will last. They’ve been apart for four years, with only letters to keep their romance alive, and haven’t lost their feelings for one another.”

  Erik huffs. “Those two. They are like peas in a pod. I think they love each other for their minds as much as anything else.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing, I suppose. Kai did surprise me. I thought a scholar would be weak, but he had no problem keeping up.”

  I nudge Erik’s thigh with my knee. “Perhaps you aren’t as superior as you think. Anyway, Kai grew up in my village, and worked hard at our family mill long before he went to the University. We villagers are tougher than you city folk.”

  “Oh, fearsome, are you?” Erik’s fingers dig into my shoulder blade. “Hold still.”

  I roll my shoulders to loosen his grip. “What are you doing?”

  “Keeping you alive. Stay still, and quiet too, if that’s possible. I’m going to reach into my coat pocket and pull out my pistol.”

  “What …” I follow the trajectory of Erik’s fixed gaze.

  He shushes me and levels the pistol with his right hand.

  Then I spy it—a shaggy creature hidden in the shadows. A bear. It lifts its snout and sniffs the air

  It probably smells the food stuffed in our saddlebags.

  Or you, Varna. Another kind of food. I press closer to Erik’s side.

  “Dammit, don’t throw off my aim.”

  Before I can reply, Erik fires the pistol. Smoke clouds my vision and the acrid scent of gunpowder fills my nostrils. “Did you hit him?” I rub my eyes.

  “No, but I did not mean to.” Erik lowers his weapon. “I wanted to scare it off, not kill it.”

  “What if it comes back?”

  “It won’t. And anyway, I will keep watch.” He whistles for the horses, who trot into the clearing, still chewing the grass they found somewhere.

  Erik frowns. “No sleep for me, it seems. I need to stay awake, pistol at hand. You should get some rest, though.”

  “I’m not sure I can.”

  “Nonsense.” Erik presses my head back down on his chest. “Stop talking and close your eyes.”

  “Are you always so bossy?”

  Erik makes a harrumphing noise. “Are you always so argumentative?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  I’m rewarded with a chuckle.

  Erik’s body is warm and I am tired. I bury my face in the folds of his wool coat. He smells of horse and leather and a trace of gunpowder. It is not an unpleasant mixture. Not at all.

  Stop it, Varna. Yes, it’s nice to be held by a man, but this is Erik, and he’s simply being practical. Stop acting like a dithering idiot and get some sleep.

  My eyelids droop and close. “That bear could have charged us. Why not shoot to kill?”

  Erik rests one hand on my head, his fingers loosely entangled in my hair. “There’s no need to shoot a wild creature when you can scare if off. And anyway,” Erik’s voice fades as sleep takes me. “I’ve seen enough of killing.”

  Chapter Seventeen: The Pull of Magic

  In the morning, we eat a hasty breakfast of bread smeared with honey. As Erik saddles the horses, I stuff the blankets back into the saddlebags and refill our flasks with spring water.

  I examine Erik’s red-rimmed eyes. “Did you get any sleep?”

  “No. Perhaps I dozed off once or twice. It’s no problem—I’m trained to stay alert even when drowsy. That’s a necessity in the army, when the enemy’s all around.” He elbows the dappled gray in the ribs, causing the gelding to exhale a gust of air. “We should move as quickly as possible,” he adds, tightening the girth to his saddle. “I don’t want to enter Rask’s fortress after nightfall.”

  “Me either.” I roll up my skirt, tying it in an untidy knot at my waist. One foot in the stirrup and a hand at the pommel, I swing my body up into the saddle before Erik comes to my aid.

  His eyes narrow as he studies my face. “I would have helped.”

  “Did not need it,” I reply, adjusting my grip on the reins. I tend to hold them too tight, or so Erik claimed yesterday.

  I flush as I recall what else he said when he first observed my riding skills. “Reins are for guiding the horse, not hanging on. Hold them together in one hand and lay them against the horse’s neck to direct it right or left. Don’t yank the bit back and forth like a saw.”

  “See?” I lift my arm, displaying both reins held loosely in my right hand. “I’m a quick study.”

  “I will give you that.” He swings up onto his own horse. “And quite tenacious.”

  “That can be good.” I kick my mare and follow Erik as he guides his gelding toward the road.

  “I never said it wasn’t.” He urges his horse into a trot.

  At this pace, there’s no opportunity for further conversation until almost noon, when we reach a narrow track leading off the main road.

  Erik pulls up his horse. “This is where we must start the climb to Rask’s fortress. We can’t make good time now—which is the reason I was hurrying us along
earlier.”

  I rise up in my stirrups and rub the small of my back. “I won’t complain about slowing down.”

  Erik grins. “Backside a little sore, is it?”

  I huff. “That’s not a proper question to pose to a lady.”

  He glances around. “Are there ladies present?”

  “I can’t throw anything at you right now, but just wait.”

  He kicks the gelding into a walk and directs it onto the path. “There you go, proving my point.”

  Although the path’s barely wide enough to ride abreast, I urge my horse forward, until I’m close enough to bump thighs. “So, I know you’re skeptical about lasting love, but do you have a sweetheart, Erik Stahl?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “I am not surprised.” I slow my mare and fall in behind the gray gelding.

  Erik quickly silences his laughter, which rings too brightly through the thick forest flanking the path.

  We ride on, the chirp of birds and rustle of unseen small creatures the only sounds breaking the silence. Hardwood trees give way to pines with branches drooping over the narrow track, their green needles darkening to black as I peer deeper into the forest. I rub my right arm with my left hand, smoothing down the raised hairs.

  Erik stops short in front of me. “We must ditch the horses. The path grows rocky and I don’t want to risk broken legs. They can wait here for our return.” He dismounts, pulling his reins over the gelding’s lowered head. “Drop your reins on the ground. They appear to be trained to stay, as if tied to a post.”

  “Useful.” As I swing my body out of the saddle, Erik moves beside my horse and helps lift me to the ground.

  He keeps his hands on the small of my back for a moment, so I stand in the circle of his arms. “I’m afraid you must climb the final portion of the path alone. We can’t allow Rask to sense my presence. I hope he will be so focused on you he’ll not notice me sneaking through the forest.”

  I look up into his face. His jaw is clenched. “I will do my best.”

  “I know.” Erik releases me and steps back. His gaze remains fixed on my face. “Think about Gerda and Anders, and how we can get them out of there. Focus on the task and don’t allow Rask to get inside your head.”

  I’m not sure this is possible, but don’t want to admit my fears to Erik. Our relationship has changed, and I’m reluctant to do anything that might make him think less of me.

  My fingers clutch the skirt fabric I retie about my waist.

  Friends. You are friends, Varna. Nothing more.

  Still, “friends” is good. I’ve never had a male friend before. I like it.

  The track ahead of me is steep and riddled with rocks. “Keep following this path?”

  “Yes. Kai noticed it before, although we approached the fortress through the woods.”

  “Which is what you plan to do now.”

  “Yes.” Erik’s pistol weighs down one of his coat pockets.

  “I see you have your gun. Do you also have the vial Sephia gave you?”

  He pats his other pocket. “Right here.”

  “And you recall its effect only lasts for an hour or so?”

  “Yes, Mistress Lund, I do.” He grins. “I may not be as smart as Kai, but I can remember basic instructions.”

  I fight back an answering smile. “I don’t want you to get caught.”

  He leans in to kiss me on the forehead. “Stay safe.”

  Before I can reply, he turns and walks into the shadowy trees.

  I take a deep breath. It’s time for me to take the path that leads to Gerda and Anders.

  And Sten Rask. I hitch up my bundled skirts and step forward.

  ***

  The path grows steadily rougher, forcing me to bend forward and grab rock outcroppings to aid in my climb. By the time I reach a plateau where the narrow track widens into something resembling a road, my fingers are cross-hatched with scratches and my hair has tumbled out of its hastily fastened bun.

  I stand on a dirt road, rutted from the wheels of some carriage. How a carriage traversed the path to reach this point eludes me, until I recall Gerda’s tales of flying horses and reindeer. Rask probably employs the same enchantment.

  I straighten and push my lank hair behind my ears. On either side of the road, majestic oaks rise like wooden sentinels. Or perhaps they are giants—their bodies buried beneath a shell of wood. Anything is possible, with so much magic at work.

  I draw my gray cloak tighter about my shoulders. Strange, despite its lightness, it blocked the heat of the sun when I was on the main road, yet also warms me in this dank forest.

  Silly, it is magic. Like the power crackling through these woods. You feel it, swirling around you, like a swarm of bees.

  It does not matter. Whatever happens, I must persevere. I straighten my back and walk, focusing my thoughts on Gerda.

  When I round a corner, I see the house. It’s just as Erik and Kai described—a great, stone pile that rises from the forest as if it’s grown from the earth.

  And who says it was constructed by human hands? I shiver, lapping the edges of my cloak one over the other.

  A tall stone wall surrounds the main building—an impenetrable expanse punctured at the front by a set of massive iron gates. On the other sides, scraggly pines cluster close to the walls like vagrants seeking shelter. The road ends at the gates, in a circle only wide enough to turn one carriage.

  I move closer and stand before the gates, peering into an empty, packed-dirt courtyard.

  The manor house is a three-story central building, with one-story wings stretching forward from each side. No embellishments decorate the façade of the main structure—its windows are small and blank as the eyes of beetles.

  There are bars on the windows on the third floor.

  I curl my fingers around a section of iron filigree—a strangely fanciful design of entwined vines and flowers, with the silhouette of a peacock emblazoned in the center of each gate.

  Pressing my forehead against the cold metal, I send a mental message to Sten Rask. I am here. As you wished. Will you let me in?

  Nothing happens. I open my eyes as a rustle disturbs the woods to my right.

  Erik creeps from the trees, hugging the wall as he makes his way to me.

  “You haven’t taken the potion?” I whisper when he’s close enough to hear me.

  “I’m saving it. Might need it later.” Erik presses his back against the wall. “No sign of Rask?”

  “No. What do you mean, saving it? Thought you planned to sneak in behind me, if Rask ever opens these gates.”

  Erik flashes a devilish grin. “I didn’t spend hours wandering the city, escaping chores, without picking up a few skills. I can get in without magic, and no one will notice, trust me. We’ll save the potion for a more difficult maneuver.”

  “What? You can climb these walls?”

  “No, but I can climb trees, and there are plenty overhanging the courtyard. You stay here and catch Rask’s notice, and I’ll shimmy up a pine and be inside the walls before you.”

  I frown. “What if Rask’s minions catch you? He must have servants or something.”

  “Do you see any? No, me either. I think he conjures them when he needs them. Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.” Erik raises his hand in a mock salute. “Now, go forth with honor, and spare no thought for me. Sorry, old company saying. First time it’s really felt appropriate.”

  “Be careful,” I say, as he slides away from me. He disappears into the trees with only a slight rustle of the undergrowth.

  I step away from the gate and stare at the upper level of the facade. Somewhere, behind those barred windows, Gerda and Anders await rescue.

  As I scan the windows for any flash of movement, the iron gates before me creak. I take two steps back. The long metal bars latching the gates slide and clang against the frame. The gates swing inward, sweeping dust and piles of dried pine needles into the courtyard.

  I spin around at
the sound of hooves. Barreling down the road, an ebony coach pulled by two black horses approaches the open gates. No one sits in the high seat—the horses appear to be driving themselves.

  I scramble to the edge of the circle. The coach, its dark shades drawn, slows as it enters the circle. It makes one complete turn before stopping close to me.

  One shade rolls up. Leaning out the open window, Sten Rask meets my open-mouthed stare with a smile.

  “Welcome, Varna.” He unlatches the coach door and steps out.

  Despite my fear, I marvel at the beauty of his appearance. The collar of his black greatcoat is turned up to frame his elegant jawline. Dark hair spills over his broad forehead, hiding his fine brows, and fawn-colored trousers are tucked into his gleaming black leather boots. A white cravat froths over the neckline of his coat.

  He’s tucked the scepter under his left arm. It could be mistaken for a walking stick, and probably is, by most observers. I spy the fire flickering in its crystal finial and narrow my eyes.

  All those people at the Opera House, dead or damaged, because Sten Rask wanted to capture Gerda. To use her to track down the mirror.

  And to draw you here, Varna.

  All that suffering, to satisfy one man’s whims. My fingernails dig into the palms of my clenched fists.

  Rask sweeps one hand through the air and the black horses jangle their harnesses before pulling the coach through the open gates and into the courtyard.

  Pulling off a leather glove, he holds out one hand. “Come, my dear. It is time you visited one of my real homes. It’s rather more elegant than Madame Margaret’s cottage.”

  “I love the cottage.” So stupid, so pathetic, but it’s all I can think to say.

  “I know. But it’s time to expand your horizons, Varna Lund.”

  Rask crooks his fingers, and I walk forward, as if pulled by some invisible thread.

  When I reach him, he takes hold of my right hand and tucks it inside the bend of his elbow. He leads me through the gates, which close behind us with a clang that vibrates the still air.

  The horses stand quietly beside one of the low wings of the house, where an arched colonnade separates the barren courtyard from the stables. Rask snaps his fingers and the silver buckles of the harness spring open. The horses step free of the wooden shafts and leather straps and make their way into two stalls whose open half-doors slam shut behind them.