Scepter of Fire

by Vicki L. Weavil

  “I suppose you could say so. At any rate, someone who’s just as anxious to see the mirror destroyed as we are.” She does not turn around when Kai enters the cottage, but I can tell by her sudden stillness she’s aware of his presence. “Because it must be destroyed. I see that now. There is no way to hide it again, not when Rask has demonstrated what a touch of its power can do.”

  Erik leans against the stone wall of the cottage, his head brushing the low beams. “Now we just have to find it.”

  “That is where Thyra’s contact comes in.” Kai crosses to his wife and puts his arm around her waist. “They’re connected to someone in the emperor’s retinue. It seems the Usurper is as anxious to locate the mirror as we are, and Rask has not revealed its location yet.”

  “A dangerous game,” Erik says. “Is Rask turning against his master?”

  “I don’t think the Usurper is his master.”

  The words leave my mouth before I consider what the others might think. I lower my eyes and fiddle with the lacing on my bodice. “I mean, Rask is a sorcerer. Surely he does not fear a mere man, no matter how many troops the emperor commands.”

  Thyra examines me with her icy gaze. “Not even a sorcerer can stand against battalions. At least, none I have known. However, I’ve learned one other important fact—Rask is not the Usurper’s only sorcerer.”

  “He has more than one?” Anders taps his cane against the rough wood floor. “We are doomed, then.”

  “Not necessarily.” Kai pulls Thyra closer to his side. “This is Rask’s mentor, the woman who trained him. Apparently, she’s thrown her lot in with the emperor, and pledged the support of her apprentice as well. However, from what we hear, Rask left her estate some time ago. Supposedly to search for the mirror, although there are rumors he’s broken with her, or wishes to. Which could benefit us.”

  Erik straightens, bumping his head on a rafter. “We could set them against one another?”

  “That’s the hope,” Thyra says. “But we can’t take any action immediately, I’m afraid. We need to stay here, out of sight, and wait for news.”

  I sit back and study the faces of the five people in the room as they discuss these developments and make plans.

  They are brave, all of them, and determined. I know each one would willingly risk their life to save any of the others.

  I must ensure they never need do so. But how will I make it Rask’s castle if I can barely walk? Even if he provides me with directions, even riding my mare, it will be impossible.

  Varna, you idiot, he is a sorcerer. Explain the difficulty and see what he can do.

  I need to get outside. Sometime tonight, when the rest are asleep. I must do this without waking Luki, or allowing any of my friends to catch me. That’s all I have to do.

  I clap my hand over my mouth to stifle a bubble of hysterical laughter. Five pairs of eyes turn on me.

  “Shock. All that horror …”

  Gerda, Anders and Kai look sympathetic. Thyra narrows her eyes and thins her lips.

  Erik crosses his arms over his chest and stares at me, an unreadable expression on his face.

  “I’ll be fine after some rest.”

  This comment compels Gerda to pull things out of rucksacks and fuss over me—bundling blankets behind my head so I can sit up comfortably, taking off my remaining boot and loosening my clothes. Thyra joins her to help unwrap, clean, and dress my foot. Kai brings me fresh water, and Anders offers up the last soft roll from his rations.

  Erik strolls over after all these activities have subsided.

  “My turn.” He holds up the pewter comb.

  It’s a blessing the light has faded in the cottage, so that shadows hide my face.

  Erik sits on the edge of the bed and combs out my hair. If he is bothered by the obvious astonishment of the others, he does not let it show.

  ***

  As darkness falls, and the others settle in for the night, I silently recite recipes for potions and ointments to force myself to stay awake.

  When I feel certain everyone is asleep, I swing my feet over the edge of the bed. The problem of getting from the bed to the door remains, but fortunately Anders’s cane still leans against the bottom of the bed frame. As I grab the walking stick I consider pulling on my boots, but reject this idea. Either Rask will provide a way for me to reach him that does not require much walking, or I cannot go. I pull Gerda’s rucksack onto the bed and find the slippers she wore at the wedding. Trust Gerda to carry those on this trip.

  Fastening my cloak with Sephia’s silver lily pin, I gingerly slide my feet into the slippers and stand, leaning heavily on the cane. Thank goodness Thyra decided Luki should sleep outside tonight, to keep watch over Bae and the horses. I limp across the floor, resisting the urge to rush.

  I reach the door without anyone waking, although Erik rolls over and mutters, “Never saw it. Why didn’t I see it?” rather loudly. I pause, frozen in place until I realize he’s simply talking in his sleep.

  Slipping outside, I lean the cane against the outside wall and force myself to place my injured foot on the rough ground. I shuffle forward, knowing I must reach a spot in front of the cottage where the trees open up onto the clear night sky.

  Stars wink like candles blown by the wind. I close my eyes.

  I will come to you, as I promised, if you can show me the way. But I cannot walk, or even ride. I need your help, one more time.

  The breeze ruffles my hair, still hanging loose about shoulders. Still as smooth as when Erik’s fingers drew the comb through it.

  No, I can’t think about that. I must put such things out of my mind.

  I am ready to honor my vow, but I’m injured, and can only come if you will send your coach, or some other aid. Still, I will come, if you will have me.

  Crickets chirp and leaves rustle. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf bays at the moon.

  Varna.

  The word rises on the air, so much a part of the wind I’m not sure I’ve actually heard it. It repeats, over and over, like waves rolling into shore.

  If you still want me, I am here.

  The rustling of the leaves grows into a sound like the rush of wings. I open my eyes.

  Luki crouches on the ground, his ears flattened to his head. Next to him, Bae stands in front of the frightened horses, protecting them with his bulky body. I meet the reindeer’s soulful gaze. He lifts his head, motioning toward something in the trees.

  A dense shadow fills the latticework of dark branches. It moves, and I catch the sweep of wings.

  Of course. I fight back a giggle. Of course. I lift up my arms.

  Luki growls. Bae shambles forward.

  “Do not do this, Miss Varna. This is a great mistake.”

  “No, Bae. This is a great sacrifice. If you tell them anything, tell them that.” I take two painful steps forward.

  Rask’s great bird sweeps down from the trees, dark as a thundercloud, and imprisons me in the grip of its claws. I clutch my arms over my breast and lay back against the bone-hard cage of its talons. I know it won’t drop me, or hurt me. Its master wants me, alive and unharmed.

  The creature soars into the air. I can see little in the darkness. Only the cooling of the wind tells me we are rising higher and higher.

  I experience a moment of panic. I’m flying, trapped in the clutches of an unnatural beast. I am being carried away, to some unknown fate, to some unexpected destiny.

  As if he senses my fear, Rask’s voice is in my head, drowning out the wind. Varna. Do not fear. You are safe. Nothing will harm you. Close your eyes. Soon you will stand before me. Then your life can truly begin.

  Chapter Twenty-Five: Embracing Destiny

  The bird descends. Through the bars of its talons, I spy the tops of trees swaying like a dark and restless sea.

  The true sea is soon below us. Salt spices the air, interlaced with the pungent scent of seaweed and beached ocean creatures. I lean forward and catch a glimpse of sand, pale as an ivory ribbon,
bordering charcoal-gray cliffs.

  The great wings lift and close. We glide toward a fortress set high on one of the cliffs. The castle. It glimmers in the moonlight, as if its gray stones are studded with diamonds. Not diamonds, quartz.

  I can’t remember where I acquired such knowledge. Honestly, I can’t remember much of anything. I recall standing before a tumbled-down cottage, and a huge bird descending and grabbing me, then flying and flying. Before that, what was there? A wolf, a reindeer with liquid brown eyes, faces of young people gathered around me, a rough hand gently combing my hair …

  No, I must not forget. Do not let me forget, I cry, and instantly it all comes flooding back—my sister and Anders, Erik, and Thyra and Kai, Sephia, and our quest.

  My friends. My family.

  I will not lose my memories. No matter how much pain it causes me, I do not wish to forget.

  The bird glides to the terrace of the fortress—a wide expanse of flagstone, bordered on one side by glass doors leading into the castle, and on the other by a crumbling, curving balustrade overlooking the sea. The creature lifts the clawed foot that imprisons me and doesn’t set it down again until we safely land.

  The talons open and I tumble out. Stones lie cold and slick under my hands. I push my body to a sitting position. I long to rise to my feet, but I know I cannot. The rough surface of the terrace, with its chipped stones and film of dew, is too treacherous.

  Wings flap over my head, blowing my hair across my face as the bird flies away. I watch it sail into the sunrise.

  The doors to the castle open and Sten Rask strides out, his leather boots slapping the damp stones. He reaches me, leans over, and swiftly lifts me to my feet.

  “My poor Varna, so cold and mussed.” He brushes my hair away from my face. “We must get you inside and warm you.”

  “I can barely walk,” I say, between chattering teeth. “I burned my foot in that fire.”

  The fire he set. I recall the faces of the people I aided and slap his hands. “Your fault. It is all your fault.”

  “Yes.” Rask lifts me, ignoring my protests.

  Once again, I am in a man’s arms, being carried into some building. But this time I refuse to relax, or press my head against his chest.

  “Do not struggle. You’ll feel much better once we get you into some dry clothes and sit you before a fire.”

  We enter the castle, the glass doors swinging closed behind us. I hear the click of a lock.

  “No need for that, I can’t escape. I can’t throw myself over the railing, or even walk,” I mutter as I look around me.

  In contrast to its dilapidated exterior, the interior of the castle is beautiful. More of Rask’s treasures line the walls and fill all available spaces. But instead of a storehouse, this is an elegantly appointed drawing room.

  Rask lowers me onto a couch covered in gold brocade. I slide away from his hands and recline on a pile of velvet pillows. As Rask steps back, I see it, off to one side, leaning against one damask-papered wall.

  The mirror.

  Rask follows my gaze. “Ah yes, a plain thing, is it not? Just glass in a simple wooden frame. Yet it is worth more than everything else in this room.” He turns back, studying me. “Well, almost everything.”

  I squirm under his scrutiny, acutely aware of my disheveled clothes and hair.

  “Now, let’s see to that foot.” He kneels beside the couch and slides off my slipper. “You received this in the village fire?”

  “Yes, my boot came off, and I couldn’t stop to retrieve it. I was trying to save lives, you see.” I meet his concerned gaze with a glare.

  “Hmmm … Well, I think we can take care of this easily enough.” He closes his fingers about my foot, sending a shaft of pain shooting up my leg. “Sit still, my dear. This may hurt a little.”

  “You think?” I grit my teeth, press my back into the pillows, and grip the carved wooden arm of the couch.

  I catch Rask’s smile as he bends his head over my foot. He strokes the sole with two fingers.

  It does hurt, at first. Then the skin tingles and relief spreads. The heat in the burn evaporates under Rask’s touch, which is cool as a gentle fall of snow.

  “There.” Rask lays my foot back on the couch and rises to his feet. “It should be fine now.”

  I wiggle my toes. There’s no tug of blistered skin. Sitting up, I pull the foot into my lap and stare at its unblemished sole. “How did you do that? Can you teach me how to do that?”

  “Yes, that and many other things. I told you I could give you power. This would be part of it.”

  I recall the people I attempted to help in the burnt-out village. It might be worth accepting his offer, if I could learn to heal such terrible injuries.

  I look up at Rask. “Why?”

  He settles into a wing-backed upholstered chair. “Why what?”

  “Why me?”

  “I have already told you why.” Rask snaps his fingers and flames to leap up in the marble framed fireplace.

  I sink back into the cushions, stretching out my legs on the couch. The warmth from the fire soothes me. Without the constant throbbing of my foot, I could easily fall asleep.

  No, I want something to eat first. I count back and realize I’ve not had a decent meal in days.

  “I’m hungry. Do you have any food?”

  Sten Rask looks me over for a moment before he rises to his feet, the flickering flames reflected in his polished black boots. He brushes a bit of lint from his pale gray breeches. “I will bring you something. Wait here.”

  He leaves the room. I turn and stare at the mirror. I could smash it now, while he is gone. Of course, he would probably kill me, but isn’t that what I expected when I agreed to come here?

  I stand and cross the room, reveling in my ability to move easily again. When I reach the mirror, Rask reappears, carrying a silver tray.

  “Come. You can eat in your room.”

  I take a deep breath and back away from the mirror. “My room? I have a room?”

  “Yes, everything has been arranged. It’s just down the hall. I have laid out some clean clothes, and there’s a pitcher and basin waiting, so you can wash up.”

  “Were you expecting me?” I follow him into the hallway.

  Rask marches to a door standing ajar. He balances the tray on one palm and pushes the door open with his other hand. “I have been expecting you for quite some time.”

  The room is lovely—a perfect retreat in shades of gold and green. A marble fireplace, decorated with carvings of flowers, blazes with a welcoming fire. Pressed against one wall is a tall, narrow table, covered in bottles and ceramic jars. It’s a workbench for creating healing potions and ointments.

  Yes, everything has indeed been arranged. I sneak a look at Rask, who sets the silver tray on a small table placed before a mullioned window.

  “You should eat and rest. We will talk more later.” He exits the room without looking at me and closes the door. The lock clicks into place.

  So, a prison. An elegant, comfortable, prison.

  I slump onto one of the gilt embossed chairs at the table. On the platter are small plates, each covered with a silver dome.

  Lifting one, I’m assaulted by steam, along with the delicious scent of potatoes boiled with butter and rosemary. I poke at the food with my fork.

  It could be poisoned, or drugged, but I am so hungry, I don’t care. I dig in.

  Anyway, it’s unlikely Rask wants me dead. He needs me for something, probably something related to the mirror. Perhaps, if I play along, I will have a chance to smash it, sooner rather than later.

  I stuff a forkful of potatoes into my mouth, eating like it’s my last meal.

  ***

  Rask knocks on my door an hour later. The lock clicks open and he pushes the door slightly ajar before asking me to join him in the drawing room.

  I wash up and change into the clothes I find draped over the tall, curtained bed—a simple shift of white linen, satin slipper
s, and a gold robe embroidered with rust-red chrysanthemums. I know it’s nightwear, but it covers my body as well as any gown. I twist my hair up into a bun without looking in a mirror and fasten it with silver pins I find on the dressing table.

  I rehearse various speeches as I walk the short distance to the drawing room. Since I do not know what is wanted of me, I must consider all options.

  Sten Rask stands by the fireplace, one hand on the marble mantle. As I enter the room, he turns and looks me up and down.

  “Ah, Varna, come in. And may I say, you should always dress in exotic robes. They suit you better than those stuffy garments you usually wear.”

  I cross to the center of the room. “I wear what’s practical and acceptable for a girl of my station. I certainly couldn’t wear something like this in my village.”

  “I know. More’s the pity.” Rask strolls over to me. “So, are you ready to begin your transformation?”

  I swallow. “That depends. What does such a process entail?”

  “A little pain, but nothing you can’t bear.” He strokes my jawline with one finger. “It’s one of the many reasons I chose you. Some girls cannot endure the transformation process. Some go mad. Some die. But”— he presses his finger to my lips—“you will do neither, Varna Lund. I know you’re strong enough to withstand almost anything. You can certainly tolerate a little magic.”

  “What do you intend to do—turn me into someone I cannot recognize?”

  “No.” Rask pulls the pins from my hair. “You only need slight alterations. You are not far from ideal, just as you are.”

  I snort. “I’m plain as a post. I’ve heard that enough times to know it must be true.”

  “As I have told you before, you shouldn’t listen to the nonsense most people spew.” He takes hold of my chin and turns my head from side to side. “No, not so very far. In fact, I wouldn’t change you at all, had I not promised to do so, and if it were not necessary to advance my plans.”

  I pull back, breaking his hold. “So, do it. Whatever it is. But there is one thing I want first.”

  Rask’s eyebrows disappear under the fall of his dark hair. “I am gracing you with beauty and power and you want one more thing?”