Crown of Ice

by Victoria Gilbert

  I urge Freya on unmercifully, stopping only for brief periods of nourishment and rest. As we cross the valley that lies between the mountains and the Stryker estate, I direct the tired mare to the ground. She’s quite willing to land and slow her pace to a walk. I guide the horse to a small grove of trees bordering the Stryker stables. Sliding off her back, I walk Freya about for some time, until the sweat has dried on her arched neck and flanks.

  “Now for my disguise,” I whisper to the exhausted mare. Concentrating my power, I conjure the image of a high-born lady from foreign lands. I leave my angular features as they are but darken my skin to a creamy olive tone and convert my mass of white curls into an upsweep of sleek ebony locks. I turn my ice-gray eyes the color of walnut hulls. Satisfied with my transformation, I pull the linen bundle from my saddlebags and tuck it under my cloak. I hide my tunic and breeches by pulling my white furs tightly about me, and walk Freya around to the front of the stables.

  A young stable boy rushes to meet me. His blue eyes widen as he takes in my appearance. His ruddy face is round as a full moon. “Take your horse, madam?” He flashes a smile that reveals a broken front tooth.

  “Thank you, yes,” I reply, handing him Freya’s reins. “See she has sufficient feed and water, and two flakes of hay.” I color my words with an odd inflection. I hope it will fool the boy into assuming I’m not a native speaker of his language.

  “Your name, madam?” The boy’s clearly confused by my unusual looks and accent. “So I can be sure to take good care of your mare,” he adds, ducking his head.

  “Lady LaNévé.” I stress the last vowel of the word. “Yes, treat her well. We have traveled far.”

  As the stable boy bobs his head and leads Freya away, I walk toward the large timber and stucco manor house, shortening my stride to create a more ladylike impression. The gravel path leading to the house is lined with towering elms, their branches still bare of leaves. The path ends in a great cobbled courtyard filled with carriages of every size and color. I note the coat of arms painted on the door of one of the coaches and wonder if I can pull off my masquerade. These are true ladies and lords and I’ve no experience with their society. I tightly lap the front edges of my cloak and sneak around the side of the house, searching for a way to make a quiet entrance.

  I find a door ajar near the kitchen garden. Sliding into the back hallway, I spy a large kitchen through an open archway to my right. The opposite passageway offers a more promising route, leading to a narrow stairway. At the top of the stairs I realize I’m in the servants’ quarters. I hurry past a row of closed doors, finally discovering a small room, empty except for an iron bedstead and a small dresser. I slip into the room and latch the door. It’s time for my transformation.

  As I change into the silk gown and satin slippers I debate what to do with my discarded clothes, finally shoving them into one drawer of the empty dresser. I’ll be pleased if I can retrieve them later, but if not, I won’t fret over the loss of some old garments.

  There’s no mirror, but given that most of my appearance is an illusion, I don’t concern myself with this minor inconvenience. I slump on the lumpy bed and calculate some equations to clear my mind. Staring at the narrow window, I wait patiently for darkness to flood the dusty panes.

  Chapter Twelve: In the Kingdom Of The Crows

  WHEN I’M SURE IT’S time for the ball to begin, I leave the room and stride to the end of the hall. A simple wooden door opens with one twist of the knob and I step into a different world.

  Creamy plaster walls rise above dark wood wainscoting. Ivory candles set in silver sconces light the hall, and a brilliant crimson runner covers the mahogany floor. A series of paintings line the walls—darkly varnished portraits in gilded frames. I allow my cloak to fall open, exposing the exquisite silk gown, as I stroll past the paintings. I wonder how many of these glassy-eyed lords and ladies are actual ancestors of the Strykers, and how many were simply purchased to lend an air of antiquity to the family line. My limited knowledge of the family, gleaned from Inga’s rhapsodies on their wealth and virtues, leads me to imagine few of these elegantly dressed puppets are any relation to the family that built an empire from a single logging camp.

  The end of the passageway opens onto a balcony overlooking the manor’s grand entrance hall. A double staircase, its treads wide enough for three people to walk abreast, curves away at either end of the balcony. I cross to the intricately carved railing and survey the scene below.

  A swirl of vivid silk, satin, and velvet gowns is set off by the somber black of the men’s clothes. The women bob and weave like songbirds among crows. I grip the railing and search the crowd for Gerda, but I don’t spy her amid the flock of guests. A tall man sporting a brilliant tapestry waistcoat under his black jacket glances up and stops talking to his companion, a tiny woman lost in the ruffled excess of a sapphire gown. As the man stares directly at me his hazel eyes narrow in concentration. He leans down to whisper something in his companion’s ear. She glances up at me and shakes her head.

  I move to one set of stairs and descend slowly, allowing my fingertips to glide along the polished banister. Sapphire-gown whispers to her companion. She’s holding up her black lace fan so I can’t read her lips. They’re discussing me, of course. A stranger at the party, someone whose dress and appearance is at odds with every other woman in the room. Reaching the bottom of the stairs I approach the couple.

  “Lady LaNévé,” I say, extending my hand. “So good of you to invite me.”

  The man and woman exchange a look. “Ah, yes. You are connected to one of our gentry, perhaps? Lord Lind, is that right?” The man takes hold of my fingers and gallantly kisses the back of my hand. “I am Hans Stryker, your host.” He nods his head toward his companion. “My wife, Elise.”

  I smile and concentrate on my fantastical accent. “It is very nice to meet you both. I have heard so many wonderful things about your family. Your charity work is renowned.” A young chambermaid flutters forward. I shrug my cloak off my shoulders and hand it to her.

  “What an unusual gown.” Elise Stryker’s face is a study in confusion.

  “Do you like it? It’s the latest fashion in my country.” I toss off the words as I watch the maid carry my furs into a small anteroom off the main hall. I’ll need them if I have to make a quick exit later. Even I can’t cross the mountains in a thin silk gown. “I am used to warmer climes.”

  “I see.” Hans Stryker is staring at something over my head. “Well, Lady LaNévé, I hope you enjoy our little party. Let us know if you need anything.” He smiles and absently pats my hand. “I am sure Lord Lind is around here somewhere. If I see him I will send him to you.”

  “Oh no, don’t bother. We are not, how shall I put it? On the best of terms right now. Still, family is family.” Manufacturing a gracious smile for Elise Stryker, I walk into the milling crowd before she can respond.

  I thread my way past the guests, who are clustered in knots as tight as birds picking over a solitary kernel of corn. Their voices fill my ears with shrieks and squawks. Crows indeed.

  “Excuse me, have we met?” asks a stylishly dressed young man with a shock of blonde hair falling into his eyes. He holds out a fluted crystal glass full of a sparkling liquid. “Champagne?”

  I’ve never sampled anything stronger than hard cider but I smile and accept the glass, pressing it to my lips and taking a tiny sip. “Thank you, sir. I am Lady LaNévé.”

  “Karl Friis.” The young man looks me up and down, his blue eyes finally coming to rest on my neckline. I don’t believe he’s admiring the pearls.

  “Well, Master Friis”—I press my slippered foot over his instep until he looks up into my face—“perhaps you can help me? I would love to meet Miss Clara Stryker, as I’ve heard so many marvelous things about her, but I’m afraid I don’t know what she looks like. Could you point her out to me?” I flick away his wandering fingers before they come to rest upon my arm.

  Karl Friis steps awa
y from me, smoothing down the lapels of his gray frock coat. “She’s just coming down the stairs,” he says sullenly.

  I turn to gaze into the entrance hall. A young blonde woman is descending the curving staircase. She’s wearing a bell-shaped gown of pink tulle from which her slender white neck rises like the stem of an inverted flower. Trailing in her wake is another blonde girl, dressed in a simple white eyelet dress with a lavender sash. “Gerda,” I mutter under my breath, earning a searching look from Mr. Friis.

  “Friend of mine,” I say airily, thrusting the full champagne glass into his hands. “Please excuse me, Master Friis. I must give her, what do you say? Ah yes, my best wishes.” I stalk off, not bothering to maintain a ladylike stride.

  As I approach the hall a tall, slender woman steps in front of me. Her auburn hair is piled high upon her head, a few ringlets cascading over her neck and ears. She’s wearing a gown of sea foam silk, embroidered with pastel roses and twisting green vines.

  “How delightful to run into you again.” The woman’s emerald eyes flash. “Though not surprising, all in all.”

  “Sephia,” I dig my fingernails into the palms of my clenched fists. “Are you following me?

  “No.” The enchantress smiles sweetly. “I am simply keeping an eye on Gerda. I’ve taken quite a fancy to her, you see. Rather like a mother watching over her only child.”

  I attempt to step around her. “You’re in my way.”

  “Now, now, Snow Queen.” Sephia grabs my elbow. Her grip’s tight as a clamp. “Or whatever you are calling yourself.” She looks me over as I twist my arm to loosen her hold. “An interesting disguise, I must say. Although I think pale coloring suits you best.”

  “I’m not interested in what you think.” I wrench my arm free and step back. “Gerda lives in my realm. She’s my subject and none of your business.”

  Sephia leans in, whispering in my ear. To the other guests we must appear like two close friends sharing a confidence. “You blighted my garden, Thyra Winther. And you seek to reconstruct the mirror. That makes everything you do my business.”

  Clara Stryker and Gerda enter the ballroom arm in arm. As they stroll past Gerda turns to stare in our direction. Sephia hides her face behind a painted silk fan. I meet Gerda’s gaze and smile. The girl looks puzzled and pauses for a moment but Clara pulls her away. They head toward the small chamber orchestra set up at one end of the room.

  “What do you want with Gerda?” whispers Sephia from behind her fan.

  I lift my chin and meet those glittering emerald eyes. “Merely to send her home, where she’ll be safe.”

  “To keep her from her friend. You forget, I know who she seeks, Lady of the Snows. Do you have any knowledge of a boy named Kai?”

  Behind my false face it’s not difficult to lie. “No. I only know Gerda’s far from home and her family misses her. It’s time she returned to them.”

  “And you expect me to believe you only have her best interests at heart?” Sephia tosses her head, her hair gleaming like the borealis.

  “It doesn’t matter what you believe. You have no power here.” I turn on my heel and stride away from the enchantress, daring her to follow.

  I approach Clara Stryker and Gerda, glancing over my shoulder just once to watch Sephia watching me. Smiling as brightly as I can, I introduce myself to the two young girls.

  “LaNévé?” Clara’s pronunciation of the words is more accurate than mine and her soft brown eyes are brimming with intelligence. I’m instantly aware I shouldn’t underestimate her. “That means snow, doesn’t it?”

  “Why yes,” I say, silently cursing her expensive education. “An old family name. We live in the mountains, you see.”

  “So do I.” Gerda’s blue eyes are dimmed, like a summer sky filled with storm clouds. “Where’s your country, Lady LaNévé?”

  “Far from here.” I examine the girl with interest. Sorrow has dulled the color in her cheeks but her face is still round as the curve of an apple. Her lower lip is fuller than the upper, making it appear she is pouting. She hasn’t grown tall, but her figure has blossomed. It fills out the white dress in a way that’s sure to capture the attention of young Master Friis.

  “Lady LaNévé, your gown is quite beautiful,” says Clara. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anything like it.”

  “I imagine not.” I toss my head and attempt a trill of laughter to match the chirping of the ladies surrounding me. “It’s all the rage in my country but not quite the fashion here, as you see.” I fix my gaze on Gerda and call up a bit of my magic to focus her attention on my words. “But you, Miss Gerda, why are you not at home? You seem so young to be traveling on your own.”

  “I’m fifteen.” Gerda squirms under my intense gaze. “I’m searching for a friend. He’s gone missing and I ... ” The girl blushes. “Well, I must find him and bring him home.”

  “That’s very commendable. But just suppose your friend has found a great opportunity.” I glance at Clara, who doesn’t flinch under my scrutiny. “Would you deny him that?”

  “No, no.” Gerda shares a look with Clara. “That’s the thing, you see. A young man recently appeared at the university, penniless but desperate for knowledge. Mr. Stryker met him there, when he was visiting Clara’s brother, and agreed to sponsor his studies. The young man’s coming here tonight and I think ... ” She turns to Clara and lays her hand on the other girl’s arm.

  “Gerda thinks the young man might be her friend, Kai,” Clara says. “Traveling under another name, of course. We are anxious to see if her guess is correct. It would be quite wonderful, don’t you think? If my father were to help her friend, I mean.”

  I spy Sephia advancing on us. “An amazing coincidence. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must speak with some of the other guests.” I turn away, calculating how to simultaneously get Gerda alone and prevent Sephia from speaking to her. As I move to waylay the enchantress the small orchestra launches into a rousing medley of opera tunes. Someone shouts “Quadrille!” and a wave of couples pours into the center of the room. The rest of the guests fall back against the walls like a receding tide.

  Master Friis is instantly at my side, asking me to dance. I brush him aside and cross to the entrance hall, following the floating hem of Sephia’s gown. At that moment the great wooden doors are thrown open to the cobbled courtyard. A tall young man sweeps into the hall, followed by another boy. The young man whips off his maroon riding cloak and tosses it to a waiting footman. “We’re here at last,” he calls out in a clear tenor voice.

  Hans and Elise Stryker hurry forward. The young man engulfs Elise in an embrace, lifting her off the parquet floor and spinning her about. “Mother! How well you look.”

  “Put me down, Matthias,” scolds the older woman fondly.

  Her son lowers her to her feet and kisses both her cheeks before turning to hug his father. “Mother, I’d like you to meet my friend, Jan. You’ve heard Father speak of him.”

  Mathias draws the other young man forward. He’s short and rather plump, and wears wire-rimmed spectacles balanced precariously on his wide nose.

  In observing this welcome I’ve lost sight of Sephia. I turn to see her shepherding Clara and Gerda into the front hall. I swear silently and move toward them, but Sephia’s too quick for me.

  “Look, Clara, your brother and his friend have finally arrived.” Sephia’s words ring out above the din of other voices. She pushes the two girls forward. Clara skips into her brother’s waiting arms while Gerda hangs back, staring at Jan.

  “It’s not Kai,” she says, her lips quivering. She uses the back of one hand to dash away the tears welling in her eyes.

  Clara turns and glances from Jan to Gerda. “Oh, I am sorry, Gerda.” She bustles forward to clasp the younger girl’s trembling hands. “But we can keep looking, you know. And we’ll ask Matthias and Jan to help. You will assist us, won’t you?” Clara gives the two young men a meaningful look.

  “Of course,” says Matthias. Jan jus
t smiles and nods his head.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Gerda yanks her hands free. “Thank you, Clara, for everything, but I can’t stay. Not now.”

  “Don’t be foolish, child,” says Elise Stryker. “We can’t allow you to wander off alone again. Remain with us until you feel strong enough to travel home.”

  Gerda shakes her head, loosening one of her golden braids. It snaps against her bare shoulder like a whip. She dashes up the staircase, weeping.

  “I’ll go and see if she’s all right, if you wish.” Sephia smiles sweetly at the bemused Strykers, who are staring at Sephia and me as if wracking their brains to remember how we’re acquainted with them. “I know Gerda. Perhaps I can calm her.”

  Hans Stryker nods brusquely as Clara retreats into her mother’s arms.

  “I’ll go with you.” I stride to Sephia’s side. “I’ve some experience dealing with distraught young girls.”

  With our backs to the others, only I catch the flash of concern in Sephia’s emerald eyes. I meet her intent gaze with my cold stare. “I hope you don’t think that presumptuous of me, Madame ... ?”

  Sephia lifts her auburn head and stares down her nose at me. “Come then, Lady LaNévé,” she says, stressing the name. “Let us see if we can assist Miss Gerda.”

  We pace each other up the stairs. Marching side by side past the row of portraits, we reach the end of the corridor as sounds of weeping seep around the corner.

  I stride ahead of Sephia to the half-open door. “Miss Gerda,” I call, modulating my voice into something resembling concern. “Can we offer any assistance?”

  “Go away, please.” Gerda’s voice is choked with tears.

  I lay my hand on the knob just as the door is slammed in my face. The lock clicks but I still rattle the handle.