Crown of Ice

by Victoria Gilbert

“I know a Clara.” A wistful note creeps into Gerda’s voice. “She’s my friend. She helped me, gave me her own jewels to aid me on my journey. But the wanderers took them. They stole everything, and threw me in here. I’d be dead, I think, except their leader’s daughter took pity on me and begged her father to spare my life.”

  “Well, that’s one blessing.” I calculate the odds that Gerda, once freed, will simply return home. “Excuse my curiosity, but why are you traveling on your own, a young girl like you?”

  Gerda’s shadowy form straightens. “I’m looking for someone. A friend who’s disappeared. I’m trying to find him so I can convince him to come home.”

  “Him? A boy, then?”

  “A young man. He’s seventeen. Almost eighteen.”

  “Surely old enough to travel then. Why do you feel such a need to track him down?”

  “His father’s gravely ill. He was caught in a great blizzard and now lies like one dead, seeing and hearing nothing.” Gerda’s words are spoken simply, but with great firmness. “Kai was upset over this, and felt guilty, though it wasn’t his fault. Not at all. It was just some freak winter storm. No one’s fault.”

  Oh, Gerda, there is fault, but none that can ever receive your forgiveness. Or Kai’s. Because I could have saved that poor soul, if I’d been willing to risk my own life. No, these thoughts can’t touch me. Make them fade. Let them fall away.

  I press against the wall until the sharp edges of the stones bite into my back. “So, Kai. That’s your friend’s name?”

  “Yes, Kai Thorsen. He’s needed at home, you see. His family’s quite frantic with worry. My family too. We’ve been friends forever and are very close.”

  “And you? You’re upset he’s gone, obviously. Is he ... ” I lighten my tone. “Is Kai more than a friend to you? Your sweetheart, perhaps?”

  Gerda’s silent for a moment. “Not exactly,” she says at last, her voice very soft. “I mean, he wouldn’t say so.”

  “And you? What would you say?” There is no real advantage in pursuing this line of questioning, but my curiosity overwhelms my logic.

  “I hope to be, one day. I do love him. I guess I always have. But Kai’s very clever. He’s the smartest boy in our village.” Admiration shines through Gerda’s words. “So of course he wants to go to the university to study.”

  “I see.” I sit forward, lacing my fingers together in my lap. “You’ll wait for him, I suppose. And when he returns to the village after his schooling you can marry.”

  “Yes, well ... ” Gerda’s voice falters. “I’d rather marry sooner than that. I’m almost sixteen, you know, and many girls in my village marry at that age. But Kai won’t hear of it. He says he can’t think of such things until he’s finished with his studies.”

  “He sounds very wise.”

  “That’s what my family says. They like that he wants to provide for me, but ... ”

  “But?” I fight to keep any hint of irritation out of my tone.

  Gerda’s silent for a few minutes. When she speaks again, her voice trembles slightly. “Well, you’re a woman. What do you think? I can’t help but wonder, if someone loves you—really loves you—wouldn’t they want to spend as much time with you as possible? I mean, as soon as they could? I’d be willing to marry Kai even without money, even if he’s in school for years and years and we have to scrimp and make do or go hungry some days. Just so we’re together. That’s all that matters.”

  “You love him that much?” I contemplate Gerda’s shadowy form. She’s very young, of course, and ignorant of anything except her secluded corner of the world. I suppose her life holds few options other than marriage and children. I shift my position on the hard ground, concentrating on several equations to calm a strange wave of anxiety.

  “Yes. I haven’t told him all this, you understand. He knows I love him as a friend, but nothing more. I’ve never felt”—Gerda’s voice cracks—“I’ve never been sure he feels the same, so I’ve been afraid to be so bold. Although this past year I’ve tried to do more to share my feelings, to show him how much I care.”

  “As you are now, by trailing him to the ends of the world?”

  Gerda’s head drops to her chest. “I suppose so.”

  “So you end up here, imprisoned, with no one to help you. I doubt your Kai would be happy to hear that.”

  “No, he wouldn’t.”

  “I imagine”—I allow a tiny vine of magic to coil about my words—“Kai would prefer you safe at home, waiting patiently for his return.”

  “But what if he doesn’t return?” Gerda’s voice shakes. “What if he finds some other place, some other life he likes better? What then?”

  “Then you must make a different life for yourself as well,” I reply firmly. “Listen, Gerda. I may be able to get us out of here, but if I do, will you promise to go home and abandon this foolish quest?”

  Gerda claps her hands. “Oh, Clara, really? I must get away from here and if you can help, I’d be so grateful.” She sighs deeply. “But of course, I can’t promise you I’ll give up searching for Kai. I’d never promise that, even if my life depended on it.”

  “It might,” I say, and grind my teeth.

  “So be it. My life isn’t worth much if I lose Kai.”

  I hear Gerda’s sharp intake of breath as a swear word flies out of my mouth. “Honestly, your life’s still valuable, Gerda, with or without some young man.” I rise to my feet. “Love’s not worth losing your life.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” Gerda says softly as the padlock rattles against the wooden door.

  Light floods the room and I remember in that moment to alter my visage to match my first appearance in the clearing. One of the wanderers’ bulky figures fills the doorway. “You.” He points at me. “Follow me. Ravn wants to speak with you.”

  I move swiftly to the door, feeling Gerda’s eyes on me. She obviously realizes I lied before, when I claimed to be chained to the wall, but I shrug off that minor complication. If my plan works she’ll not see me again.

  “Stay strong, Clara,” Gerda calls out as I’m grabbed by the elbow and shoved out the door. “I’ll pray for you.”

  Outside the small building the wanderer locks the door behind us. “So it’s Clara now, is it?” He bares his teeth in a grimace that reminds me of a cornered wolf. “Well, well, Ravn will be interested to hear that.” He grips my arm and pulls me toward a wagon enclosed in a wooden frame. It resembles a small house on wheels.

  I climb meekly into the caravan, imagining the ice and snow I’ll conjure when I flee this place, the shard safely tucked into my saddlebags. A storm the likes of which these people have never seen. A tale of devastation to tell for many years, around innumerable campfires.

  Chapter Fifteen: The Lure of Faraway Lands

  STEPPING INTO THE CARAVAN transports me to another world. The wood interior’s painted gleaming white, a perfect backdrop for the riot of brilliant fabrics draping the walls. Lanterns hung on wrought iron brackets cast an amber glow.

  Ravn is standing at the far end of the wagon, his back to the entrance. My escort crosses swiftly to the shorter man and whispers something in his ear before brushing roughly past me and taking up a position just outside the door.

  Seated cross-legged on one of the upholstered benches lining the two longer walls is a young girl. She’s wearing a voluminous white blouse over crimson breeches. Her dark eyes shine like enamel against her olive skin.

  She runs one hand through her lustrous black hair. “What’s your name? Are you a friend of Gerda?” The girl shoots a glance at Ravn’s back. “Who is she, Papa?”

  “That’s the problem, Mirela. We don’t really know.” Ravn turns to face me. “Apparently she possesses more than one name.”

  I lift my chin and level my most imperious gaze on the dark-haired man. “I am Thyra Winther. I told you that before.”

  “So who’s this Clara our other prisoner mentioned?”

  “It’s an alias, of course
.” I shrug. “The girl’s your prisoner. I assume you’ve good reason to keep her captive. Why would I give some thief or vandal my real name?”

  Mirela leaps to her feet. “Gerda’s not a thief! She’s just a girl searching for her lover.”

  Ravn shifts from foot to foot under his daughter’s fierce gaze. “She was trespassing, like you, Thyra Winther. And as for her excuse”—Ravn casts a warning look at Mirela—“I’m not convinced by her story. She’s far too young to be tracking a missing sweetheart.”

  Mirela tosses her head. “She’s not. She’s only a little younger than me.”

  “My point,” says Ravn firmly.

  I examine the two faces before me. Mirela’s mouth is pursed in a pout, while Ravn’s lips are pressed tightly together. I suspect there’s a story behind their words. Perhaps something I can turn to my advantage.

  “I can’t imagine such a girl’s any threat to you.” I smile coolly as Ravn unsheathes his knife. “And I certainly pose no danger.” I watch Ravn toy with the weapon and consider freezing those long, tapering fingers until they blacken and fall from his hands.

  Ravn slices the air with the knife. “That remains to be seen. Now, take a seat and tell me, why do you seek a piece of a broken looking-glass?” He points the tip of the blade toward the side of the caravan.

  I stride to the padded bench and sit, keeping my eyes on Ravn and his knife. Mirela settles into the cushions next to me. “It’s part of a mirror that belongs to my master, the mage Mael Voss. Perhaps you’ve encountered him during your travels?”

  Ravn’s eyes narrow. “I’ve heard the name.”

  I lean into the embroidered pillows behind my back. “If you know of Voss, then you’re also aware of his power. While he may not be able to track you everywhere, his reach is long. Do you wish to anger him? You may find your travel restricted to lands that lie far from Voss’s realm.”

  Ravn’s smile tightens. “No man controls our movements.”

  “Voss might, if you refuse to give me the mirror fragment.”

  Mirela glances from me to her father, fingering her gold necklace. “This?” Surprise colors her voice. She frees the long chain from the folds of her linen blouse and holds it out before her breast. A small object dangles from the chain. It winks in the flickering lantern light.

  It’s the final shard, encased in an oval frame of gold.

  “Yes, that’s what I seek.” I struggle to keep my hands in my lap.

  Mirela closes her fingers over the pendant. “But this was my mother’s. And her mother’s before her. It’s been passed down in our family for generations.”

  Ravn doesn’t meet his daughter’s pleading gaze. He keeps his eyes on me. “So—you’re Mael Voss’s emissary? Why didn’t you say so when we met?”

  “I was assessing the situation.”

  “I see. Being thrown into a shed with another prisoner was part of this survey?” Ravn sheathes the knife and takes a seat on the other bench.

  I order my thoughts. It won’t do for Ravn or his daughter to suspect my real connection to Gerda. “It was. I wanted to see if your prisoner was also seeking the shard.”

  “She isn’t,” insists Mirela. “I told you—she’s looking for her lover, Kai. Papa wanted to kill her because she was grabbing one of our ponies, but I stopped him.” Mirela matches her father’s scowl. “I know stealing’s wrong, but she was just desperate. Love can drive you to do almost anything, you know.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t,” I reply as the girl turns to me, her dark eyes filled with emotion.

  “That’s enough, Mirela.” Ravn leans back and crosses his arms over his chest. “Our guest isn’t interested in your notions of love.”

  So I’m now a guest. I stretch out my legs and relax my clenched hands.

  Mirela sighs gustily. “I know what love is.” She slumps into the corner where the bench abuts a brightly painted cabinet.

  “You think you do.” Ravn smiles at me. “Please forgive my daughter. She believes love trumps wisdom.”

  “Gerda will do anything to find her Kai,” mutters Mirela. “She loves him and lovers can’t be kept apart. Just like Paavo and me.” Mirela’s dark eyes flash as she casts a glance toward her father.

  “Yes, yes, you and that foolish boy.” Ravn raises his hands in a dismissive gesture. “A discussion for another time. Now we must consider our guest’s request.”

  Mirela straightens, clutching the pendant. “You’re not going to give her my necklace, are you?”

  “I haven’t decided.” Ravn eyes me. “Voss’s power can’t be easily dismissed. If she’s telling the truth I’m afraid we must relinquish the mirror fragment.”

  “No!” Mirela leaps to her feet. “I won’t have it!” She stamps her booted foot.

  Ravn’s expression changes to something that would freeze anyone’s blood but mine. “You have nothing to say about it.” Ravn holds out his hand. “Give me the necklace, Mirela, or join your friend Gerda in the darkness.”

  Mirela chews on her lower lip. Her face is a stony mask but her hands are trembling. She inhales deeply before whipping the chain over her head and stepping forward to drop it in her father’s open palm.

  “Thank you, my daughter. Now, please leave us.” Ravn motions toward the door.

  Mirela’s boots shake the floor as she stomps out of the wagon.

  “Forgive my daughter.” Ravn’s expression softens. “She believes herself to be in love, you see. With the most unsuitable boy. Of course, it’s all nonsense, but it leads her to do foolish things.”

  “Love often does, I’m told.” I watch Ravn’s hands as he rolls the golden chain between his fingers.

  Ravn raises his eyebrows. “Don’t you know? Ah well, I suppose you may be too young for such things. As is my daughter, though she claims otherwise.”

  “I know nothing of love.” I shift on the bench, my gaze fastened on the pendant. It’s time for a new subject. “I suppose you’ve traveled your whole life?”

  “Yes, quite far and wide.” Ravn balls up the chain and pendant in his palm and makes a fist, hiding the shard from my view. “As Voss’s proxy surely you’ve traveled as well?”

  “No, not really.” I sink deeper into the cushions. My bones feel like melting ice. It’s been some time since I’ve had any real rest.

  “There’s nothing like it.” Ravn glances about the interior of the caravan. “This has been my place to sleep, never my home. My home is the road. Every place I travel becomes a part of me.”

  “Tell me,” I say, not entirely sure why I’m encouraging his reminisces. I allow my head to drop back against the down-filled pillows.

  Ravn smiles and speaks of mountains without snow and wide plains of golden grass, of cities whose spires pierce the sky and lakes whose depths have never been plumbed. Lands where great drifts of sand replace mounds of snow. Countries where men guide tall ships by the stars and women waltz about ballrooms with tiny replicas of those ships sailing through towering wigs. Ravn’s words wrap about me like a blanket of soft wool as he talks of strange creatures and even odder human habits.

  “Birds that talk?” I ask, wondering what sorcerers live in such realms.

  Ravn shakes his head, as if guessing my thoughts. “It’s not magic. They merely mimic what they hear.”

  “Have you ever seen”—I gaze at him from under my half-closed eyelids—“women attending any universities in these other lands?”

  Ravn wrinkles his brow. “Few,” he admits. “But I did see that, yes. Far from here, in warmer climes.”

  “Ah, far.” I close my eyes. “So far away.”

  Ravn speaks again but after a few moments his words lose all meaning and I drift into a dreamless sleep.

  I WAKE TO SOUNDS OF shouting and metal hitting metal. Springing from the padded bench, I glance about and realize I’m alone. The noise is coming from outside.

  As I stride to the door of the caravan, something moves against my neck. I raise my hands to my throat and
touch the links of a chain. Sliding my fingers along its length I encounter a smooth oval object and pull it away from my body. It’s the pendant containing the shard. Ravn must have slipped the necklace over my head while I was asleep. I stare at the mirror fragment for a moment, then tuck the pendant into the bodice of my gown, pleased my gamble’s paid off. Ravn’s obviously willing to trade the fragment for the freedom to travel through Voss’s realms.

  I make my way to the door and open it slowly, trying to determine the source of the commotion before I step outside. I poke my head out and a metal ladle flies past my ear.

  Pots and pans and other cooking utensils are caught up in a whirlwind that swirls about the clearing. Standing near the fire, seemingly unaffected by the gale, is a tall, slender woman. Her auburn hair gleams like flame in the firelight. I pull my head back and crouch behind the door, peering out into the darkened clearing.

  Sephia. I wonder if she’s protecting Gerda or tracking me.

  Ravn battles the gusts to reach the fire pit. The wind obliterates his words but I can imagine his rage as I watch him gesticulating wildly. Sephia reaches out and covers his hands with hers. Instantly the wind dies down and the suspended objects fall to the ground with a clatter.

  “Simply give me the girl,” says Sephia. “I have no wish to cause you any more trouble.”

  Ravn faces the enchantress without flinching. “The girl, as you call her, tried to steal one of my ponies. She’s a horse thief. I’m within my rights to kill her.”

  “But you haven’t yet.” Sephia’s clear voice is filled with amusement. “I suspect you’re not one to kill indiscriminately, Nicu Ravn.”

  “My daughter saved her.” Ravn pulls his hands from Sephia’s grasp. “She has a weakness for thwarted love.”

  Sephia’s smile is clearly visible, even from a distance. “Ah, yes. Young girls often do.”

  I take a deep breath and push open the caravan door. As I step to the ground, I relinquish my illusionary form. Ravn’s face reflects the shock most mortals display when they view my actual appearance, especially when I’m calling forth my power.