With the hungry look of a barnyard cat.
Rask places a hand on my shoulder. “Her parents were my friends. They died. I agreed to take in Varna and provide for her.”
“Friends? I did not think you had any friends, Sten.”
“It seems you don’t know me quite as well as you think, my lady.”
Lady Dulcia lifts her elegant brows. “Apparently not. For instance, I heard the strangest story last night. Someone reported a rumor that you do not plan to honor your agreement concerning a certain looking glass. Of course, I told the speaker such a thing was impossible. Sten Rask is not a stupid man. He would never try to keep such a valuable item for himself. Not when he knows how much the emperor desires it.” She slaps the fan against her palm. “Not when he knows I have promised to deliver it, and how I never renege on my promises.”
Rask shrugs. “Because you never make any, my lady. You suggest everything, yet promise nothing.”
“I promise this”—she lowers her voice until only Rask and I can hear her—“give up the mirror or I will destroy you.”
Rask’s grip on my shoulder tightens. “I have no idea what you are talking about. You must have misheard something. Perhaps the punch went to your head?”
Lady Dulcia’s dark eyes flash and she looks, for one moment, like the terrifying sorceress I glimpsed last night. “And you”—she points the fan at me—“do not think because he has taken you into his bed he will remain true to you. He will use you and discard you like that napkin he tossed earlier.”
Only Rask’s pressure on my shoulder prevents me from leaping to my feet. “How dare you suggest ...” I take a deep breath. “For your information, Lady Dulcia— although it is not your affair—Sten and I are not lovers.”
“Really? How extraordinary.” She looks Rask up and down.
Not a cat, but a bird of prey. A raptor, half-starved, sighting its next meal.
Rask grabs my arm and pulls me to my feet. “I’m sorry to break off this delightful chat, but we are leaving this morning, and must pack. Come, Varna.” There is no bow offered. He simply nods at Lady Dulcia and drags me from the room.
Taking the stairs two at a time, he forces me to run to keep up with him. Outside our rooms he makes a fist and slams it against the wall. “Forgive me,” he says, when I stare at him in surprise. “I did not plan for the two of you to meet.”
“She looks at you like she would like to kill you—or kiss you. I can’t tell which.”
“Both, I think.” Rask brushes down his suede waistcoat. “Now, please pack. We must leave.”
“I thought we were staying for a few days.”
“Circumstances have changed. Go— I will call for a footman to pick up your trunk.” He turns on his heel and disappears into his room.
As I pack, I recall Lady Dulcia’s face when I said Rask and I were not lovers. Her expression was so strange. It wasn’t amusement or disdain. It was something I never expected.
Fear.
WE ARRIVE AT THE ROAD to the castle by late afternoon. Rask either sleeps, or feigns it, during most of the ride. It is clear he does not wish to talk to me or answer my questions.
I spend my time staring out the coach window, striving to recall the faces of family and friends, and growing terrified when I cannot. Gripping the window frame I force my mind to reconstruct images—Thyra’s pale curls and Kai’s dark hair, Sephia’s green eyes, Erik’s strong jaw—but although I can remember descriptions, I can’t see anything. It’s as if they exist in some tale told to me long ago. Even Gerda. I can’t remember Gerda’s face.
I swallow a shriek and Rask stirs beside me.
“What is it?” He sits up, tugging down the sleeves of his coat.
“I can’t see them anymore. My family. My friends. I try to recall their faces and I cannot.”
“No, you may not be able to.” Rask turns to me, his expression solemn. “I should have told you before, but I did not wish to frighten you. Also, I wasn’t sure it would work the same way for everyone.” He takes hold of my hand. “The transformation—it’s rather like rebirth. You enter a new life, and everything in the past fades. Oh, you remember, but it means nothing. As time goes on, it all seems like a something that happened to someone else.”
“I don’t want to forget.”
Rask pulls my hand upon his knee and caresses my fingers. The action sends a wave of calm throughout my body.
Magic, Varna, magic.
“You have not lost your ability to feel, if that’s what worries you. It’s just that you have a new life now.”
I look up at him from under my dark lashes. “And this new life, does it include the possibility of love? Or is that something else I must relinquish?”
Rask drops my hand back onto the seat. “There is always that possibility.”
I will not let this go. If I’ve lost my friends and family, I must know there’s hope for some type of human companionship in my future.
“The Lady Dulcia seems surprised I’m not already your mistress. If I think about it, I suppose I am too.”
Rask is seized by a sudden fit of coughing. “Oh God,” he says at last, “what am I to do with you, Varna?”
I straighten my back and stare at him. “Yes, what is your plan?”
He tips his head, gazing up at the ceiling of the coach. “You are very young. Yes, I know girls younger than you are married off in your village. I’m not talking about chronological age. I mean you are very young in the understanding of your new powers.”
“And that matters?”
“It does.” When he turns his gaze on me, I’m shocked by the pain haunting his eyes. “I was so young when the Lady Dulcia took me in—and lured me into her bed. Too young, in all ways. My lack of control over my own magic was the worst thing. I could not separate myself from her power, from her being. It’s what still ties me to her, still torments me.” He sighs and strokes the side of my face before pressing two fingers over my lips. “It is why I will not touch you, Varna, not in that way, not now. I won’t do to you what she did to me. I do not want someone tied to me by shackles they cannot break. I want a partner, not a servant.” He lifts his fingers. “I will wait until you are in full control of your powers.”
I realize I am holding my breath and release it. “How will you know?”
“I won’t.” He leans in and brushes my lips with his. “Not until you tell me.”
The coach shudders to a halt.
“Who is that?” Rask throws open the coach door and leaps out, striding to the wide stairs that lead to the front doors of the castle.
Sephia stands on the steps.
I climb out, but stay huddled by the coach.
Rask places one booted foot on the bottom step and glares up at her. “You have no business here, Lady of the Roses.”
“I do. You have taken one of my friends captive. I am here to free her.”
“I took nothing.” Rask holds out his hand to me. “Come, Varna, and explain to this woman what really happened. How you called to me. How you came to me of your own accord.”
I don’t want to move closer, but the pull of Rask’s will is too strong. Walking with carefully measured steps, I cross to him and take his hand.
Sephia examines me, her face darkening. “I see you could not resist changing her. Why choose this girl, Sten Rask, if you had to alter her appearance to suit your tastes?”
“It was what Varna wanted, not me.” Rask pulls me to his side. “She has always desired beauty and power. To please her, I have given her both.”
“I see.” Sephia takes a step down.
“After all, why not choose my offer, when you refused to give her anything?”
I dig the fingers of my free hand into the folds of my velvet cloak. I know Rask is trying to make Sephia believe I acted out of anger because she wouldn’t take me as her apprentice. “I never said anything about you, or about the garden, or ... about anything.”
Sephia does not look at me. Her ga
ze is fixed on Rask’s sardonic face. “I know, Varna. I won’t be swayed by this man’s lies.”
“Neither will I be convinced by yours.” Rask releases me with a little shove to the side. “I know why you are here, my lady. And it has nothing to do with Varna.”
Sephia takes another step down. “Of course it does.”
“No. You seek the mirror. To destroy it, I assume? Or to keep it for yourself? Do you hold hope it might resurrect your lost love? Yes, I know the story of your liaison with Mael Voss.”
I take two steps back, stumbling over the cobblestones in the courtyard, and stare at Sephia, my mouth agape. What had she said, that day in the garden? Someday I must tell you the story of a young enchantress and the boy she loved far too much.
Sephia’s face appears sculpted from ice. “I would never attempt such a thing. Obviously, you know nothing about me, Sten Rask. I do know much about you. I know how you vowed to deliver the mirror to your mistress, so she could in turn hand it over to her lover, who seeks to conquer these lands. It’s a rather sordid scenario, all in all.”
Rask covers the steps separating them in two leaps and faces off with Sephia. He is taller than she, but somehow I don’t feel that gives him the advantage.
“I have broken with them. The mirror is mine.”
I realize Rask does not have his scepter. He left it behind on this trip, claiming it was unnecessary. Sliding sideways, I reach the edge of the steps and climb to the landing flanking the front doors, while Rask and Sephia face off on the lower steps.
“No one may own the mirror.” Sephia swings her arm in a wide arc.
A mist rises around the two figures. The swirl of vapor twists until it looks like a rope. Wrapping Rask’s hands and feet, it topples him and sends him rolling down the stairs.
He roars and jumps to his feet, thrusting out one arm, forefinger pointed at Sephia. A flash of light crackles through the air and Sephia crumples.
In a moment, she is on her feet again, conjuring a wind that sweeps Rask across the courtyard.
He holds up his hands and a wall of fire springs up, surrounding him.
They will destroy one another. I cannot allow that.
I push one door open and dash inside the castle, my mind focused on the scepter. If I can find it, can wield it, perhaps I can stop this battle. I can make Sephia and Rask stand down before they kill each another.
I run to the drawing room fireplace and there it is, just as I remembered, sitting beside a wrought iron poker.
I grab the scepter and turn to run back outside, but ... The mirror.
You could smash it, Varna. End it now. Rask is consumed by his fight with Sephia. He cannot stop you.
Smash the mirror, Varna.
I stand before it, breathing heavily. My reflection stares back.
I am beautiful and powerful. No longer a creature who must accept scraps and make do with whatever life hands her. Not a girl who feels inferior, but a woman who can have anything, be anything, she desires.
I turn from the mirror and run back to the front hall, the scepter clutched to my breast. When I reach the front door, I trip over a vine snaking its way across the threshold. The courtyard is a tangle of brambles and vines which spring from the cobblestones as if they require no roots.
As fast as they appear, the plants burst into flames and shrivel to husks.
Sephia stands to one side, her hands moving as if working a loom, weaving foliage from thin air. In the middle of the courtyard, Rask wheels about, his fingers flinging fire at every new sprig of green.
Vines climb the courtyard walls, dislodging stones. Brambles spring up, forming a cage. Rask is able to leap away from such traps, or set them alight, but it’s clear Sephia currently has the advantage. His rage causes him to make mistakes, while she remains perfectly calm.
“Cease this foolish battle, you cannot defeat the power of the earth with fire,” Sephia calls out.
Rask sends a blast of flame in her direction. It sweeps through a barrier of briars, but cannot reach the enchantress, who throws up a wall of mist that diffuses the fire.
Exhaustion marks both their faces. Soon, one will make a fatal error.
Holding up the scepter, I raise my voice. “Stop, both of you!”
Rask spins around. His face blanches to the color of parchment. “Varna, please put that down.”
“I will use it if I must.”
“You cannot yet wield such a thing. It will kill you.” Rask moves closer, kicking aside burnt brambles.
“Then I will break it in half.” I wave the scepter over the iron railing flanking the stairs. “Smash it to pieces.”
As Sephia walks toward me, all the vines she’s conjured wither and crumble to the ground. “Varna, I do not know what magic the scepter may contain. I only know it is an object of great power. Lay it down and step away.”
“Not until you promise to cease this fight.” I swing the scepter back and forth.
Rask runs up the stairs. “You have stopped it. Now, give that to me.” He holds out his hand.
I press the scepter to my breast. “No. First swear Sephia will be able to walk away. Unharmed.”
He looms over me, his dark eyes burning like the flames he conjures. “Do you wish for death? Because you are holding it to your heart.”
“Swear.”
“I swear,” he says, between clenched teeth.
I glance at Sephia. “You must go. Without the mirror, and without me. Go back to Gerda and everyone else. Tell them I’m fine. Tell them I’ll make sure there are no more tragedies like those villages. Tell them goodbye.”
Rask takes hold of my waist with one hand. “Give me the scepter, my dear.” His voice has regained its seductive tone. I loosen my grip, allowing the scepter to slide into his other hand. As his fingers tighten about it he closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath.
Sephia crosses to the base of the steps and gazes up at me.
“Come with me, Varna. You do not belong here. You’ve been bewitched by this man, enchanted by an unnecessary transformation. Come home to those who truly love you.”
Rask tucks the scepter under one arm. “Varna is where she is meant to be. She has asked me to allow you to go in peace. So—go.”
Sephia doesn’t move. “You think he will love you, but he will not. He may desire you, respect you, and even adore you. Yet he will never truly love you. Because love demands sacrifice, and he will never make such a choice. Not even for you.”
I lay my head against Rask’s chest.
He takes me into his arms. “Leave us,” he commands Sephia, then draws me close and kisses me, driving all other thoughts from my mind.
When he pulls away, he puts his arm about me and guides me back into the castle. I cast a final glance over my shoulder. The courtyard is empty. We walk inside and the doors swing closed behind us with a clang of wood against metal.
I can’t remember the past as anything other than a rather dull story, but it does not matter. I have a new life now.
“Teach me,” I tell Sten Rask as we stroll toward the drawing room, “everything you know about magic.”
He tightens his arm about me. “I will teach you, Varna Lund, everything about everything.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Dividing Line
ONE DAY A MONTH OR so later, a steady rain prevents me from taking my usual stroll outdoors. I explore the castle instead, wandering through its numerous corridors and empty rooms. Sten has not wasted time or resources decorating spaces we don’t use, although he spares no expense otherwise.
There’s one door I cannot open. It leads to a tower that overlooks the sea. I always hoped to climb those stairs and take in the view, but the door remains locked.
Sten is away, dealing with business he will not discuss. Even when he’s gone I practice the magic he’s already taught me, although I admit I don’t spend the time on it I should. Despite the exhilaration of power, the actual working of sorcery is exhausting. I can see
why Sephia and Sten avoid using it when it is not required.
I wander into the drawing room to stare into the mirror, something I do far too frequently. Sten has warned me not to touch the glass. Which, naturally, tempts me to do so.
It is such an ordinary looking thing, with its frame of plain dark wood, wide as the span of a man’s hand. Except for its size, it could be a mirror in any village home.
I move closer and slide my fingers down the frame. One touch of the glass could not hurt. I have learned so much recently about harnessing my new powers, surely I can manage this.
Allowing my fingers to drift to the glass, I steel myself for a violent reaction.
Nothing happens. The mirror, cool and slick as ice, simply reflects my face and figure. I pause for a second to admire my transformation.
If only those boys from the village could see me now. No, Varna, that is all in the past.
I press my palm against the glass.
The mirror shimmers and clouds over and my hand grows warm. I pull it from the glass and step back. The surface of the mirror swirls like a whirlpool. Colors spin, coalescing into images.
It is the village, after the fire.
The scent of burnt timber and flesh permeates the drawing room. I fall back against a chair, clutching at the brocade upholstery with flailing fingers.
In the mirror are the faces of those caught in the fire, some blistered with burns and others covered in ash. All are terrified and in pain. There are also images of the dead—their bodies mangled and broken, or burnt beyond recognition. In an instant, all the horror of that day floods back.
Sinking into the chair, I stare at the mirror until the glass clears. Until it no longer reminds, only reflects.
My face gazes back at me, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. I had forgotten. How could I forget?
Sten Rask caused those fires. He cast flames from the scepter and set two villages ablaze. He destroyed homes and livelihoods, killed countless people, and injured many more.
The man I allow to kiss me. The man I contemplate allowing much more, and soon. He did these terrible things. How can I love a man like that?
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