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IT’S NOT EASY MANEUVERING Anders through the crowded streets of the city, especially with cobblestones catching his cane.
“Steady.” Gerda grabs his arm.
Anders’s face is ashen. “Can we stop for a moment?”
“Of course. Here we go, the perfect spot.” Gerda guides Anders to a small alcove, where a wall fountain spits water into a shallow basin.
As Gerda fusses over Anders, I watch people passing by. A cluster of young men, clad in wide-collared white shirts tucked into dark pants—University students I suspect, from the books they carry—pause long enough to look us over.
One of them says something about Gerda giving up the cripple for a real man.
She spins on her heel and faces them, hands on her hips. “I will have you know this man was wounded in the war. He was protecting the likes of you, who have nothing better to do than insult a true hero.”
Anders flushes pink as a sunrise. He leans over and splashes water from the fountain onto his face.
The young men simply laugh, admiration for Gerda gleaming in their eyes. They barely spare me a glance, but as they move away I hear something like “plain as a post.”
Anders, bent over the fountain basin, casts an apologetic look my way. “They’re obviously crude louts, despite their pretense of scholarship.”
I smile while something twists like a serpent in my stomach.
Yes, Anders, you are a kind and gentle young man. Yet even you look at me without seeing me at all.
Unbidden, the vision of a savagely handsome face floods my mind. Sten Rask said he saw me, the real me. No, Varna, those are the lies of a deceiver.
Yet, as I hand Anders his cane I imagine how I would treat those students if I were as gorgeous as Sephia. I picture how they would all kneel before me. They would grovel, begging for my love. I would make sure of that.
“Here we are.” Gerda’s sweet voice breaks through my bitter dream.
I stare at a poster plastered on a signboard before an elegant brick structure. It’s an advertisement for some new entertainment. I realize we have reached the Opera House.
“How do we find your friend?” I ask Anders, as I study the flight of marble stairs leading to a pair of double-height, gilt-encrusted doors. To the right and left of the doors the upper landing spreads out into a balcony. It’s the perfect spot for the wealthy and beautiful to pause and pose. “I doubt we can just march into the lobby and call for her.”
“No, as Erik said, there is a stage door. Just around the corner.” Anders lifts his cane and points toward a narrow alley. He sways slightly, and Gerda’s immediately at his side, steadying him with one hand pressed into the small of his back.
“Are you sure she will be here?”
“Oh yes.” Anders peers up at the sky. “This time of day they are between rehearsals, but cannot leave the theater.”
We walk down the alley until we reach a plain wooden door sunk into the side of the Opera House. This part of the building is constructed of plaster and lathe, rather than the brick and marble of its grand entrance.
I smile grimly. It is always the façade that matters.
Anders knocks on the door, which is opened by an older man who ushers us inside.
“Heard you enlisted. Injured, were you?” The doorkeeper examines Anders with sympathy. “It is a blessing your hands were spared. At least you can still make shoes, even with a bum leg.”
A slow smile spreads across Anders’s face as he stares at the man. “You are right.” He claps the doorkeeper on the back. “Thanks for reminding me. I hadn’t thought of that, strangely enough.”
“Eh, you young men never consider the important details.” The doorkeeper shuffles off, disappearing into the wings of the stage.
Anders points down a narrow hallway. “Dressing rooms are that way. The girls usually rest there between rehearsals.” He slumps into a chair near several hanging panels of black velvet. “Could one of you go and ask for Christiane Bech? I cannot walk into the dressing room unannounced.”
“Of course.” I examine Anders with a critical eye, noting how tightly his fingers grip his cane. He’s nervous, which is only sensible. The girl he loves is about to find out something that might change the way she feels about him.
“We will both go.” Gerda takes me by the hand and leads the way.
At the end of the hall we step into small room filled with a variety of chairs, their upholstery a jumble of fabrics and colors. “I imagine they use these in productions,” I say, as a petite girl enters through one of the room’s unmarked doors.
Her dark hair is pulled into a tight bun and she’s wearing pink tights, as well as a ragged gray sweater over a fitted black garment resembling a chemise with an attached tulle skirt. She is obviously one of the ballerinas.
A muscular young man bursts through the door behind her. He’s dressed in black tights and a white tunic belted at his slender waist. “Christiane!” The young man grabs the girl by the arm and swings her around to face him.
I am ready to intervene, until I hear her peal of laughter.
“Stop it, Nicolai.” She playfully slaps his arm. “You know I can’t walk out with you tonight. We have a performance.”
“Then after.” The young man shoves back his blond hair, pressing his palm against his forehead as if his head aches. Lines drawn by frustration mar his otherwise perfect features.
“No. After is when I have a dinner date, with a wealthy patron, not some poor dancer.” Christiane’s flirtatious smile seems designed to give the other dancer hope, despite her words. “It is so difficult these days, with all the best young men off to war. I’ve had to make friends with some older gentlemen.”
All the color drains from Gerda’s face. “Are you Christiane Bech?”
“Yes, but who are you? I don’t believe we know one another, Miss ... ?”
“I am Gerda Lund. This is my sister, Varna. We are friends of your fiancé.”
Christiane flutters the black lashes fringing her luminous dark eyes. “Whatever do you mean? I have no fiancé.” She turns to the other dancer, who backs away and places one hand on the doorknob. “Truly, Nicolai, they must be confusing me with someone else.”
“Anders Nygaard.” Gerda steps closer to Christiane. Although they are the same height, the ballerina’s slight body makes her look like a child, especially in contrast with my sister’s womanly figure. “I believe you know him.”
“Anders?” Christiane’s voice betrays her. Her blond companion swears and stomps from the room.
“Yes, he’s come to visit you.” Gerda throws out an arm to prevent Christiane from darting down the hall. “You should know, before you see him, he is much changed.”
Christiane’s rosebud lips quiver. “What do you mean?”
“She means he has suffered a serious injury to his leg. He now must walk with a cane, and will do no more dancing.” I keep my unflinching stare focused on Christiane’s heart-shaped face. “The good news is that he’s alive. It was questionable for a while.”
The young dancer blinks rapidly and sways on her turned-out feet. “No, that cannot be. Poor Anders.”
“He is brave and strong and there is nothing poor about him.” The vehemence of Gerda’s tone causes Christiane to still all her movements.
“Of course.” The dancer straightens and throws back her shoulders, as if striking a pose for the stage. “Is he here now? Can you take me to him?”
“Yes, this way.” Gerda sets off down the hall.
The dancer licks her lips and pinches her cheeks to bring up their color, then follows Gerda with her head held high. As I walk behind her, only her odd, duck-waddle gait breaks the illusion of dignity.
When she spies Anders, she runs to him with exclamations of surprise and joy. Gerda, who has just helped Anders to his feet, steps away. Christiane’s bird-like twittering over Anders soon has him blushing and kissing her hands.
“We should leave them.” Gerda’s smile, no doubt plastered on to reassure Anders, pulls her mouth higher on one side than the other.
I squeeze her shoulder. “Yes.” I fight to keep my voice cheery. “Anders, we will meet you back here in a bit. Just stay put until Erik arrives.”
I don’t know if he has heard me, or cares, but I have done my duty.
As Gerda and I shove open the stage door I hear Christiane complaining about “that Erik person.”
“God in heaven,” Gerda says, as we make our way to the street, “but that is one annoying little bundle.”
I stop and stare at her. A chuckle wells up in my throat. “Indeed.”
Gerda’s grin is worth looking like a fool as I stand in the street and laugh like a loon.
After a moment, Gerda offers me a handkerchief to wipe my eyes. “Come on, we need to waste some time before we meet up with Anders and Erik again. I know you want to locate the Strykers’ townhouse, but I would like to wait on that.” Her eyes light up. “Perhaps we can find a chocolate shop. A cup of cocoa would be heavenly right now.”
“We don’t have any money.” I sigh. It would be nice to sit and drink some cocoa, or even tea. I would love to pretend for an hour that we are not on the run, harboring fugitives and fleeing a dangerous sorcerer.
Whose kiss you can’t forget ...
I shake off this thought as we turn a corner onto street featuring several bookstores, a coffee house, and a tavern. As we peer in the shop windows, my stomach rumbles and I realize we haven’t eaten a real meal since our breakfast at Sephia’s cottage.
The scent wafting from the coffee house draws me to its open door. “I wonder if they would trade a cup for this.” I touch the simple pewter pin fastening my cloak.
“I doubt it.” Gerda pulls me away and drags me through a maze formed by the shelves of a bookstall. We navigate the narrow aisles, almost reaching a clear stretch of sidewalk, when a young man with his nose buried in a book plows into us, knocking me to the ground.
“Oh, forgive me!” He pockets his book.
I look up into a pair of familiar brown eyes just as Gerda squeals “Kai!” and throws her arms around his neck.
After a few chaste kisses, Kai apparently recalls my unfortunate tumble and sets Gerda aside. He pulls me to my feet.
“What are you two doing here?” His intelligent dark eyes search my face. “Are you in the city alone?”
“Not exactly.” Before I can say anything else, Gerda grabs Kai’s arm and shakes it.
“We can’t talk in the street. Is there somewhere else we can go?”
Kai runs his fingers through his thick dark hair, which is quite a bit longer than I remember. I suspect this is due to forgetfulness rather than the adoption of a more poetic style. “There is my room. We are not supposed to have female guests, but I know from my fellow lodgers that my landlady tends to look the other way.” A little smile twitches his lips. “Especially if one presses a few coins in her palm.”
“Let’s go then.” Gerda links her arm with his. “We have so much to tell you, right, Varna?”
“A bit, yes.” I glance across the street and stifle an exclamation. In an alcove, hidden by the shadow of the doorframe, stands a slender cloaked figure. A finger of sunlight reveals the glint of white-blond hair. “Yes, we should get inside. Lead the way, Kai.”
He nods and offers me his other arm. “My landlady will think me quite the man-about-town, bringing home not one but two young ladies.” He bends his head closer to Gerda and winks. “Especially since she has never seen me out and about with any woman before. No doubt she suspects I contemplate converting and joining the priesthood.”
“Hah!” Gerda bumps her head against his shoulder. “Little does she know.”
Kai’s expression sobers. “Well, perhaps that fate is not so far off, these days.”
I glance at the green-cloaked figure following us from across the street. “Oh, you never know.” I tighten my grip on Kai’s arm. “Love can be just around the corner, or so I am told.”
He sighs. “I’m not sure I believe in such things anymore.” Rolling his shoulders as if to cast off some burden, he bombards us with questions about Mother, the twins, and his own mother, until we reach a sliver of a building wedged between a pub and an apothecary shop.
“Home.” Kai pulls a large metal key from his jacket pocket and opens the scarred wooden door.
I stare at the steep, switchback set of stairs. “We have to climb all the way up?”
“You’ve guessed correctly.” Kai motions for us to walk in front of him. “Go on, it’s the only room on the top floor. The attic, really, but it suits my purposes. Let me go and inform my landlady of your presence. If she gets the news from someone else—and trust me, she will—I won’t ever hear the end of it.”
I wait until he disappears into the only room off the front hall before I turn back and wedge Gerda’s folded handkerchief between the door and its frame.
Gerda pauses on the second floor landing, her hand resting on the worn wooden balustrade. “What are you doing?”
“You will see, and I think, approve.” I bound up the stairs to join her. I tap her shoulder. “Trust me and keep climbing.”
