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I SHIFT THE STRAP OF my bag from one shoulder to the other. Both shoulder blades are equally sore and I’m glad I decided to abandon Gerda’s bag when I retrieved my rucksack from the lean-to. Although I did pull the blue gown from her bag and stuff it into mine.
Because she will wear it again. I know she will.
Our travel back to Sephia’s cottage is uneventful, even though Christiane’s obvious pain makes each mile seem longer. Fortunately, Erik gave me the remaining bottles of Sephia’s special potion. I feed Christiane a few drops when she’s conscious. It’s the only thing that allows us to move forward without constant cries of pain.
My feet swell inside my boots, but with Christiane slumped against the horse’s neck, her face pale as milk, I decide not to complain. Instead, I remark on Freya’s gentle gait—she takes great care in placing her hooves so she doesn’t jostle her semi-conscious rider.
“She is well trained.” Thyra guides the mare around a fallen tree limb. Luki trots ahead of us, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to make sure we follow.
“I was afraid she might pull away, or break into a trot or something.”
“She will not.”
“Yes, but if she’s startled; if something spooks her ... ”
“She fears me more,” Thyra says, without looking in my direction.
“Fears you? Not loves you?”
Thyra shoves her curls behind her shoulders. “She remembers me as the Snow Queen. Despite any fondness developed since those days, she retains a shadow of fear.” Thyra quickens her pace. “We need to make it to Sephia’s by evening. I don’t want to spend another night on the road.”
“What about Luki?”
“What about him?”
“Does he fear you as well?”
As if he knows we’re discussing him, Luki turns his head and looks back, his tongue lolling from his half-open mouth. Those teeth. I still can’t get used to keeping company with a wolf, no matter how friendly.
Thyra’s smile softens her angular face. “No. Luki loves me. He never feared me, even when he should have. Even when I was wielding my power and other creatures shrank back in terror.”
I lengthen my stride to walk beside Thyra. “You gave it up. Your magic. Do you ever miss it?”
Thyra side-eyes me. “No. I relinquished it willingly, as I’m sure Gerda told you. It was a burden, not a blessing.”
“But the power.” I stare at my hands. What could I accomplish with such power? Healing beyond my dreams.
Healing, Varna? Be honest. You also want to be admired or adored. You want to wield authority over others. To know they can never laugh at you, or pity you, again.
I kick a pebble from the path into the woods. “I sometimes long for power. I don’t have any, you see.”
“Is that right?”
I turn my head to meet Thyra’s scrutiny. “No. I am not rich, or beautiful, or talented at socially acceptable pursuits. I’m just a girl from an ordinary family living in a small village, learning to make a few ointments and potions.”
“I’m not sure I would say your family is ordinary. There’s Gerda, after all. And I think”—Thyra casts me a little smile—“there is more to you than meets the eye, Varna.”
“Well, I certainly hope so. I am not much to look at.” I toss my head as I say this, to show it doesn’t matter. Even though it does. It always does.
“I think it depends on who is looking.” Thyra slaps the reins against her palm. “Do you think Kai loves me for how I look?”
“Maybe. I mean, you are beautiful, so I’m sure that comes into it.”
Thyra laughs. “No, not at all. I suspect he would prefer someone who looks like Gerda. No doubt, given a viable option, he’d choose someone who does not annoy him with intimidating stares, or constantly remind him of a world of ice and snow. Someone warmer and sweeter.” She shrugs. “He likes how I look because he loves me, not the other way around.”
Easy for a beautiful woman to say. I swallow my sharp reply and fall back a few steps.
“Finally,” Thyra says, as we step into the clearing where Sephia’s cottage sits, squat and comforting as a rocking chair.
Sephia opens her door before we even reach the stoop.
“What is this?” She hurries to Freya and helps Thyra lift Christiane from the mare’s back.
“Her leg is badly broken.” I follow them inside the cottage. “I did what I could, but I doubt it’s enough.”
Sephia carries Christiane to the bed, with Thyra shoving back the alcove curtains so the enchantress can lay the injured dancer down in one swift motion.
She examines my makeshift splint. “Not bad, given the circumstances, which must have been dire. What happened?”
As Thyra launches into an explanation, Sephia motions for me to take her place beside Christiane. “You sit with her, Varna. I’ll boil water and gather some other things we may need.” She glances up at Thyra. “Sorry, please continue.”
Thyra steps back. “It’s actually Varna’s story. She’s the one who saw Rask at the fire. She believes he sent the bird that took Gerda and Anders.”
I duck my head. “I’d rather not talk about that now. Let’s focus on Christiane.”
Sephia nods before rising and crossing to her iron cook stove. As she rattles utensils and fills the kettle, I help Thyra undress Christiane, who looks up once to ask where she is, then lapses back into a stupor.
“Do you have a nightgown?” I ask.
Sephia points to her magical cupboard. “Check there. I’m sure you will find something.”
Thyra crosses to the wardrobe and opens its painted doors. She picks up the first item her fingers land on and looks at it for a moment before tossing it to me.
It is a nightgown, white as milk and soft as rabbit fur. I slip it over Christiane’s head and tug it down over her limp body.
I shoot Thyra a sharp glance. “I could use some help.”
She stares into a mirror lining one door of the wardrobe. I catch my reflection there and look away.
“That’s what he wants, Sephia.” Thyra closes the door and turns around, leaning back against the cupboard. “The mirror. I should have destroyed it again. Smashed it to pieces.”
“No, you did the right thing, sending it to Holger.” Sephia crosses the room, carrying a basin of water and a crocheted bag filled with bandages and other supplies. “Varna, would you please get the ointment I left on the counter?”
As I rise to fetch the jar of ointment, I look from Sephia’s verdant green eyes to Thyra’s icy gray ones. “Holger? Gerda mentioned the name, but claimed she never met him. He’s some old man who lives in a cave in the mountains, right?”
“A wise old man,” Sephia says, with a gentle smile. “And a friend.”
I hand her the ointment. “You said something before, about Gerda and the mirror. Something about a tear? What was that all about?” I sit beside Sephia on the edge of the bed and take a vial of amber liquid from her outstretched hand.
“A few drops on her lips will be sufficient.” Sephia glances at Thyra. “Ah yes, the tear. I think Thyra should tell that tale.”
Thyra twists her hands in the folds of her gray gown. “I’m not sure I should say anything without Gerda’s permission.”
“I don’t believe Gerda would mind.” Sephia bends her auburn head over Christiane’s prone form, her attention seemingly focused on her patient.
“It was magic,” Thyra says, after a long stretch of silence. “Not the kind I knew. Not anything, my master, Mael Voss, could have conjured. Or Sten Rask. Or even Sephia.”
The older woman continues working on Christiane, but I catch the crescent moon curve of her smile.
“The mirror was complete except for one piece. It was a fragment Voss took with him to his icy grave.” Thyra lifts her chin and meets my inquisitive stare with a steely gaze. “I sent him to his death, knowing he might possess that piece. Hoping he did not, and knowing he might.” She grips her hands together so tightly her knuckles turn white. “He did. I thought it was over—that he’d won. One missing piece and I was doomed. When the clock struck midnight, when I turned eighteen, I would disintegrate into a wraith. A horrible, never-ending existence, without a body, or any real thought. With no hope for death to release me.” She closes her eyes. “I prepared myself for this fate, but then something happened. It was magic none of us expected.” She opens her eyes and I’m taken aback. A fire burns there, brilliant as diamonds. “It was a miracle.”
“What does Gerda have to do with it?”
“Everything.” Thyra lifts her hands. “She wept, and one of her tears fell and hit the mirror and somehow made it whole. It saved me. Perhaps it was God who intervened, or the mirror itself. I do not know. I only know why. It was because Gerda cried. She wept for the girl who treated her rudely and stole the boy she loved. She cried for someone she had every right to hate. But Gerda didn’t think like that, did not feel that way. She wept because her heart held more love than the deepest well. She cried for me.”
Sephia sits back, pulling a light woolen blanket over Christiane. “I have done all I can. She sleeps peacefully, and I think she will heal quickly, although I doubt she’ll ever dance again.”
“Like Anders.” I stroke the ballerina’s soft cheek.
“Like Anders.” Sephia rises to her feet and crosses to Thyra, who stares at the enchantress as if she’s never seen her before. She stiffens for a moment when Sephia pulls her into a close embrace. Then her shoulders sag and she presses her head against Sephia’s shoulder.
“I have waited to hear you say it, Thyra. To accept a power mightier than any you ever wielded, or knew. To admit love was the magic that saved you.” Sephia pushes Thyra back, still holding onto her arms. She brushes the tears from the former Snow Queen’s very human face. “I know love compelled you to sacrifice your chance at freedom when you called down the avalanche that killed Voss. You were willing to throw away your life to save Kai, Gerda, Bae, and Luki. So remember, it was not only Gerda’s love that saved you, Thyra Winther. It was also your own.”
I leap to my feet. “Can such magic save Gerda? She holds so much love in her heart. Will it protect her from Rask?”
Sephia releases Thyra and turns to me. “I hope so, Varna. That is my prayer. I know if anything can keep her safe, that will.”
“We must find her, and Anders, and stop Rask. He wants the mirror.”
Sephia smooths down the front of her sea green gown. “I know. And he cannot have it. In his hands it could be used for great evil. I would be better to smash it to pieces than allow him, or his mentor, to wield such power.”
Thyra’s face displays a mixture of determination and fear. It solidifies a thought chasing around my mind like a will-o-the-wisp. “The restoration of the mirror is what saved Thyra. What will happen to her if it is broken again?”
I can tell by Sephia’s expression that, for once, someone has considered an idea that has eluded her.
Thyra has considered it. She has probably wrestled with this thought for some time. I stiffen my spine and look Sephia in the eye. “What will happen to Thyra if we destroy the mirror?”
Thyra steps around Sephia and touches her arm before speaking. “No one knows. How could they? No one truly understands the magic of the mirror, do they?”
“No.” Sephia’s voice is muted and her lashes lowered, veiling her green eyes.
“You could still become a wraith?” I bite the inside of my cheek.
“No, I don’t think so. That was a spell Voss created—he drew on the mirror to do so, but I don’t believe that is part of its intrinsic powers.”
“You might die?” I turn to Sephia. “Will destroying the mirror kill Thyra?”
“As she says, no one knows.”
I look from one beautiful face to the other. “Does Kai know?”
“No, although I’m sure it will occur to him, in time. Especially if it appears we must destroy the mirror to stop Rask.” Thyra tosses her head. Her curls catch the light and seem to spark, like lightning flashing across a night sky. “It doesn’t matter. We must find Gerda and Anders, and make sure Sten Rask does not gain access to the mirror, no matter what it takes.”
Sephia grips Thyra’s hand.
“No matter what,” I echo.
If that means you must make the sacrifice, Varna, then so be it. Rather than Thyra, rather than anyone else, let it be you.
Thyra pulls her hand free and forces a smile. “Now I must go and tend to Freya and Luki. They’ve been waiting patiently for some time. I will leave you to take care of Christiane.”
After Thyra leaves, I catch Sephia’s eye. “I’ll sit with Christiane, if you wish.”
The enchantress slides two fingers down her long, slender neck. “Thank you. I think I shall try to send a message to Holger. Someone must warn him about Rask.”
“How can you do that? Isn’t he in a cave somewhere, far from any roads or trails?”
Sephia’s smile lights up the room. “I have some special messengers.” She turns and walks to the door to her garden, but pauses with her hand on the latch. “You have the makings of a great healer, Varna Lund. I just want you to know that.”
I hug myself when she leaves the room, and contemplate a future spent here, learning from Sephia. I could become more than a simple village healer. I could grow into someone who mirrors cannot define. I could become something more.
Someone who matters.
I smile and lay the back of my hand on Christiane’s brow to check for fever.
