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IN THE MORNING, WE eat a hasty breakfast of bread smeared with honey. As Erik saddles the horses, I stuff the blankets back into the saddlebags and refill our flasks with spring water.
I examine Erik’s red-rimmed eyes. “Did you get any sleep?”
“No. Perhaps I dozed off once or twice. It’s no problem—I’m trained to stay alert even when drowsy. That’s a necessity in the army, when the enemy’s all around.” He elbows the dappled gray in the ribs, causing the gelding to exhale a gust of air. “We should move as quickly as possible,” he adds, tightening the girth to his saddle. “I don’t want to enter Rask’s fortress after nightfall.”
“Me either.” I roll up my skirt, tying it in an untidy knot at my waist. One foot in the stirrup and a hand at the pommel, I swing my body up into the saddle before Erik comes to my aid.
His eyes narrow as he studies my face. “I would have helped.”
“Did not need it,” I reply, adjusting my grip on the reins. I tend to hold them too tight, or so Erik claimed yesterday.
I flush as I recall what else he said when he first observed my riding skills. “Reins are for guiding the horse, not hanging on. Hold them together in one hand and lay them against the horse’s neck to direct it right or left. Don’t yank the bit back and forth like a saw.”
“See?” I lift my arm, displaying both reins held loosely in my right hand. “I’m a quick study.”
“I will give you that.” He swings up onto his own horse. “And quite tenacious.”
“That can be good.” I kick my mare and follow Erik as he guides his gelding toward the road.
“I never said it wasn’t.” He urges his horse into a trot.
At this pace, there’s no opportunity for further conversation until almost noon, when we reach a narrow track leading off the main road.
Erik pulls up his horse. “This is where we must start the climb to Rask’s fortress. We can’t make good time now—which is the reason I was hurrying us along earlier.”
I rise up in my stirrups and rub the small of my back. “I won’t complain about slowing down.”
Erik grins. “Backside a little sore, is it?”
I huff. “That’s not a proper question to pose to a lady.”
He glances around. “Are there ladies present?”
“I can’t throw anything at you right now, but just wait.”
He kicks the gelding into a walk and directs it onto the path. “There you go, proving my point.”
Although the path’s barely wide enough to ride abreast, I urge my horse forward, until I’m close enough to bump thighs. “So, I know you’re skeptical about lasting love, but do you have a sweetheart, Erik Stahl?”
“Not at the moment.”
“I am not surprised.” I slow my mare and fall in behind the gray gelding.
Erik quickly silences his laughter, which rings too brightly through the thick forest flanking the path.
We ride on, the chirp of birds and rustle of unseen small creatures the only sounds breaking the silence. Hardwood trees give way to pines with branches drooping over the narrow track, their green needles darkening to black as I peer deeper into the forest. I rub my right arm with my left hand, smoothing down the raised hairs.
Erik stops short in front of me. “We must ditch the horses. The path grows rocky and I don’t want to risk broken legs. They can wait here for our return.” He dismounts, pulling his reins over the gelding’s lowered head. “Drop your reins on the ground. They appear to be trained to stay, as if tied to a post.”
“Useful.” As I swing my body out of the saddle, Erik moves beside my horse and helps lift me to the ground.
He keeps his hands on the small of my back for a moment, so I stand in the circle of his arms. “I’m afraid you must climb the final portion of the path alone. We can’t allow Rask to sense my presence. I hope he will be so focused on you he’ll not notice me sneaking through the forest.”
I look up into his face. His jaw is clenched. “I will do my best.”
“I know.” Erik releases me and steps back. His gaze remains fixed on my face. “Think about Gerda and Anders, and how we can get them out of there. Focus on the task and don’t allow Rask to get inside your head.”
I’m not sure this is possible, but don’t want to admit my fears to Erik. Our relationship has changed, and I’m reluctant to do anything that might make him think less of me.
My fingers clutch the skirt fabric I retie about my waist.
Friends. You are friends, Varna. Nothing more.
Still, “friends” is good. I’ve never had a male friend before. I like it.
The track ahead of me is steep and riddled with rocks. “Keep following this path?”
“Yes. Kai noticed it before, although we approached the fortress through the woods.”
“Which is what you plan to do now.”
“Yes.” Erik’s pistol weighs down one of his coat pockets.
“I see you have your gun. Do you also have the vial Sephia gave you?”
He pats his other pocket. “Right here.”
“And you recall its effect only lasts for an hour or so?”
“Yes, Mistress Lund, I do.” He grins. “I may not be as smart as Kai, but I can remember basic instructions.”
I fight back an answering smile. “I don’t want you to get caught.”
He leans in to kiss me on the forehead. “Stay safe.”
Before I can reply, he turns and walks into the shadowy trees.
I take a deep breath. It’s time for me to take the path that leads to Gerda and Anders.
And Sten Rask. I hitch up my bundled skirts and step forward.
***
THE PATH GROWS STEADILY rougher, forcing me to bend forward and grab rock outcroppings to aid in my climb. By the time I reach a plateau where the narrow track widens into something resembling a road, my fingers are cross-hatched with scratches and my hair has tumbled out of its hastily fastened bun.
I stand on a dirt road, rutted from the wheels of some carriage. How a carriage traversed the path to reach this point eludes me, until I recall Gerda’s tales of flying horses and reindeer. Rask probably employs the same enchantment.
I straighten and push my lank hair behind my ears. On either side of the road, majestic oaks rise like wooden sentinels. Or perhaps they are giants—their bodies buried beneath a shell of wood. Anything is possible, with so much magic at work.
I draw my gray cloak tighter about my shoulders. Strange, despite its lightness, it blocked the heat of the sun when I was on the main road, yet also warms me in this dank forest.
Silly, it is magic. Like the power crackling through these woods. You feel it, swirling around you, like a swarm of bees.
It does not matter. Whatever happens, I must persevere. I straighten my back and walk, focusing my thoughts on Gerda.
When I round a corner, I see the house. It’s just as Erik and Kai described—a great, stone pile that rises from the forest as if it’s grown from the earth.
And who says it was constructed by human hands? I shiver, lapping the edges of my cloak one over the other.
A tall stone wall surrounds the main building—an impenetrable expanse punctured at the front by a set of massive iron gates. On the other sides, scraggly pines cluster close to the walls like vagrants seeking shelter. The road ends at the gates, in a circle only wide enough to turn one carriage.
I move closer and stand before the gates, peering into an empty, packed-dirt courtyard.
The manor house is a three-story central building, with one-story wings stretching forward from each side. No embellishments decorate the façade of the main structure—its windows are small and blank as the eyes of beetles.
There are bars on the windows on the third floor.
I curl my fingers around a section of iron filigree—a strangely fanciful design of entwined vines and flowers, with the silhouette of a peacock emblazoned in the center of each gate.
Pressing my forehead against the cold metal, I send a mental message to Sten Rask. I am here. As you wished. Will you let me in?
Nothing happens. I open my eyes as a rustle disturbs the woods to my right.
Erik creeps from the trees, hugging the wall as he makes his way to me.
“You haven’t taken the potion?” I whisper when he’s close enough to hear me.
“I’m saving it. Might need it later.” Erik presses his back against the wall. “No sign of Rask?”
“No. What do you mean, saving it? Thought you planned to sneak in behind me, if Rask ever opens these gates.”
Erik flashes a devilish grin. “I didn’t spend hours wandering the city, escaping chores, without picking up a few skills. I can get in without magic, and no one will notice, trust me. We’ll save the potion for a more difficult maneuver.”
“What? You can climb these walls?”
“No, but I can climb trees, and there are plenty overhanging the courtyard. You stay here and catch Rask’s notice, and I’ll shimmy up a pine and be inside the walls before you.”
I frown. “What if Rask’s minions catch you? He must have servants or something.”
“Do you see any? No, me either. I think he conjures them when he needs them. Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.” Erik raises his hand in a mock salute. “Now, go forth with honor, and spare no thought for me. Sorry, old company saying. First time it’s really felt appropriate.”
“Be careful,” I say, as he slides away from me. He disappears into the trees with only a slight rustle of the undergrowth.
I step away from the gate and stare at the upper level of the facade. Somewhere, behind those barred windows, Gerda and Anders await rescue.
As I scan the windows for any flash of movement, the iron gates before me creak. I take two steps back. The long metal bars latching the gates slide and clang against the frame. The gates swing inward, sweeping dust and piles of dried pine needles into the courtyard.
I spin around at the sound of hooves. Barreling down the road, an ebony coach pulled by two black horses approaches the open gates. No one sits in the high seat—the horses appear to be driving themselves.
I scramble to the edge of the circle. The coach, its dark shades drawn, slows as it enters the circle. It makes one complete turn before stopping close to me.
One shade rolls up. Leaning out the open window, Sten Rask meets my open-mouthed stare with a smile.
“Welcome, Varna.” He unlatches the coach door and steps out.
Despite my fear, I marvel at the beauty of his appearance. The collar of his black greatcoat is turned up to frame his elegant jawline. Dark hair spills over his broad forehead, hiding his fine brows, and fawn-colored trousers are tucked into his gleaming black leather boots. A white cravat froths over the neckline of his coat.
He’s tucked the scepter under his left arm. It could be mistaken for a walking stick, and probably is, by most observers. I spy the fire flickering in its crystal finial and narrow my eyes.
All those people at the Opera House, dead or damaged, because Sten Rask wanted to capture Gerda. To use her to track down the mirror.
And to draw you here, Varna.
All that suffering, to satisfy one man’s whims. My fingernails dig into the palms of my clenched fists.
Rask sweeps one hand through the air and the black horses jangle their harnesses before pulling the coach through the open gates and into the courtyard.
Pulling off a leather glove, he holds out one hand. “Come, my dear. It is time you visited one of my real homes. It’s rather more elegant than Madame Margaret’s cottage.”
“I love the cottage.” So stupid, so pathetic, but it’s all I can think to say.
“I know. But it’s time to expand your horizons, Varna Lund.”
Rask crooks his fingers, and I walk forward, as if pulled by some invisible thread.
When I reach him, he takes hold of my right hand and tucks it inside the bend of his elbow. He leads me through the gates, which close behind us with a clang that vibrates the still air.
The horses stand quietly beside one of the low wings of the house, where an arched colonnade separates the barren courtyard from the stables. Rask snaps his fingers and the silver buckles of the harness spring open. The horses step free of the wooden shafts and leather straps and make their way into two stalls whose open half-doors slam shut behind them.
“You don’t have servants?”
Sten Rask tightens his grip without slowing our march to his front doors. “Magic is my servant.”
I gaze up at the blank, cold, face of his home. “So you live here alone?”
“For now. Although, as you know, I am entertaining a few guests at the moment.”
“Yes, that.” I plant my feet, the toes of my boots pressed into the final riser as the wooden doors open before us. I see nothing inside except a stretch of stone flooring and shadows. “I will enter on one condition. You must release Gerda and Anders immediately.”
Rask’s laugh rips through the quiet like the roar of some great beast. “Oh, Varna,” he says at last, yanking me through the doors and into the front hall, “what fun we shall have, you and I, once I transform you into everything you should be.”
