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THE BIRD DESCENDS. Through the bars of its talons, I spy the tops of trees swaying like a dark and restless sea.
The true sea is soon below us. Salt spices the air, interlaced with the pungent scent of seaweed and beached ocean creatures. I lean forward and catch a glimpse of sand, pale as an ivory ribbon, bordering charcoal-gray cliffs.
The great wings lift and close. We glide toward a fortress set high on one of the cliffs. The castle. It glimmers in the moonlight, as if its gray stones are studded with diamonds. Not diamonds, quartz.
I can’t remember where I acquired such knowledge. Honestly, I can’t remember much of anything. I recall standing before a tumbled-down cottage, and a huge bird descending and grabbing me, then flying and flying. Before that, what was there? A wolf, a reindeer with liquid brown eyes, faces of young people gathered around me, a rough hand gently combing my hair ...
No, I must not forget. Do not let me forget, I cry, and instantly it all comes flooding back—my sister and Anders, Erik, and Thyra and Kai, Sephia, and our quest.
My friends. My family.
I will not lose my memories. No matter how much pain it causes me, I do not wish to forget.
The bird glides to the terrace of the fortress—a wide expanse of flagstone, bordered on one side by glass doors leading into the castle, and on the other by a crumbling, curving balustrade overlooking the sea. The creature lifts the clawed foot that imprisons me and doesn’t set it down again until we safely land.
The talons open and I tumble out. Stones lie cold and slick under my hands. I push my body to a sitting position. I long to rise to my feet, but I know I cannot. The rough surface of the terrace, with its chipped stones and film of dew, is too treacherous.
Wings flap over my head, blowing my hair across my face as the bird flies away. I watch it sail into the sunrise.
The doors to the castle open and Sten Rask strides out, his leather boots slapping the damp stones. He reaches me, leans over, and swiftly lifts me to my feet.
“My poor Varna, so cold and mussed.” He brushes my hair away from my face. “We must get you inside and warm you.”
“I can barely walk,” I say, between chattering teeth. “I burned my foot in that fire.”
The fire he set. I recall the faces of the people I aided and slap his hands. “Your fault. It is all your fault.”
“Yes.” Rask lifts me, ignoring my protests.
Once again, I am in a man’s arms, being carried into some building. But this time I refuse to relax, or press my head against his chest.
“Do not struggle. You’ll feel much better once we get you into some dry clothes and sit you before a fire.”
We enter the castle, the glass doors swinging closed behind us. I hear the click of a lock.
“No need for that, I can’t escape. I can’t throw myself over the railing, or even walk,” I mutter as I look around me.
In contrast to its dilapidated exterior, the interior of the castle is beautiful. More of Rask’s treasures line the walls and fill all available spaces. But instead of a storehouse, this is an elegantly appointed drawing room.
Rask lowers me onto a couch covered in gold brocade. I slide away from his hands and recline on a pile of velvet pillows. As Rask steps back, I see it, off to one side, leaning against one damask-papered wall.
The mirror.
Rask follows my gaze. “Ah yes, a plain thing, is it not? Just glass in a simple wooden frame. Yet it is worth more than everything else in this room.” He turns back, studying me. “Well, almost everything.”
I squirm under his scrutiny, acutely aware of my disheveled clothes and hair.
“Now, let’s see to that foot.” He kneels beside the couch and slides off my slipper. “You received this in the village fire?”
“Yes, my boot came off, and I couldn’t stop to retrieve it. I was trying to save lives, you see.” I meet his concerned gaze with a glare.
“Hmmm ... Well, I think we can take care of this easily enough.” He closes his fingers about my foot, sending a shaft of pain shooting up my leg. “Sit still, my dear. This may hurt a little.”
“You think?” I grit my teeth, press my back into the pillows, and grip the carved wooden arm of the couch.
I catch Rask’s smile as he bends his head over my foot. He strokes the sole with two fingers.
It does hurt, at first. Then the skin tingles and relief spreads. The heat in the burn evaporates under Rask’s touch, which is cool as a gentle fall of snow.
“There.” Rask lays my foot back on the couch and rises to his feet. “It should be fine now.”
I wiggle my toes. There’s no tug of blistered skin. Sitting up, I pull the foot into my lap and stare at its unblemished sole. “How did you do that? Can you teach me how to do that?”
“Yes, that and many other things. I told you I could give you power. This would be part of it.”
I recall the people I attempted to help in the burnt-out village. It might be worth accepting his offer, if I could learn to heal such terrible injuries.
I look up at Rask. “Why?”
He settles into a wing-backed upholstered chair. “Why what?”
“Why me?”
“I have already told you why.” Rask snaps his fingers and flames to leap up in the marble framed fireplace.
I sink back into the cushions, stretching out my legs on the couch. The warmth from the fire soothes me. Without the constant throbbing of my foot, I could easily fall asleep.
No, I want something to eat first. I count back and realize I’ve not had a decent meal in days.
“I’m hungry. Do you have any food?”
Sten Rask looks me over for a moment before he rises to his feet, the flickering flames reflected in his polished black boots. He brushes a bit of lint from his pale gray breeches. “I will bring you something. Wait here.”
He leaves the room. I turn and stare at the mirror. I could smash it now, while he is gone. Of course, he would probably kill me, but isn’t that what I expected when I agreed to come here?
I stand and cross the room, reveling in my ability to move easily again. When I reach the mirror, Rask reappears, carrying a silver tray.
“Come. You can eat in your room.”
I take a deep breath and back away from the mirror. “My room? I have a room?”
“Yes, everything has been arranged. It’s just down the hall. I have laid out some clean clothes, and there’s a pitcher and basin waiting, so you can wash up.”
“Were you expecting me?” I follow him into the hallway.
Rask marches to a door standing ajar. He balances the tray on one palm and pushes the door open with his other hand. “I have been expecting you for quite some time.”
The room is lovely—a perfect retreat in shades of gold and green. A marble fireplace, decorated with carvings of flowers, blazes with a welcoming fire. Pressed against one wall is a tall, narrow table, covered in bottles and ceramic jars. It’s a workbench for creating healing potions and ointments.
Yes, everything has indeed been arranged. I sneak a look at Rask, who sets the silver tray on a small table placed before a mullioned window.
“You should eat and rest. We will talk more later.” He exits the room without looking at me and closes the door. The lock clicks into place.
So, a prison. An elegant, comfortable, prison.
I slump onto one of the gilt embossed chairs at the table. On the platter are small plates, each covered with a silver dome.
Lifting one, I’m assaulted by steam, along with the delicious scent of potatoes boiled with butter and rosemary. I poke at the food with my fork.
It could be poisoned, or drugged, but I am so hungry, I don’t care. I dig in.
Anyway, it’s unlikely Rask wants me dead. He needs me for something, probably something related to the mirror. Perhaps, if I play along, I will have a chance to smash it, sooner rather than later.
I stuff a forkful of potatoes into my mouth, eating like it’s my last meal.
***
RASK KNOCKS ON MY DOOR an hour later. The lock clicks open and he pushes the door slightly ajar before asking me to join him in the drawing room.
I wash up and change into the clothes I find draped over the tall, curtained bed—a simple shift of white linen, satin slippers, and a gold robe embroidered with rust-red chrysanthemums. I know it’s nightwear, but it covers my body as well as any gown. I twist my hair up into a bun without looking in a mirror and fasten it with silver pins I find on the dressing table.
I rehearse various speeches as I walk the short distance to the drawing room. Since I do not know what is wanted of me, I must consider all options.
Sten Rask stands by the fireplace, one hand on the marble mantle. As I enter the room, he turns and looks me up and down.
“Ah, Varna, come in. And may I say, you should always dress in exotic robes. They suit you better than those stuffy garments you usually wear.”
I cross to the center of the room. “I wear what’s practical and acceptable for a girl of my station. I certainly couldn’t wear something like this in my village.”
“I know. More’s the pity.” Rask strolls over to me. “So, are you ready to begin your transformation?”
I swallow. “That depends. What does such a process entail?”
“A little pain, but nothing you can’t bear.” He strokes my jawline with one finger. “It’s one of the many reasons I chose you. Some girls cannot endure the transformation process. Some go mad. Some die. But”— he presses his finger to my lips—“you will do neither, Varna Lund. I know you’re strong enough to withstand almost anything. You can certainly tolerate a little magic.”
“What do you intend to do—turn me into someone I cannot recognize?”
“No.” Rask pulls the pins from my hair. “You only need slight alterations. You are not far from ideal, just as you are.”
I snort. “I’m plain as a post. I’ve heard that enough times to know it must be true.”
“As I have told you before, you shouldn’t listen to the nonsense most people spew.” He takes hold of my chin and turns my head from side to side. “No, not so very far. In fact, I wouldn’t change you at all, had I not promised to do so, and if it were not necessary to advance my plans.”
I pull back, breaking his hold. “So, do it. Whatever it is. But there is one thing I want first.”
Rask’s eyebrows disappear under the fall of his dark hair. “I am gracing you with beauty and power and you want one more thing?”
“Yes. I want you to promise to never use the mirror’s power the way you did in those villages. Swear to never again use it to harm innocents.”
“It was not my choice to do so, but that is another story. Still, I think I can promise I will never use it to harm innocents. Although, in my experience, those are few and far between.”
“Swear.”
He lifts his hand. “I swear I will not use the mirror to harm innocents. Now, my dear, place yourself in my hands.”
I stare into his dark eyes, which burn with some mysterious passion. “Why?”
That’s still the question, the one thing I do not comprehend.
“Because it is what I want.” He draws me into his arms.
At first I feel nothing, except Rask’s embrace. His body, lean but strong, presses against mine. Under my ear, his heart pounds like a hammer against a forge.
Then the pain hits—just flashes at first, like needle stings in a limb held in one position too long. But it grows and spreads, until I feel my blood is on fire. I gasp and try to pull away, but Rask clasps me tighter.
His lips brush my ear. “Hush, stay strong. It will all be over soon.”
Heat, so much heat. It’s as if molten gold pours down my throat and oozes through every pore. My fingers claw at Rask’s chest, ripping off buttons and tearing through the soft fabric of his shirt. My bones crumple like paper. I bury my face in the folds of Rask’s shirt and scream and scream.
The pain subsides, rolling out like a tide. Hollow as a reed, I shudder and slide to the floor at Rask’s boots, my hands and feet twitching.
Rask bends over and sweeps me up into his arms. Striding down the hall, he kicks open the door to my room. He drops me onto the downy mattress of the bed and pulls off my slippers and robe, although I’m shaking so hard he must avoid being kicked or slapped by my flailing limbs. When I’m clad only in my linen shift, he tucks me under the sheets and pulls the coverlet up to my chin.
“Now you must sleep.” He strokes the side of my face. “Rest.”
I sink into the mattress like a drowning soul sliding to the depths of the ocean. All my limbs are limp, my hair floats like seaweed, and my heartbeat slows. Everything above me is lost in a blue-green haze.
Rask leans over me, his face as strange and inhuman as some sea creature. A merman, dragging me down to join him in the depths. His lips are close enough to kiss mine, but he does not, yet I feel he is drawing all the air from my lungs.
“Dying.” My voice is barely a whisper. “I am dying.”
Rask strokes my cheek again before he sits back. “No, my beautiful girl, you have only just begun to live.”
The blue water turns black, and I give myself up to the uncaring sea.
