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IT IS AN HOUR BEFORE the ball is set to begin. A livered footman ushers us through the front doors of the manor house, into a two-story hall with polished floors laid out in a black-and-white chessboard pattern. A white marble staircase sweeps up to the second floor.
A maid, who looks no older than fourteen, leads us upstairs, while two additional footmen follow with our trunks. We are shown into rooms next door to one another, although I can tell by a swift glance that Rask’s is decorated in a masculine style, while my room is a feminine boudoir, complete with rosebud wallpaper and white lace curtains.
The young woman offers to help me dress, since I have no lady’s maid of my own.
“I’ve never had a maid,” I tell her, as she bustles about, pulling garments from my trunk and shaking them out.
“This is lovely.” She holds up the gown I am to wear tonight.
Made from velvet the color of a rust-red October leaf, it has puffy cap sleeves and a square neckline. Elaborate gold embroidery decorates the sleeves, bodice, and lower portion of the full skirt.
The maid lays the gown across the bed before turning to help me out of my traveling clothes. “It suits you so. Must’ve been designed with you in mind.”
It’s true—the gown’s a perfect match for my new figure as well as my lustrous brown hair and light brown eyes. Strangely, I found it hanging in the wardrobe at Rask’s castle, so if anyone had it designed for me, it must have been him.
The thought sends color rushing into my face.
“You will be quite the queen of the ball.” The maid slips the gown over my head and loops the numerous tiny buttons that fasten the back of the bodice. “We just need to do something with your hair.”
She asks me to sit at the dressing table and expertly pins up my hair with golden hairpins we find in my luggage.
“Need to leave it a little loose, a few strands here and there.” She tugs curls free to fall around my temples and down the back of my neck. “You have such lovely hair, miss. It doesn’t need any decoration. Not like all those other ladies, with their jewels and such.”
“You are quite right.” Sten Rask walks into the room and appraises me in the mirror. “She needs nothing more. We will allow those who don’t shine so brightly to wear the jewels.”
The little maid bobs a curtsey and disappears, but not before eyeing Rask up and down.
As I rise to my feet and study him in the mirror I can understand why. He’s wearing his usual impeccably tailored fawn breeches and knee-high leather boots, with dark brown cutaway coat and a white shirt with a wide, flyaway collar. His waistcoat is beige velvet, embroidered with a flame pattern in rust and gold.
“We are wearing the same colors.” I speak without thinking, then press my hands to my face to hide my blush.
“So we are. A well-matched pair,” Rask holds out his arm. “Now, come. Allow me introduce you to these thieves and vultures.”
We saunter down the stairs and into the main hall arm-in-arm, occasionally pausing for Rask to introduce me to a bevy of well-dressed ladies and gentlemen. The eyes of the young men light up when Rask mentions I am his ward.
“They think they stand a chance. The fools,” Rask whispers in my ear before he straightens and offers the men a dazzling smile.
When we reach the ballroom, Rask kisses my hand before releasing me. “Go fill your dance card, my dear. I must take care of the business I mentioned earlier.” He strides off in the direction of the main hall.
I stand next to one of the marble pillars supporting a painted dome that soars above the dance floor. Within moments, a crowd of men appears. Many of them carry glasses of punch, while some offer to escort me through the gardens.
“I am here to dance.” I hold up the gold-bordered card pressed into my hands when I entered the room.
The young men elbow one another to get close to me; to have their names penciled onto the card.
This is what it’s like to be beautiful. To be desired. The same boys who’d sneer at you, who would call you names, jostling one another for the chance to spend a few minutes with you.
I toss my head and laugh and allow them to fight for the honor of a dance.
***
AS THE EVENING DRAWS to a close, my card is full, and men still press around me at the end of each dance, begging me to strike out a signature and pencil in their name.
I simply laugh and spin off with my next partner, executing the steps with thoughtless grace while the man chatters about his wealth, title, or military achievements. I listen without hearing, knowing their words mean nothing. Sometimes one of the dancers clutches me a little too close, or slides his hand too far down my back, and I casually adjust our positioning to discourage such attentions.
I could take any one of them for my lover. All I have to do is ask.
Smiling and spinning, moving across the polished floor on slippered feet, I’m a fine lady, a princess, an enchantress.
A desirable object.
I pause, my hand still held above my head, forming an arch my partner—a short, pudgy young man who claims to be the heir to a great fortune—ducks under. “Forgive me.” I drop his hand and flee the promenade of dancers.
I head for the open French doors that lead to the balcony. Crossing the flagstone-floored balcony, I reach the marble railing and lean against it, my hands gripping the balustrade.
Voices waft up from the dark foliage of the formal garden. One in particular captures my attention. I haven’t seen him since he left me in the ballroom, but it is definitely Sten Rask. I lean over the rail, but only see two shadowy figures facing one another. One is tall and broad-shouldered, the other short and willowy.
“You have the mirror, my pet,” says a woman’s voice that’s low and sweet and utterly seductive. “So when may we expect it to be delivered, as promised?”
“In due time.” Rask’s tone is strangely sharp.
“And when may I expect you to return home?”
“What home might that be?” Rask turns away, and the torches positioned on the edge of the terrace illuminate his face.
His eyes burn in his sculpted face—fathomless and dark as the sockets in a skull.
I gasp. He looks up and catches my eye, warning me to silence with a shake of his head.
The woman steps into the light. She’s ethereal as some fairy creature. Yet earthy too—her tiny figure boasts sensuous curves, and her wide, dark eyes glow with passion. Everything about her is smooth and polished, from her porcelain skin to the silken dark hair pulled into a simple bun with loops of hair framing her face.
That face. Somehow it looks familiar, although I could not possibly have encountered her before. I’d never have forgotten such a creature.
“Sten, you cannot stay away from me forever. You are bound to me by more than simple affection.”
“Affection?” Rask practically spits the word. “You know I hold no affection for you.”
The woman’s laugh echoes her appearance—delicate as fine china, yet infused with fire. “Desire then. Call it what you will. You cannot deny its power.”
“I do not deny your hold over me, since it was forged in magic and forced upon me as an enchantment. But I now possess the means to break that bond, and I will, as easily as you might shatter a mirror.”
The flickering light of the torches transforms the woman’s face into a ghastly, yet gorgeous, mask. “You are a fool. Try as you might, you cannot best me. I made you. I can unmake you again.” She points her fan at Rask.
A peacock fan. A dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty. A face I recognize from a portrait painted centuries ago.
I cross my arms over my breast and step away from the railing.
The woman alters her expression until she once again appears as sweet and innocent as a child. “You are playing a dangerous game, my pet. One you may not survive.”
“I think I will. And prosper.” Rask bows deeply, sweeping his hand through the air. “Now I must bid you farewell, my lady. Other matters demand my attention.”
The woman slaps her fan against her palm. “That girl? Really, Sten, do you think I care about such things? But go if you must. I know we shall meet again soon, when you deliver the mirror to the emperor.”
“Perhaps.” Rask sketches another, less elegant, bow before crossing to the terrace doors. “And perhaps,” he calls over his shoulder, “by then the emperor will have tired of your so-called affections, as I have.”
I turn and walk back into the ballroom, desperately seeking the next partner on my card.
The rest of the evening I dance as if possessed, only pausing to catch my breath or take a swallow of punch.
My last partner—a burly nobleman from a southern country, according to the words I can decipher from his heavily accented speech— leads me out for the final waltz. He guides me once around the dance floor, then releases me when another man taps his shoulder. I spin right into the arms of Sten Rask.
“You dance?” I ask, although it’s clear he does, and well.
“Of course. I possess all the skills of a gentleman.” His hand presses into the small of my back, drawing me close to his body. “Although without, perhaps, some of the finer qualities.”
“I saw you, earlier.”
“I know. We will speak of it later. For now—dance with me, Varna.”
We sway and spin about the floor, the three-two-one beat relentless as waves crashing to shore. Caught up in his arms, I lose all sense of time and place. We could be waltzing through the heavens, the stars our candles, our orchestra the music of the spheres.
When the music dies away, Rask leads me from the dance floor to the central hall. He leans in to whisper in my ear. “Go back to your room and get some rest. You’ll soon have more opportunities to test the limits of your powers.”
I look up at him. “I was not using any magic this evening.”
He smiles. “Truly? Not all magic is sorcery. Go upstairs. I have business to conduct with some fine, if rather stupid, gentlemen.” He kisses my temple before striding toward the smoke-filled billiard room.
I climb the stairs to the second floor, my head filled with images of light and music and a woman wielding a peacock fan.
***
IN MY ROOM, I CONTEMPLATE my reflection in the oval standing mirror.
I touch my cheek. Not much has changed. I still look like Varna Lund, only perfected. I spin, holding out my full skirts. Such little changes, yet such a great difference in how men see me.
They desire you now, all of them. You could crook your little finger and invite any one of them to your bed. And they would say yes.
But it is only because I look a certain way. I have not changed, otherwise.
I frown at the mirror and press my palms into my sides. The soft velvet fabric swings once, then falls into elegant folds.
I must consider how to disrobe. I could call for the lady’s maid who dressed me earlier, but despite a lacy white nightgown and robe laid across the tall bed, there’s no evidence of her in my room. She’s probably helping other ladies at the moment. I reach behind my back, stretching my arms to see if I can unfasten the gown by myself. My fingers brush the tiny bone buttons, but I can’t reach around far enough to work them loose.
“No need for that.”
I look up at the mirror. Sten Rask stands behind me.
“Where did you come from? I locked the door.”
“I am a sorcerer. More to the point, we have adjoining rooms. With a hidden door.” He points toward a tapestry, now pushed back to reveal a narrow door. “Which was not locked.”
I take a deep breath. “I see. I thought you had business with some gentlemen?”
“I’m afraid they were entirely too stupid.” Rask moves in close behind me.
In the reflection we are a beautiful couple. Both dark-haired and handsome, with fine figures and elegant features.
“You did well tonight. Every man here was smitten.” Rask’s fingers slide across my bare shoulders before he applies them to unfastening my gown. “You see now, the power you possess, even without using magic?”
I concentrate on my breathing as his fingers work each of the tiny buttons loose. “Yes, but I also see how foolish most of these men are. They wouldn’t spare a thought for me if I were still plain Varna Lund. Which is ironic, as I am the same person as I ever was, inside. Yet they would spurn me if I looked as I did before, while now my outward beauty instantly convinces them I am worthy of their attentions.”
“Ah yes. You do understand.” Rask kisses my shoulder. “There, you are unbuttoned. Can you manage the corset?”
“Yes, it fastens in the front.” Thank goodness. I pull the sleeves of the gown up and hold them in place so it does not fall to the floor. “I need to change.”
“Over there.” Rask points to a tall, painted folding screen in one corner of the room. “You duck behind it and I’ll hand over your night things.”
“That’s not really necessary.” I scuttle toward the screen, still holding up the gown with both hands.
“Nonsense. It’s rather amusing, playing the lady’s maid.”
After I duck behind the screen, Rask tosses the nightgown and robe over the top.
“You see, Varna—” Rask’s boots tap against the wooden floor as he steps away—“when one learns all the ways, and kinds, of power, nothing is impossible.”
I tug loose the corset ties before venturing to speak again. “That woman I saw you with, is she your mentor?” I step out of my corset and pull off my chemise and stockings, until I am standing in only my pantaloons. “She seemed to know you well.”
“She was my mentor. No longer.”
I slip the nightgown over my head. It falls to my feet in perfect folds of white lawn. “I heard her name once, from Sephia. The Lady Dulcia, is that right?”
“Yes.”
I pull on the matching robe and realize this ensemble actually covers more skin than my ball gown. No need to hide, then.
“Sephia claims she is powerful sorceress.” I step out from behind the screen.
“She is indeed.” Rask, who has his back to me, turns around. “Well.” He clears his throat. “An enchanting ensemble.”
I walk toward him. “Is she your lover?”
Rask covers his mouth and coughs—or is it a laugh?—before replying. “She was, once.”
I stop a few feet in front of him. “She is in league with the emperor too.”
“Not too, as I have broken with him, although he does not know it yet. However, she is indeed in league with him. You see, he’s her lover now.”
“I see.” And at last, I think I am beginning to catch a glimmer of the truth.
Rask sweeps his gaze from my head to my toes. “I’m not sure you do. Not entirely. Please, take a seat, my dear, and indulge my strange whim to enlighten you.” He motions toward a winged-back chair.
I sit, crossing my ankles primly and clasping my hands in my lap. “Proceed.”
He grabs a simple wooden stool and places it beside my upholstered chair. Sitting, he stretches out his long legs. “You see, I was raised in a great house, a lavish home befitting a wealthy and titled family. But they were not my family.”
I turn my head to meet his searching gaze. “You were a servant?”
His ironic smile disappears as quickly as it appears. “I was the son of servants. My mother was a cook. My father was a valet. I was a nothing.”
He turns his head so I can only view his aristocratic profile. “A very handsome nothing, but still ... Then, one day, we entertained special guests. One of them was a lady. She was so beautiful, so gracious.” His voice falters for a moment. “She saw potential in me, or so she told my parents. I was to be trained to be something very fine—a lord’s valet, or even a butler.
Of course, what she actually noticed was my innate magical ability. I used to play little tricks, you see. I didn’t think of them as sorcery—it was just something I could do. Throw my voice, move objects across a table, snuff candles without touching them, that sort of thing.”
“So she took you as her apprentice?”
“Yes. My parents were thrilled. They thought they were sending me to a great house, to be trained in an honorable occupation.” He leans forward, gripping his knees with both hands. “And, in a way, they were correct. Unfortunately, there was a price to pay.”
I study his face for a moment, noting the sharp lines bracketing his mouth. “How old were you?”
“Younger than you are now. Only fifteen. Anyway, the Lady did teach me many things. She revealed my innate powers, and granted me more. She showed me the secrets of wielding magic of all kinds, and taught me other skills, such as healing.” He casts me a rueful glance. “Things that have come in handy over the years.”
I think of the beautiful woman in a portrait painted hundreds of years ago. “And she became your lover.”
He shakes his head. “Not exactly. She took me as her lover. A rather different thing.”
“You did not love her?”
“I did, or at least thought I did, once upon a time. Quite desperately. Of course, I was so young and green, I knew nothing of what love could be, or should be. I thought desire was all that mattered. But I eventually realized that Dulcia wasn’t interested in returning my foolish affection. Oh, she enjoys my body. She craves my companionship for my appearance alone, just as those men tonight desire you.”
My fingernails dig into my palms. I unclasp my hands and slide them across the soft fabric of my robe before resting them on my thighs. “Just how old are you now?”
“Twenty-seven. It’s my actual chronological age. I have not taken any measures to halt my aging, or extend my years unnaturally. It has not seemed necessary yet.”
“But you will.”
“Probably. I like this age, actually. Perhaps I shall choose to stay as I am.”
“Forever?”
“There is no forever, Varna. Not even for those of our kind. We can still die, by various means. And eventually we grow too old to care anymore and simply ... fade away.”
I think of the beautiful young woman I spied earlier this evening.
“The Lady Dulcia has not reached that point yet, despite the many years she has lived?”
Rask’s laugh holds no humor. “No. She wishes to live forever. Perhaps she shall. She’s very powerful, as Sephia said, and as egotistical as she is beautiful.”
“Do you still love her?” I can’t believe I’ve asked this question, but once the words are out, I am glad.
Rask rises from his chair to pace the floor. “I still feel desire,” he says at last. “But trust me, that is not love, merely an obsession that torments. The truth is, I don’t know how much I ever felt for her was sorcery and how much was reality.” He turns to face me, raking his hands through his hair. “I desire her and hate her at the same time. I am drawn to her, but want to destroy her. She made me a great sorcerer, yet never her equal. She didn’t want that. She still does not. She wants me to worship her—to fall at her feet, not stand by her side. She does not want a partner, she wants a vassal, an acolyte ... ”
“A servant,” I say quietly.
“Yes. Which I will not tolerate.” Rask crosses to my chair and holds out his hands. “I will be no one’s servant, no woman’s mindless plaything. I left her. She thought I was merely traveling, searching for the mirror, but now she knows I never had any intention of returning. And I do not.”
I allow him to pull me to my feet. “You plan to keep the mirror for yourself.”
“Yes.” He raises one of my hands and kisses the palm. “But not just for me. It could be for us. You and I, as true partners. Together we could stand against anyone, even the Lady Dulcia.”
His eyes are alight with passion, but his words shake me from the warmth of this enchantment.
“That’s why you wanted me.” I yank my hands away and clasp them behind my back. “You needed to be her equal in all things. You wanted to prove your sorcery matched hers. So you decided to choose someone and create your own apprentice, your own acolyte. Or perhaps”—I straighten my back and lift my chin—“you sought to best her, because she chose a beautiful boy, and you began your transformation with someone so plain and ordinary.”
Rask grabs me about the waist and pulls me into an embrace. “You are not ordinary. I saw something special in you, just as she did in me.”
“And like her, you thought only of yourself. Of what you wanted.” I stare into those dark eyes—clouded now, unreadable. “I was never really a person to you, was I? Just an ingredient in your vindictive potion. A weapon for your revenge. Is that right?”
He leans his forehead against mine. “Perhaps. In the very beginning.”
“And now?”
He releases me, takes two steps back, and studies my face as if it holds some magic he must master. “And now”—closing his eyes for a moment, his hands clenched into fists, Sten Rask sighs deeply—“go to bed, Varna.”
He strides to the connecting door and passes through it without looking back.
I run to the door and lock it, just as I hear the tumbler click on his side.
