Scepter of Fire by Victoria Gilbert

Author:Victoria Gilbert
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ugly duckling, fairy tale retelling, hans christian andersen, fairy tale, fairytale, fairytale retelling, ya, young adult, fantasy
Publisher: Snowy Wings Publishing
Published: 2019-06-17T16:00:00+00:00

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.

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