crystal as her own, this woman did not, however, look much like Aleksia. She had pale hair, rather washed out, done up in a very tight and severe style. Her gown was equally severe, and her eyes were a pale blue that was almost white. The throne looked nothing like Aleksia's, either; this one was extremely angular, more like slabs of ice stacked atop one another. The throne room looked like the interior of a glacier: rough walls, slick floor and no place to sit. Not that she needed any place to sit, since there was only one other person here, and that one was seated at her feet. Aleksia shuddered in sympathy; it looked as if he was sitting on ice.
He would have been exceedingly handsome, if his face had held any expression at all. Blond, like most Sammi, with brilliant blue eyes, chiseled features and a warrior's physique, he should have filled the room with vibrant warmth.
But instead, he looked no more animated than one of the snow-statue servants. And she knew him. Veikko.
And being what she was, Aleksia knew exactly what had happened to him. While the legends about her often claimed that she put some sort of enchanted shards of ice in the hearts and souls of her victims to make them emotionless, it was quite clear to Aleksia that this was precisely what the false Snow Queen was doing in truth. It wouldn't be all that difficult for a reasonably adept Mage. And The Tradition would make it easy for her; that sort of thing was in stories all the time.
She was absently petting his hair as she sat there, her face very still, her brows knitted in thought. It seemed she must be planning something. Perhaps the retrieval of Ilmari and Lemminkal.
Aleksia shook her head. “This is bad,” she said out loud.
“Without a doubt,” Jalmari agreed. “My assessment is that the spell she put on this young man is literally killing him a bit at a time. Possibly the only thing that is saving him so far is that he is a Mage as well, and has some resistance to the magic.”
Aleksia shivered, then considered her options. She needed to know about this Sorceress, everything she possibly could. And she didn't think it likely that the woman was going to simply babble what Aleksia needed to know. That sort of thing happened only in badly written stories.
That only left one option. Looking into the past.
“Jalmari,” she said aloud, “I want to — ”
“You want to mirror-scry into the past and find out what happened,” Jalmari said smoothly. “Which means you want me to do it while you observe. Actually I agree with you entirely, Godmother. We need to find out what made her what she is, if we are going to find the key to taking her down again. If ever there was a situation with „went to the bad' rather than „born bad' written all over it, it is this one.”
“What was your clue?” Aleksia asked, eager to hear more of what the mirror-servant had to say.
“The boy. If she was born bad, he would have been sucked dry by now.” Jalmari's head bobbed, semitransparent, in front of the scene in the mirror. “That she keeps him alive tells me that she is trying to get some sort of comfort out of him, and if she needs comfort, something terrible happened to change her.”
Aleksia sighed. “I also thought the rather unfinished state of her servants also indicated she didn't feel comfortable with cold and perfect simulacra of humanity. And that, too, tells me she wasn't born bad.”
“Well, Godmother, you transform to the Bear, why don't you?” Jalmari suggested.
“You look cold, and the Bear form will be more comfortable. You don't need to be human to stare into the mirror.”
She felt rather foolish for not thinking of that. “Good notion, Jalmari,” she said, and allowed herself, gratefully, to fall back into the warm furred form that did not find the pebble-strewn sand of the cave floor uncomfortable. She flopped herself down with the mirror between her paws and waited.
Brief scenes began to blink across the face of the mirror as Jalmari flicked through moments of the past that had been caught in reflective surfaces. Back they went. And back. And back. Until Aleksia finally realized that this false Snow Queen was a great deal older than she looked. Much, much older, it seemed.
“Ha!” said Jalmari suddenly, and a scene formed and steadied. “This looks promising.”
The scene steadied, and settled on a small stone tower situated near a village; the village was reasonably sized, and looked vaguely Sammi. A man and a woman were walking in the gardens around it — these were practical gardens, full of herbs rather than flowers. Aleksia identified them without hesitation as the gardens of a Witch or a Sorceress. He was perhaps in his midthirties, and dressed for travel, in sturdy boots, brown leather trews and a high necked tunic of sober dark brown wool. She was somewhat younger, and dressed rather carelessly, in a yellow skirt and a green and black tunic, as if she did not particularly care what garments she threw on so long as they kept her covered and warm. Her pale yellow hair showed the same disregard for her own appearance; it was bundled rather untidily into a net.
Since Aleksia herself had, from time to time, looked exactly like that, she was in sympathy with the woman. There were times when she was so preoccupied that she just pulled on whatever was lying about. Sometimes there were things that were so important to take care of that even eating and drinking became somewhat secondary. It was a good thing she had the Brownies to keep track of her at times like that; they generally marched her back to her suite and dealt with the situation.
Even in this reflection of the past, Aleksia could see the woman's potential magic; from this little glimpse, it was not possible to say if The Tradition was putting pressure on her, but there was still plenty of magical energy ambient around her. She was definitely born a Sorceress; Aleksia was absolutely certain of that. She and the man were too far away to hear their voices — past-scrying was limited by the physical limitations of whatever reflective surface was being used, so if the reflective object was too far for anyone to have heard voices where it was, well then you didn't hear speech. It was obvious, however, from the pack on his back and the belt full of pouches and implements, that he was going on a journey; she didn't want him to leave. But from the look of things, she was not pleading with him to stay, she was desperately asking that he hurry back. She wasn't weeping, but she wasn't far from it. She looked up into his face, searching it for something. Reassurance, perhaps.
He was a very comely man, with ageless, smooth features and bright blue eyes. Aleksia thought shrewdly that the woman was correct to be worried about losing him. She was no beauty, but he was a handsome devil.
He, in his turn, tilted her face up to his, kissed her, and sent her back into her tower, laughing. Then he strode off toward the village and the scene faded.
“Hmm,” Aleksia said, thinking. “Well…as you said, this looks promising.”
