by Mari Mancusi
I closed my eyes. “Conceal, don’t feel,” I murmured to myself, repeating Peterssen’s words. “Don’t let it show.”
I opened my eyes. Squared my jaw. I could do this. I had to do this.
It was the next right thing.
“ROAR! I AM EVIL NORTHULDRA AND I WILL kill you deader than dead!”
I startled awake from my nap as two orphan children, a boy and a girl around six years old, raced into the dormitory, one chasing the other, a wicked grin on the chaser’s face. The boy squealed, diving onto my bed and trying to hide behind me to escape the “evil Northuldra” while she jumped on top of him, grabbing the pillow from under my head and smashing it into his face.
“I will cast a horrible spell on you!” she jeered. “You will burst into flames!”
I stumbled out of bed, out of their line of destruction, still disoriented from being awoken from a deep sleep. The boy grabbed my pillow from the girl, tossing it away. They began wrestling madly until the boy fell off the bed, slamming his head against the wooden floor.
He burst into tears. “Ow!” he cried, rubbing his head. “You don’t play fair!”
“Yeah, well, neither do the Northuldra!” the girl declared mischievously, not looking the least bit sorry for her part in the accident.
Suddenly, there were footsteps on the stairs. The housemother stepped into the doorway. “Aryn, Peter!” she scolded. “What did I tell you about roughhousing in the bedroom?” She clapped her hands. “Come now! I have plenty of chores to work off that energy!”
“Aw!” they moaned in unison, but did as they were told, slinking out of the bedroom to head downstairs.
I was alone again.
I drew in a breath, trying to still my racing heart. I reached down to collect my mother’s shawl from under the bed and press it to my cheek, relieved that the children’s antics hadn’t unearthed this lone vestige of my previous life.
A lump rose in my throat as I walked across the room to the tiny window at the far side. It had been a month, and I still couldn’t get used to sleeping in here—inside this closed-in, claustrophobic space with its rows of cots and scores of children, so far removed from nature and the elements.
Back home, the wind rustling the leaves and water tumbling over the stones in the river used to sing me to sleep. Now all I could hear were the whispers of the other children, telling each other scary stories after the lights went out, usually about the “wicked Northuldra,” as if my family were some kind of magical monsters lurking under the beds, ready to strike.
Some of the children in the orphanage had been there at the dam celebration. Their parents had been killed, supposedly at Northuldra hands. All they wanted to talk about was how Arendelle would get its revenge, how they would repay these traitors who were given a great gift and returned the favor with murder.
Yes, their own king had been murdered that day. They believed one of my elders had killed him, shoving him off a cliff by the side of the dam. Which was ridiculous, of course. There was no way any of our gentle elders would have committed such a violent act against a fellow human.
Of course, I spoke none of this out loud. Instead, I stayed silent, minding Lord Peterssen’s warning: if I spoke up and gave a clue as to who I really was and where I came from, he would no longer be able to protect me.
Because it wasn’t just the children telling the tales. Everyone in Arendelle was talking about the Northuldra “traitors” and what they’d do if they ever came across one. If I didn’t keep this secret, I might not live long enough to find my family again.
And find them I would. My ankle had recently healed. It just needed a little more time before it could bear the brunt of the long walk to the mist, and then I would go from this place. I would travel back to the forest. Find my family again.
I stared out the tiny bedroom window, onto the cold afternoon streets. Light flakes of snow were falling from the sky, dusting the cobblestones below. Was winter here already? It was easier to lose track of the days shut up inside a wooden box. But I knew soon it would come, blanketing the world in white, the chill creeping into our bones. Back home, we’d all huddle by the fire on cold winter days, cozy under mountains of reindeer hides, cuddling close to keep each other warm. There would be stories. Songs.
I missed the songs most of all.
I opened my mouth to sing. My mother’s song. A song of Ahtohallan, a magical river of memories. Only Ahtohallan knows, she would always say in answer to my endless questions.
A fierce longing rose inside me. Did Ahtohallan know what had happened the day of the dam celebration? I wished I knew how to find her, to ask her. But she was very far away. Too far for a young girl like you to go, the elders would always say when I’d ask if they would take me to the river. My throat constricted as I thought of them, thought of Yelana calling me to come knit on the day of the celebration. Why couldn’t I have listened to her, just that once?
A sob rose to my throat. I missed them all so much. Would I ever see them again?
“Are you all right?”
I whirled at the sound of the voice and, to my shock, stood face to face with none other than the boy I had saved in the woods.
Agnarr.
I stared at him, disbelieving. He was dressed in a sharp red suit with a matching tie, and his blond hair was cropped close to his head. They must have shaved it to work on his wound. It made him look older and his leaf-green eyes even bigger.
I felt my face turn as red as his suit. What was he doing here? He couldn’t be one of the orphans, not in that outfit. Had he come here from the village to thank me for my rescue? Did he even remember? I scanned his face for recognition but saw none. I thought back to that moment in the wagon, when he’d slipped his hand in mine. But he’d been so out of it. He probably didn’t remember.
I could never forget.
He backed away, catching the look on my face. “S-sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I just heard you singing, and…What was that song?”
I wasn’t sure what to say. “Just something my mother used to sing to me,” I confessed at last, though I wasn’t certain this was wise to admit. It was a Northuldra song, after all.
Still, something in his face told me I could trust him. At least a little.
“That’s nice,” Agnarr said, sounding suddenly wistful. “I barely knew my mother. She left when I was a small child. And let’s just say Father wasn’t exactly the lullaby type.” He gave a bitter laugh. “You know how kings are.”
My pulse jumped. His father, a king? But that would make him…
“There you are, Prince Agnarr. I was wondering where you’d wandered off to.”
A deep baritone rang out as Lord Peterssen stepped into the room. His eyes settled on me and he gave me a friendly smile. “Oh, good. You’ve already become acquainted. I hope Agnarr has been minding his manners,” he added, poking Agnarr in the ribs. Agnarr playfully shoved him back.
“I am nothing if not the picture of decorum and grace!” he declared haughtily, but with a tease in his tone. Lord Peterssen snorted in disbelief.
Meanwhile, I was staring at the two of them, my mind racing so fast I could barely put a thought together. Agnarr, the boy I rescued. He was a prince? The heir to the throne of Arendelle?
I’d rescued the prince of Arendelle.
“Your—Your Majesty,” I stammered, dropping to my knees as I desperately tried to recall from the Arendellian fairy tales I’d read how the common people greeted royals, hoping I was doing it right.
Only, it seemed I had gotten it wrong.
Agnarr shook his head, his cheeks coloring. “Oh, stop,” he mumbled. “You don’t need to do that.”
“Sorry.” I scrambled to my feet, my face burning with shame. “I don’t…I mean…I didn’t…”
The prince stepped forward, holding out his hand. I reached for it hesitantly, trying to pretend it was the first time we’d touched. “Name’s Agnarr,” he said. “It’s very nice to meet y
ou.”
“I’m…Iduna,” I said. Then I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin, acting as if I met princes all the time and it was really no big deal. “It’s…nice to meet you, too.”
He gave a perfunctory nod, all business now. He was no longer an injured boy but the heir apparent. “I hope they are treating you well here at the orphanage,” he continued. “I know it’s a little crowded right now. Many lost parents during the battle of the Enchanted Forest—myself included. But we’re doing our best to care for everyone. Peterssen and I have asked the council to allocate additional funds for an expansion to the building. Along with extra food. And chocolate,” he added with a grin. “That was my idea.”
I thought back to the tiny square of chocolate he’d slipped me in the wagon. “A very good idea,” I agreed. “Chocolate makes everything better.”
He looked surprised as I parroted his words back to him. His brows creased as if he was trying to remember. Then he grinned. “I think you and I are going to get along very well.”
Peterssen clapped his hands. “Great. Now that introductions have been made, it’s time to head back to the castle. If you’re ready, Iduna?”
I stared at Lord Peterssen in shock, unable to fully comprehend what he was saying. “You want me to come to the castle?”
“Yes, of course,” he said in a voice that left no room for argument. “I said I’d take care of you, didn’t I? Well, I apologize it’s taken some time to get organized. Things have been—tumultuous the past few weeks, as you can imagine. Transitions of power, all that sort of thing.” He waved a hand. “But now that the dust is settled, I have returned to keep my promise. You’ll still live here, of course. But you will also start daily educational lessons at the castle. Agnarr’s own tutor, Miss Larsen, will teach you. It’s the very least that we could do for the sacrifices your parents made.”
I stared at him, fear rising inside me. The castle? They wanted me to go to the castle? On a daily basis? Were they joking? If anyone learned who I was…
“I—I don’t think I can…” I stammered.
“You can,” Lord Peterssen said firmly. “And you will.” He sighed. “Iduna,” he continued, giving me a sympathetic look, “I know there have been a lot of changes lately. And I know it’s been strange and difficult for you here. But I promise things will be easier from here on out. Now come. We’ll take you there now and give you a little tour. Your first lesson will be on Monday morning.”
I started to open my mouth, probably to argue again. But at that moment, the orphan children from earlier stormed back into the bedroom. Now it was the boy playing the part of the “evil Northuldra,” coming after the squealing girl with a mad look in his eyes.
“I’m going to kill you!” he cried. “Like I killed the king!”
Agnarr’s face turned stark white. My heart panged as I caught the anguish swimming in his green eyes.
He might have been the prince, but he was also a boy who had lost his father. Perhaps Peterssen would have stepped in and said something, but I beat him to it.
The children dove back on my bed, wrestling one another, still shouting about magic and treachery. I marched over to them.
“Magic?” I broke in with an exaggeratedly jovial tone. “Please. Who needs magic when you have super tickle powers?”
Without warning, I pounced, grabbing them and tickling them under their arms. They squealed in protest, trying to wiggle away as they begged for mercy, not unlike the Northuldra children back home. Tickle torture, it seemed, was universal.
“Let us go!” cried the boy. “Please!”
“We have chores to do!” the girl giggled, swatting my hands away.
“Chores?” I repeated in as innocent a voice as I could muster. I released them, rising back to my feet. “Why didn’t you say so? I’d certainly never want to keep you from chores!”
“Yes, chores!” the girl agreed, a look of relief on her face. “Come on, Peter. Let’s go do our chores!”
They leapt from the bed, nearly knocking Agnarr over as they fled for the stairs. He watched them go, his face still pale. But then he turned to me.
And he smiled.
It was a smile so bright it seemed to light up the entire room. Peterssen stood behind Agnarr, nodding his approval at how I’d handled the situation.
I smiled back shyly at the prince. “Let me get my coat.”
“AND THIS IS MY GREAT-GREAT-GREAT-grandfather Eric. Will you look at that mustache? Talk about hair goals! And over here—that’s Great-Grandmother Else. I always thought she looked like a nice lady. The kind who sneaks her grandchildren cookies when their parents aren’t looking.”
I glanced over at Iduna, who was staring up at the paintings in my family’s portrait room, a polite but otherwise unreadable expression on her face. Was I boring her? Was I talking too much? I was probably talking too much. But who could blame me? After the dam tragedy, they’d all but shut the castle gates, with only essential staff remaining inside. And Lord Peterssen hadn’t been so keen on letting me run around the village unescorted, declaring it was way too dangerous under our current political climate.
When a king died, a kingdom could go through a period of unrest. Neighboring countries could start sniffing around, looking for weakness. Even within the kingdom, some ambitious great-nephew or -niece of the former king might start getting delusions of grandeur and decide they had some kind of claim to the throne. If only that pesky son of the king weren’t in the way….
And that didn’t even count the Northuldra, who had become public enemy number one in Arendelle. What if they were, even now, people whispered, gathering their forces and preparing to lead an attack on our kingdom—to finish what was started back on their land?
It all sounded completely far-fetched to me, but as Peterssen always said, better to be safe than dead. Until all potential threats had been uncovered, I was to remain inside the castle gates and only be allowed to leave when escorted by a full company of guards.
Which meant I had been climbing the walls the past few weeks. Utterly bored and alone. Now, for the first time in forever, I had someone to talk to.
Of course, it didn’t hurt that this someone had the shiniest pile of hair I had ever seen and eyes like the sky on a cloudless winter’s day. Not that that mattered or anything. It was just a fact.
I shook off that last thought and grinned at Iduna, hoping it came off as a nice grin and not slightly deranged. She hadn’t said much since she got here, her face unreadable but definitely tensed, with eyes darting around each room we entered as if assessing it for potential danger. It made sense: after all, it had only been a month since she’d lost her parents in an unexpected battle. It was hard to feel safe after going through something like that.
I knew from experience.
Ooh! I should show her the library. I wondered if she liked to read. There were so many good books in our library. Books with all sorts of adventures lying between their pages, like windows into other worlds. Worlds I, as a crown prince and heir to the throne, would probably never get a chance to see in real life since the castle gates were currently locked.
But no one could stop me from reading about them.
People always assumed being prince was such a glamorous thing. But in a way, it was like being a prisoner. My responsibility to my kingdom always had to come first over my own desires. And adventures? They were too dangerous to even consider. For if I were to die, the whole kingdom would suffer.
Like now, after my father’s death. It would be years before Arendelle fully recovered. At least that’s what the council said, during our latest meeting. Peterssen was a competent leader, but he wasn’t a king. And our armies had been depleted from the battle in the Enchanted Forest, leaving us vulnerable. The council believed we should reach out to other kingdoms for assistance; the kingdom of Vassar, for example, had a great army. Perhaps they could be convinced to lend us aid if we ever needed it.
At least that’s what members of the c
ouncil argued for over an hour and a half at the meeting. Which had been so mind-numbingly dull I had almost fallen asleep three times. Who would have thought being a great leader would be so boring?
But now—now I had Iduna.
I grabbed her hand. “Come on!” I said. “I’ve got something amazing to show you.”
Her eyes widened at the grip of my hand on hers, but after a moment she let me lead her.
“Ta-da!” I cried as I threw open the library doors.
For a moment, Iduna said nothing, her mouth just sort of dropping open.
“Do you like it?” I asked.
She walked into the room, sinking down onto a nearby padded stool. “These are all…your books?” she asked, her blue eyes wide as they took in the towering shelves. “All of them?” When I nodded in response, her eyes inexplicably filled with tears.
It wasn’t quite the reaction I had been hoping for. “Iduna, what is it?” I asked.
Her eyes darted in all directions, looking everywhere but at me. “My…mother, she would have loved this room,” she whispered at last. “She had a book. She used it to teach me to read.” Her voice sounded soft and far away and sad.
Of course. What a dunce I could be! I dropped to my knees in front of her. “I’m sorry,” I said, trying to make her meet my gaze. “I wasn’t trying to upset you. Or remind you of your parents.”
I groaned inwardly at my attempt at an apology. Seriously, Agnarr? You are the worst. You’re supposed to be trying to cheer her up. Instead you’ve made her cry.
“We don’t have to look at these,” I added quickly, jumping back to my feet. “They’re kind of musty anyway. Want to see the kitchen? I bet Olina has finished up the desserts for tonight’s banquet. And I’m really good at distracting her for an advanced taste test.”
She gave me a wan smile. “Maybe later,” she said. “I’m not that hungry right now.”
Argh. I was getting nowhere. I rubbed my head, frustrated, the cropped hair like stubbly grass between my fingers. “Do you want me to leave you alone?” I blurted. It was the last thing I wanted to do. But I didn’t want her to think I couldn’t take a hint. Peterssen had told me to be patient—that it might take some time for her to come out of her shell. I was probably coming off way too strong.
