by Mari Mancusi
“I hope so,” I said. “If not now, then maybe someday.”
“You know, I could always put out a royal decree,” Agnarr teased. “I could even make it a law.”
I laughed. “Nah. I’d rather earn it on my own,” I told him. “It will mean more that way.”
“And you will,” he said fervently. “I know it. If anyone can do it, you can.”
His warm words sent a shiver rippling through me, and I put my hands out to warm them by the fire. Night had begun to fall and with it a chill had crept into the air. Agnarr hopped to his feet and walked over to the wagon, pulling out his father’s old cloak. The same one he’d draped over my shoulders the very first time we’d encountered the mist together. He didn’t wear it much anymore, but he liked to bring it along on these journeys for sentimental reasons.
He walked over to me now, draping it over my shoulders. “That better?” he asked.
“Much,” I agreed, smiling up at him. Way up. While Agnarr used to be not that much taller than me, he’d shot up in the past couple of years, sprouting broad shoulders and long, lean muscles, seemingly overnight. His hair had darkened, too, though it was still blondish red, and it was longer than the cropped-close-to-his-head style he’d had for a while after the dam tragedy. And he had a bit of stubble on his upper lip, as if he wanted to grow a mustache but wasn’t quite ready to commit.
But for all these changes, his eyes remained the same: as emerald green as the forest itself in the richest months of summer, flecked with blues and yellows that seemed to dance when he smiled.
When he smiled at me.
Now this big, strong man-boy shivered noticeably, evidently cold himself. I opened up the cloak to invite him under it, like I’d done that first time by the mist and every trip since. He grinned.
“Scooch in?” he asked, quoting me.
“If you can manage it,” I teased as he attempted to fit inside. “Seriously, if you keep growing we’re going to have to bring two cloaks next time.”
“Nah,” he said, pulling one end of the cloak over his shoulder, his warm body pressing against mine. His thigh to my thigh. His arm tucking around my waist. My head sinking down onto his shoulder.
“See?” he said, his voice dropping lower. “Plenty of room.”
“Oh, yes,” I agreed, my tone light even as I ignored my racing pulse. “Plenty. Perhaps we should invite the horses in, too. And the guards…”
He snorted, sighing contentedly as he looked up at the sky. “I love these trips,” he declared. “I wish we could do them every night of the year. Sit by a warm fire. Sleep under the stars.” He nudged me with one arm. “Why did people invent roofs anyway?”
“Um, to keep out the rain perhaps?”
“Oh. Right.” He grinned. “You’re such a know-it-all.”
He closed his eyes. I tried not to notice how warm and solid he felt pressed up against me. Something I was trying and failing at quite a bit these past few months. Which was ridiculous.
This is just Agnarr, I scolded myself. The goofy boy who can barely manage not to fall out of a tree.
Yet still, when this goofy boy dragged his thumb across my palm, I couldn’t resist a small tremble, my whole body seeming to alight with fire at his simple touch.
He noticed, looking down at me with sleepy eyes. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yep, perfectly fine,” I responded quickly, hoping he couldn’t see my blushing face in the dim light cast by the fire. We’d been holding each other’s hands since that very first day in the castle when he dragged me along from room to room while giving me a tour. Since that first night out by the mist, when I’d been so lost in my despair. His touch had always been comforting, friendly. A promise that everything would be okay.
But now? It felt different. A promise, still. But maybe of another sort.
I let out a small sigh.
Agnarr suddenly scrambled to his feet, breaking the warm connection between us. “Are you hungry?” he asked. “Thirsty? Cold? Hot?”
“I’m fine,” I assured him. “Just…a little nervous for tomorrow. As always.”
He gave me a sympathetic look, sitting back down, this time across from me, not under the cloak. He was still close though. Close enough that I could reach out and touch him if I wanted to.
Instead, I buried my hands under the cloak, clasping them together to give them something to do.
“I get it,” Agnarr said. “As fun as these trips are, the conclusion is always hard.”
I nodded slowly. Every trip was always the same. The buildup, the anticipation. Only to end in familiar disappointment. The mist was still there, thick and impenetrable as always. I was beginning to think it would remain that way forever.
“What would you do if the mist was gone?” I asked him. “The very first thing?”
It was an old game—one we indulged in every trip to the mist—and I knew his answer before he spoke it. But something about the familiarity of it was soothing, quelling the rising uneasiness inside.
He hugged his knees to his chest, staring into the fire. “First, I’d look for Mattias,” he said. “I know he’s still alive in there. Somewhere. After all, he was the best soldier in the land. No way was he taken down in battle.”
“And when you found him?” I prompted, as I always did.
“First I’d give him the biggest hug. Which he’d hate, of course. He’s always saying real soldiers don’t hug.” He grinned. “But he’d like it, deep down. Also, I’d promote him to general of the Arendelle guard.”
“Anything else?”
Agnarr’s eyes sparkled. “I’d give him all the gossip about Halima down at the village. He’s crazy about her. He’d want to know everything.”
“She’s pretty crazy about him, too, from what I’ve gathered,” I said with a giggle, thinking back to the woman who worked at Hudson’s Hearth, a local eatery where everyone gathered to chat or for one of their famous buttered biscuits. Men were always trying to flirt with her, but she turned them down every time. There was only one man for her, she’d declare, even if he was gone forever.
It was impossibly romantic.
“Oh, and one other thing,” Agnarr suddenly added, his eyes shining.
I looked up. This wasn’t part of our script. “What’s that?”
“I’d like to find my rescuer.”
Something thudded in my heart. “Your…rescuer?”
“You know, the person who saved me. The one who got me to the wagon. I bet he or she is still stuck in the mist, too.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Well, they’d have to be. Or they would have come forward by now. I’m a prince, after all. People who save princes get rewarded. But no one has ever come forward asking for one.”
“Maybe they believe saving your life was reward enough?” I suggested casually, my heart fluttering at this unfamiliar territory. In all the years Agnarr and I had been close, he’d never once mentioned wanting to find his rescuer. I had begun to wonder if he remembered the rescue at all.
“Well, of course it is,” Agnarr agreed with a laugh. “But still, I feel like we’d have met by now if they were on the outside.” He shrugged. “I think they’re still locked in the mist somewhere. Probably wondering if I survived. So if the mist parted, first thing, I’d find them and thank them.”
I smiled uneasily, closing my eyes in mock weariness to avoid having to meet his gaze. Agnarr had no idea all that had transpired behind the scenes to make his rescue possible. If I hadn’t abandoned my lessons. If I hadn’t followed him to camp. If I hadn’t left my shawl in that tree. If I hadn’t stumbled upon him, lying there. If I hadn’t…
I would be in the mist.
And he would be dead.
“I think it was one of the Northuldra,” Agnarr announced suddenly.
My eyes flew open. “What? Why do you say that?”
He poked the fire with a stick. “No real reason. Just…a feeling. After all, they were the ones w
ho connected with the spirits of the forest. And I remember the feeling of floating at one point.”
I opened my mouth to speak. My heart was pounding so hard at this point I felt like I might crack a rib. Should I tell him? What would he say if I did? He couldn’t be mad, right? I mean, saving his life? That was a good thing.
“Though it doesn’t make much sense now that I think about it,” he added before I could say anything. “I mean, they were trying to slaughter us. Why would they want to kill my dad and save me?”
My heart sank. I closed my mouth. What had I been thinking? I could never tell him the truth. It was too dangerous. Too risky. I thought back to my first day in Arendelle, Peterssen whispering to me urgently. He could protect me, but only if I stayed quiet. No one could know.
Especially not the crown prince of Arendelle.
I awkwardly stretched my hands over my head, faking a yawn. “I’m exhausted,” I claimed, though it wasn’t exactly true. “I’m going to get some sleep.” I stood up and walked over to the wagon, busying myself with the blankets.
Agnarr bounded over. “Hang on,” he said, rummaging through the wagon. He pulled out a thick reindeer hide from somewhere inside. “This will help cushion the ground.”
“Isn’t that yours?”
He shrugged. “I’m fine. Besides, I think I’m going to stay up for a while. Keep watch.”
“Um, isn’t that what your regiment of guards is for?” I asked, glancing over at the company of men with swords not twenty yards away.
“Hey, they might need my help, fending off wolves or something.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What would you do if you saw a wolf? Try to scare him off with your terrible singing voice?”
“Please. I’d wake you up and make you sing,” he declared. “You’d charm the mighty beasts with your sweet, clear notes and they would all lay down in your lap like puppies, to listen.”
I smiled, stepping away from the wagon. “Is this your roundabout way of asking me for a song, Your Majesty?” I teased. We were back in familiar territory. Agnarr always wanted a song on outdoor, fire-filled nights like these. I would protest at first, but in the end, I always gave in.
He grinned sheepishly. “Not if you’re tired.”
“I suppose I can stay awake for one song,” I allowed, hiding my pleasure at being asked. I walked back over to the fire and sat down in front of it, placing the reindeer hide on my lap, then smoothing it with my hands. Agnarr lay down beside me, stretching out his long legs and putting his head in my lap with a contented sigh.
It shouldn’t have felt as right as it did.
I lifted my voice to sing. I was wobbly at first, but soon the notes poured from my throat like water from a stream as I sang an Arendellian song I’d learned in the village.
“Your voice is like an angel’s,” he murmured, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply. It didn’t take long before he was fast asleep. So much for keeping watch. I stroked his hair, feeling the strands slip through my fingers.
Like sand slipping through an hourglass.
This could very well be our last pilgrimage, I realized suddenly. Agnarr was now eighteen, after all. Soon he would take a bride. And no way would his new wife allow him to trek into the wilderness with some random village girl. If I wanted to keep going to the mist, I would be going alone.
The thought made me sadder than I wanted it to. And before I even realized I was doing it, I had switched songs. To the song of my people, my real family. I hummed the tune softly, the words coursing through my mind like water. Like Ahtohallan, the river of memories. Tears welled in my eyes as I gazed down at my sleeping prince.
Because soon, I knew, memories of these nights would be all I had left.
“FIND ANYTHING?”
I called out to Iduna, who was standing a few yards away, checking the wall of mist, careful not to miss a spot. She didn’t answer at first, clearly too wrapped up in her work to hear me. Typical. She always got like this when we came here. As if she’d crawled down into a deep memory of the past, and the present barely registered.
But who could blame her, really? To be here. To see the mist. To touch it. To know what—who—might be waiting on the other side. Trapped. Maybe forever.
It made me feel pretty strange, too.
I crept over toward Iduna, who was still running her hands along the outer shell. She was concentrating so hard she didn’t hear me approach. When I touched her shoulder, she jumped in surprise, letting out a startled yelp.
“Sorry,” I said, giving her an apologetic grin. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
“It’s fine.” Her eyes did not leave the mist. “Did you finish your section?”
“Yup.”
“And…?”
“Oh. There’s a big gaping hole. Crazy huge. Sorry, was I supposed to tell you?”
She didn’t laugh.
“Sorry. Bad joke.” I felt dumb. I should know better than to mess with her at the mist.
“And yet somehow you manage to repeat it every year,” she grumbled, testing out another section of mist. I watched as she pressed against it, holding her hands there for a moment, then released it, moving on to the next spot. She was as thorough as ever.
“You want a snack?” I asked, walking over to my satchel, which I’d left on a big rock. “I’ve got more chocolate.”
“I want to finish first,” she answered, distracted.
“Do you want me to help?”
“I’m fine. Eat your snack.”
I sighed, sitting down on the rock, pulling out a section of chocolate, and crunching down on it as I watched her continue. I wanted to tell her to stop. That she’d checked it plenty—that the guards had, too. There were no weak spots. No holes. No changes at all since we’d first come here four years before. What made her think it would suddenly change now?
And yet she always seemed to hold out hope.
For me, our pilgrimages had become more tradition than anything else. I was thoroughly convinced the mist would remain forever. But that didn’t mean I didn’t enjoy the journey. Being away from the castle, out in nature, with no worries or responsibilities…
Getting to spend time alone with Iduna next to a fire and under the stars.
“Maybe you need a magic spell or something,” I called out to her, still munching on chocolate. “I mean, it was magic that brought the mist to begin with. Maybe magic could make it disappear.”
She froze in her tracks, her hands still on the mist. “I don’t know any magic,” she snapped, her voice sharper than I usually heard it.
I cringed. You’re such a moron. Iduna had always been sensitive about the topic of magic. Probably since magic had led to her parents being killed or at least trapped in the mist. It had been four years since the mist came down and most of the people of Arendelle were still terrified of any hint of magic—especially coming from the Northuldra on the other side of the gray fog. In fact, they assumed the reason we made these trips was to make sure that the mist was still solid and strong…that they remained safe from the Enchanted Forest and the people within.
In reality, I was more conflicted. Like Iduna, I was driven by wondering what might be on the other side. How many Arendellians remained alive and trapped, just waiting for the mist to part so they could rejoin their loved ones. Mattias, perhaps Iduna’s parents—how wonderful would it be to reunite after all these years?
But I also worried. For if the mist were to part, it would free more than just our loved ones. What if the spirits still raged? What if the Northuldra intended to seek revenge? As ruler of Arendelle, I had to keep my people safe. Which meant I couldn’t be selfish and hope for the mist to part just so Iduna and I could be reunited with our loved ones.
I looked over at Iduna. I wanted nothing more than for her to have her greatest wish come true. To be reunited with those she loved.
But at what cost to Arendelle?
Iduna was still checking on the mist, but her movements had b
ecome quicker now, more erratic. Her hands swept over the mist in desperate motions and her face had become pale and frustrated. I watched as she scowled at the mist, then swung her fist against it, crying out in pain as the mist pushed it back.
I leapt to my feet and ran over to her, taking her injured hand in mine. She tried to yank it away, but I held on tight, rubbing my fingers over her swollen knuckles. With my other hand, I reached out, tipping up her chin till her eyes met my own. They were wild and angry, sad and desperate. Like every time before.
She never gave up. And she always got hurt.
“Stop,” I said gently. “You have to stop.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, tears leaking from the corners. I dropped my hand to reach around the small of her back, pulling her close. She buried her face in my chest and I stroked her hair softly, breathing in her warm scent. Her hair still smelled like lavender and sunshine, even after spending the night by a smoky fire. In the meantime, I probably smelled like sweaty old socks. Luckily, she didn’t seem to mind.
For a moment, we just stood there, wrapped in one another’s arms. I could feel her heartbeat, fast and fierce against my chest, her ragged breaths at my throat. Her hands gripping my sides, tightly at first, then relaxing a little, giving into the warmth of our embrace. I kissed the top of her head, my hands stroking her back, trying to calm her with soft whispers.
“Breathe,” I said. “Just breathe.”
She pulled away then, tilting her face to look up at me. Her cheeks were stained with tears and her face was blotchy. Her eyes were rimmed in red. “Why do I do this to myself every time?” she asked in a small voice.
“Because you still hope,” I told her, reaching out to swipe a fresh tear away. “That’s not a bad thing, you know.”
“Yeah, well, it’s a stupid thing. Clearly the mist is going nowhere. This is all a big waste of time.”
I frowned. “No. I don’t believe that.”
“What?”
“It’s not a waste of time,” I told her. “Not to me anyway.” I paused, then added, “Because I get to spend it with you.”
She jerked away, turning from me to stare at the vacant plain stretching out toward the horizon. Worry wormed through my stomach.
