Dangerous Secrets

by Mari Mancusi

  The first man spit on the ground, then grabbed me roughly by the arm, pulling me to my feet. I winced as pain shot up my leg all over again, but gritted my teeth, refusing to let them see me cry. The man clasped his meaty hands on my face, turning me left, then right. “Well, speak up, girl!”

  I withdrew into myself, hunching my shoulders and dropping my chin. My whole body was shaking with fear. I tried to tell myself that maybe this was simply a dream, that I’d wake up any second back in the forest, cuddled under a pile of reindeer hides.

  But truth be told, it didn’t feel like a dream. It felt more like a nightmare.

  I opened my mouth and attempted to speak, though I had no idea what I could say to save myself. Why, oh, why had I fallen asleep in the wagon? If I had been awake when they stopped, I could have snuck away somehow. But now I was in the center of their city, stone buildings rising up in all directions, blocking my path. And with my injured ankle? There was no escaping my fate.

  Where was Gale? If Gale were here, just maybe it would distract them—give me a chance to slip away. I whispered our song under my breath, but the air remained dead as that on a hot summer’s day, not even a hint of a breeze in this strange town’s center.

  I saw no sign of any rescue from my spirit friend.

  “All right now, what’s the meaning of this?” demanded someone new who had suddenly burst onto the scene. A man with a full head of dark hair pushed his way through the others. He was wearing a fancy suit the color of lingonberries; the way the others quickly scattered as he approached told me he was in charge.

  “This girl, sir. We found her in the wagon. But all the children who traveled to the dam with us have already been accounted for. And she refuses to say who she is.”

  When he reached me, he stared down, searching my face with eyes the color of the brown blocks Agnarr had called chocolate. I let out an involuntary whimper, the fear inside me so strong I was afraid I would throw up on his shoes.

  “Please,” I whispered, my voice hoarse from the smoke I’d inhaled. Though I hardly knew what I was asking for. Mercy? Why would they grant me mercy when they believed my family had slaughtered their people in cold blood? To them, I was a monster. A sorceress. I was—

  “A child!” the man exclaimed, his voice filled with wonder. “Why, you’re just a little girl.”

  “I’m twelve,” I blurted out before I could stop myself. “I am nearly a woman.” My voice, which I wanted to sound strong, came out more like a squeak.

  To my surprise, he laughed, laying a kind hand on my shoulder. “My mistake,” he told me. “Of course. And you are quite the fine lady at that.”

  I swallowed hard, dropping my gaze to the ground. The cloak I still wore slid off my shoulders, revealing my mother’s shawl tied around my neck. The man’s eyes widened as they took in the shawl. Then he quickly grabbed the cloak and dropped to his knees in front of me to settle it back on my shoulders.

  “What is your name?” he whispered, his face inches from mine. I was surprised at the sudden gravity of his voice.

  “Iduna,” I whispered back, glancing worriedly at the men on either side, who were still giving me suspicious looks.

  The man in charge slapped his hand on his forehead. “Iduna! Of course!” he cried, his voice suddenly loud as he rose back to his feet. “Daughter of Greta and Torra, the brave shield-maiden and soldier who were with us at the dam.”

  I opened my mouth to protest. Greta? Torra? I had never heard of those people, and they definitely weren’t my parents. But before I could say anything, the man shook his head slightly so only I could see. I got the message loud and clear.

  The others gathered back around me, looking at me with new eyes. I had been right about this man being in charge; when he spoke, they listened. And more important, they believed.

  “Poor lass,” remarked the man who had dragged me off the wagon, shaking his head with sorrow. “I’m so sorry about your parents.” His face twisted. “I promise you, those Northuldra sorcerers will pay for their crimes! If it takes me till my dying day!” He squeezed his right hand into a fist, so tight his knuckles turned white. Then he waved his fist in the air as if he was ready to take on the entire Northuldra people right that very second. Frightened, I edged backward to get out of his punching range.

  The man in charge groaned, grabbing the angry man’s fist and lowering it back to his side with some force. Then he turned back to me. “It is indeed very tragic what happened to your parents in the forest,” he agreed in a steely voice. “But do not worry, young Iduna,” he added, saying my name very carefully, as if to help himself remember it. “We in Arendelle take care of our own. Since you are one of us,” he said, again emphasizing each word, as if giving me a secret message, “you will never want for anything. We will care for you, feed you, keep you safe from harm.”

  I forced a nod, even though the lump in my throat had grown so large I felt like I would choke on it. I wanted to protest, to declare I would never be one of them. These strange people in their strange town were as unlike me as the sun was unlike the moon.

  But I kept silent.

  Instead I nodded, pulling the Arendellian cloak tighter over my body. “Thank you,” I forced myself to say. “You are too kind, sir.”

  The man’s shoulders relaxed. He knew I had gotten his message. He turned to the others. “I will escort her to the orphanage personally,” he told them. “In the meantime, I assume you all have something better to do than stand around?”

  The other men grunted but didn’t argue, scattering from the wagon to go back to their homes. The man watched them go, then turned to me.

  “I am Lord Peterssen,” he said in a soft voice. “And you needn’t be afraid. I meant what I said. No harm will come to you.”

  I nodded meekly. What else could I do? He held out a hand, helping me out of the wagon.

  “Come,” he said. “I will take you home.”

  “AH, YOUNG PRINCE, YOU ARE AWAKE AT LAST.”

  I opened my eyes blearily, my vision still spotted as I looked around the room. Even so, I recognized it immediately. The rich greens and browns. The rosemaling scrollwork trailing down walls, embedded in doorways. The thick beige curtains of the canopy bed. The roaring fire in the hearth.

  I was home. In Arendelle. In my bedroom.

  Had it all been a dream? The forest? The battle? But no, my body felt as if it had been run over by a herd of reindeer. And when I attempted to sit up, my head spun and I quickly collapsed back onto my feather pillow.

  The castle overseer, Kai, hovered over me, clucking his tongue. “Take it easy,” he scolded. “You’ve had a rough go of it. It’s going to take a while for you to be on the mend.”

  I nodded slightly. Even the small movement of my head against the pillow seemed to take a herculean effort. I closed my eyes, trying to pull together memories of what had happened. How I’d ended up here, like this.

  A day of celebration, twisted into violence. Northuldra and Arendellians, fighting one another. Then fire. Wind. Smoke.

  Papa…

  My eyes flew open. “Is Papa dead?” I asked, my voice raw. But even as I asked the question, I realized I already knew. I had seen it. My father, battling the Northuldra at the side of the dam. His foot slipping. His arms flailing.

  Oh, no. No, no, no!

  Kai gave me an anguished look, turning away. His gaze shot to the back of the room as if it held all of life’s answers. A figure stepped from the doorway.

  It was Lord Peterssen, one of my father’s trusted advisors.

  To my surprise, he dropped to one knee beside my bed. “Your Highness,” he said, lowering his head in a bow. “I am sorry to be the bearer of such terrible news.” He straightened, then looked me right in the eyes. His own were solemn as the grave. “Your father is lost. Perished in the battle between us and the Northuldra.”

  My heart wrenched. It was true then. My father. Gone. The strongest, most powerful man I’d ever met. The noble leader the
Arendellians sang of in the taverns. The man who had devoted his entire life to keeping Arendelle safe and helping it prosper.

  Gone. Just like that.

  Guilt assailed me as my mind flashed back to our last hours together. He’d been furious at me for wandering off. And why had I wandered off, anyway? I could have spent the day with him, helping him organize any loose ends with the Northuldra regarding the dam, serving as his squire. Maybe if I’d been there, I would have noticed something was wrong. I was good at that—seeing things that no one else did. Maybe I could have warned him before it was too late. But I’d failed again. I’d always been such a disappointment to my father.

  Maybe it was my fault he was dead.

  Lord Peterssen rose to his feet, putting a fatherly hand on my shoulder. “I am so sorry,” he said again. “Arendelle has lost a good man. A good king. We will all miss him.”

  A sudden horrifying thought came to me. “And…” I struggled to sit up again, ignoring my aching head. “What of Lieutenant Mattias? Is he…?” I trailed off, not able to form the words. I tried to think back again to the battle. Mattias had shoved me out of the way, trying to protect me as the forest erupted into violence.

  The thought of losing my father and my friend on the same day was almost too much to bear.

  Lord Peterssen shook his head slowly. “We don’t know what happened to him,” he admitted. “Some say he was still fighting when the mist rolled in.”

  I squinted at him in confusion. “The mist?”

  He nodded. “They say it fell from the sky. Dropping down over the forest, heavy and thick. So thick no one could penetrate it. Many of our people were trapped—are still trapped—on the other side.”

  “But that’s crazy!” I cried. “A mist can’t trap people. It’s not solid.”

  “This one is,” Peterssen said solemnly. “I rode out yesterday to see it for myself. It’s as solid as this wall right here.” He rapped his knuckles lightly against my bedroom wall. “And from what we can tell, there’s no way in and no way out.”

  Fear thrummed through me. My father had instilled in me from a young age awareness of the dangers of magic and sorcery. It was powerful. Wicked. A man who wielded magic did not fight fair. Sorcery corrupted the very soul, turning it black as night.

  “Was it the Northuldra who did it? Are they magical?” I whispered, suddenly remembering the girl I’d watched in the forest. The one dancing in the wind. She’d been like a fairy from a storybook. Lithe, ethereal. In that moment, I couldn’t have looked away. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to recall more details, but it was mostly a blur apart from that stirring sense I had been witnessing something—and someone—incredible. I frowned, frustrated.

  “Your father believed they were,” Peterssen said. “But from what I saw in my time with the Northuldra as the dam was being constructed, they were simply friends of the elements. They used these gifts of nature to help them in their everyday lives. But I never saw them use magic of their own.”

  “But they could have made the mist,” I pushed. “Or asked the elements to do it, right?”

  “Perhaps. Though for what gain I am not sure. As far as we can tell, they were trapped inside as well.” Peterssen sighed. “I promise, Your Highness, we will put our best men on this. To try to answer these questions and find a way through the mist. But for now, there’s a more pressing issue at hand.”

  “What’s that?”

  He gave me a solemn look. “The king is dead. And you, Your Highness, are his only son…and therefore heir to the throne of Arendelle.”

  Horror shot through me. Of course, on some level I knew this, deep down. But to hear it spoken aloud…

  “I’m too young to be king!” I blurted out before I could stop myself. I took a deep breath, trying to focus, or at least appear focused on the outside. This time when I spoke, I hoped I came off as calm. “I’m fourteen. I’m not prepared to rule a kingdom.”

  Peterssen laid a gentle but firm hand on my arm. “Perhaps not yet,” he agreed. “Your father knew his death would come someday and stated that if you were not yet of age when it came to pass, I would serve as regent to the kingdom in your stead. Of course, I would not act without your approval,” he added quickly. “But if you trust me, I will do my best to keep Arendelle in peace and prosperity until you come of age.”

  Relief flooded through me. This was exactly what I needed to hear. Someone besides me was still in charge.

  “Thank goodness,” I murmured under my breath. The ache in my head had returned with a vengeance, now accompanied by the bone-deep thrum of loss, and all I wanted was to close my eyes.

  “We can talk more when you’re fully healed,” Peterssen declared, looking at me with sympathy. “For now, do not worry about a thing.”

  I began to sink back into my pillow, more than willing to let sleep overtake my aching bones and heart, when a sudden thought came to me. “How did I get out of the forest?” I asked. “I don’t remember.” I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to recall the events of that day. I remembered the fighting. Being knocked over by the wind. Hitting my head against a rock. The darkness…

  To my surprise, Peterssen didn’t answer at first. Then he shrugged. “We don’t actually know,” he admitted. “The soldiers lost track of you during the fighting. But you were found lying in one of their wagons just before the mist rolled in. You were hurt. Bleeding. Unconscious. Perhaps you crawled in there yourself and then passed out?” But his voice sounded doubtful, as if he didn’t really believe it.

  Neither did I.

  A voice rose from the deep recesses of my mind. The most beautiful voice I’d ever heard, singing a pure, haunting, desperate song that still rang in my ears. I remembered hearing it back in the forest as I struggled to gain consciousness. Then the feeling of being lifted, but not by human hands. And suddenly I was floating….

  More magic? But no. There was a face. Someone had helped me get to that wagon. But who? Try as I might, I couldn’t pull the face from the darkness of my mind. It was another blur, lost in the chaos of that day.

  There was a knock at the door. Peterssen gestured for Kai to answer it. Gerda, the family steward, stood on the other side, wringing her hands nervously. “Is the prince ready?” she asked. “The people are waiting outside.”

  I frowned. “Waiting for what?”

  “For you to address them, of course, Your Highness,” Gerda sputtered. She turned accusingly to Kai. “Didn’t you tell him? They’re all out there. They’re worried. They need to see he’s all right.”

  Peterssen sighed. He turned to Kai and Gerda. “Leave us,” he commanded. “I will see to it myself that His Highness is ready to address his subjects.”

  Gerda responded with an unhappy snort, as if this wasn’t how things were supposed to be done, but thankfully exited the room, followed by Kai. Peterssen walked over and closed the door behind them, then turned back to me.

  “What do I have to do?” I asked. My head was still pounding. I felt as if I was going to be sick.

  “The people must see you,” Peterssen said. “They are scared. They lost loved ones. They lost their king. They must gaze upon their prince now. See their country’s future with their own eyes.”

  I stared at him in horror. “No! I can’t do that. Not now. Make them wait!”

  “They’ve waited three days already. It is time.”

  “Please,” I said, trying my best not to beg. “It’s too soon.”

  Peterssen’s face softened. He knelt down before me, taking my hand in his own. “Sometimes a king doesn’t have the luxury of grief,” he explained slowly. “He must put his people’s feelings before his own. When you go out there, you must stand taller than you are. Act braver than you feel. Show them, through every move you make, every word you say, that they have nothing to fear.” He gave me a sympathetic look. “You must show them you are not afraid.”

  “Even when I am,” I said, looking at the ground.

  “You would be a foo
l not to be,” Peterssen agreed. “But you must not show that fear to your people. Pull it deep inside you. Conceal it in your heart. Don’t feel it. Don’t let it show.” He rose to his feet. “That is what your father did. And his father before him. That is what kings do to protect their people. And this is what you must do now.”

  “What if I don’t want to be king?” I blurted out, knowing I sounded like a petulant child, knowing how angry my father would be if he were there to hear me. But I wasn’t ready. I hadn’t asked for this. A week ago, the only thing worrying me was failing my weekly spelling lesson. Now I had the responsibility of an entire kingdom? Real people, with real problems—depending on me.

  The panic spiraled; I felt the walls closing in on me. Peterssen gave me a sharp look, understanding but maybe growing a little impatient. If only Lieutenant Mattias were here.

  What would he say? What would he tell me to do?

  The next right thing.

  I swallowed hard, Mattias’s words seeming to echo in my head, as if they’d been spoken aloud. The advice his father had once given him. The advice he’d then passed down to me.

  Life will sometimes throw you onto a new path, he would say. And when it does, don’t give up. Take it one step at a time.

  I took several deep breaths, pushing the panic down. Then I turned to the lord regent and nodded. “All right,” I said. “I will get dressed, and I will stand before my people. I owe them that much at least.”

  Peterssen’s shoulders relaxed. “Very good, Your Highness. It will mean a lot to them. Shall I send the servants in to help you dress?”

  “No. I will do it myself. Thank you.”

  The regent nodded and headed out of my bedroom, leaving me alone. For a moment I just sat there, my thoughts whirring in my head. Then I walked over to the mirror, staring into it. My eyes were hollow, shadowed by black circles. My skin was pale as milk. My hair had been shorn close to my head, probably so they could sew up my wound.

  I don’t look anything like a king, I thought with a grim smirk aimed at my reflection. More like a frightened boy.