A Frozen Heart

by Elizabeth Rudnick

  Anna walked slowly into the hallway. As she turned back for one last glimpse at Elsa, her sister slammed the door.

  Anna stared at the closed door for several long, sad moments. What had just happened? Why was Elsa suddenly being so cold to her? Why was she leaving the nursery? Sadly, Anna turned and walked back to their—her—bedroom. She had a feeling in the pit of her stomach that something had gone terribly wrong. She just didn’t know what. She could only hope that Elsa would warm up and talk to her again…soon.

  “ELSA? ELSA, I know you’re in there. I’m heading to the stables. Do you want to come?” Fifteen-year-old princess Anna stared at the door to her sister’s room and waited. She knew it was useless. If Elsa even responded, which happened about once in never, the answer would be no. The answer was always no. Why did Anna think that Elsa would suddenly decide to break ten years’ worth of silence?

  “Elsa?” she called again.

  Nothing.

  Gently, Anna placed her hand on the door, as though she might feel Elsa’s presence that way. Then she pulled it back angrily. What was the point? She had been in this spot countless times. Ever since that night all those years ago when Elsa had slammed the door in her face, it had been just one long series of closed doors and disappointments. Letting out a sigh, she turned and headed back toward her room to put on her riding clothes.

  Anna pushed open her own door, kicking aside the stray pieces of clothing that littered her bedroom floor and making her way over to her vanity. Sitting down, Anna began to pull her hair into a loose bun. As she worked, she softly touched the streak of white hair that framed her face. Then she gave it a hard yank. She had lost count of how many times she had sat in this very spot, staring at the white hair. She had had the streak for as long as she could remember, but it always felt out of place, like it wasn’t supposed to be there. But trying to figure out why the hair felt so strange was as futile as wishing Elsa would open the door and talk to her.

  Anna pulled on the streak again, this time ruining her hastily made bun. She sighed and blew the loose strands of hair out of her eyes. Well, that won’t do, Anna thought. Even if there wasn’t exactly anyone to dress up for, Anna still liked looking her best. It gave her something to do, at least.

  Anna glanced out her window, where she could just make out the edge of one of the palace’s giant gates. It was closed, as always.

  The morning after the sledding accident, Anna had awoken to find the castle much quieter than usual. She hadn’t heard the laughter of the maids as they scurried between rooms, dusting the shelves and lighting fires in the many hearths. When she had ventured out of her room, she hadn’t heard the clanging of pots from the kitchen as Cook prepared the morning meal for the royal family and the rest of the household. Nor had she heard Kai, the royal handler, issuing his daily instructions to the chamberlain to ensure proper care of the Great Hall. Gerda’s voice was oddly absent as well. Anna couldn’t hear her instructing the castle staff in what clothes needed to be mended or set out for later.

  The whole place had felt abandoned. And, for all intents and purposes, it had been. Her parents had closed the gates to the castle. Almost the entire staff had been dismissed, and any contact with the outside world had been forbidden. And Anna had no idea why. Ten years later, she still had no idea why.

  Looking at her reflection, Anna gave her white hair one last tug. “Well, at least it’s not like I wanted to see the world or anything,” she joked, trying to cheer herself up.

  Lately, Anna had found herself thinking more and more about life before the gates had been closed. Her memories of that time had started to fade at the edges. Moments were beginning to blur together, and sometimes she couldn’t remember if something had actually happened or if she had just made it up during one of her long, lonely playtimes. Glancing over at her bedside table, she smiled ruefully at the sight of a well-worn book.

  The book had become her saving grace. It had been a gift from a girl named Rani. The daughter of a dignitary, Rani had met Anna a few months before everything changed. Rani had told her all about her home country—with its large sandy beaches and trees that had big round fruits hanging from their branches. “They get so heavy that when they fall, they make the loudest noise,” Rani had told Anna. “And they are hard as rocks, but when you cut them open, they are so sweet. Someday you will have to visit me, and I’ll give you the freshest coconut.”

  “Perhaps Mama and Papa will let me go next year!” Anna had said at the time. But she had never gotten the chance. And she had never seen Rani again. The book, which told a hundred short stories of adventures in Rani’s homeland, had arrived along with an invitation to visit just days before the gates had closed. The book had stayed. And so, sadly, had Anna.

  Enough! Anna thought, chastising herself. She would have loved nothing more than to get a glimpse of the lands outside the castle, but she knew that wasn’t going to happen. There was no point in wishing the morning away. Standing up, she dug her cloak out of a pile of clothes and grabbed the book from her bedside table. It was a beautiful day outside. Even though she wasn’t allowed to go beyond the castle gates, there was nothing stopping her from taking Kjekk out of his stall to graze. The horse, at least, never ignored her.

  “Maybe I’ll see if Mother wants to go with me,” she said to herself as she walked out the door. “And then I’ll go see if Cook has been baking. A little bit of chocolate will definitely make me feel a lot better.”

  “Mother?” Anna poked her head into her mother’s drawing room. “Mother? Are you in here?”

  Walking into the room, Anna glanced around. Strange, she thought. Usually her mother spent the early afternoon here, catching up on correspondence or meeting with Gerda to go over the daily list of chores. It was a beautiful room. Floor-to-ceiling windows dominated the far wall, making the space brighter than the rest of the palace no matter the type of day. On especially nice days, such as this one, the room felt warmer, too. A large settee was placed against the windows. Anna often curled up on it as she listened to her mother go about her business. Everything about the space reflected the queen’s classic and simple tastes. The walls were covered in ivory wallpaper, the furniture covered in tasteful fabrics of the palest golds and purples. Anna loved it. She loved that as soon as she walked into the room, she felt her mother’s warm presence and smelled the faintest hint of her perfume.

  But today, her mother was not there.

  Popping back into the hall, she spotted Gerda coming out of the king and queen’s bedroom. “Gerda,” Anna called out. The maid turned, her eyes wide. Anna smiled apologetically. “Sorry to startle you! I was just wondering if you had seen my mother. I was hoping to go riding with her this afternoon.”

  Gerda shifted nervously on her feet. “She and the king are with your sister, Your Highness,” she finally said. “In the solarium. They told me not to disturb them.” Then, before Anna could even thank her, Gerda darted away like a rabbit fleeing a fox.

  Anna cocked her head. Interesting. Running away wasn’t like Gerda. And what were her parents doing in the solarium on a day like today—with Elsa? The glass-enclosed porch was stifling in the summer. They usually only used it in the early spring and fall, when the heat was actually a welcome relief. Well, I won’t get any answers standing here with my mouth open like a fish, Anna thought. Turning, she walked down the hall in the direction of the solarium.

  But when she arrived at her destination, she knew immediately that she had been wrong about getting answers. The door to the room was shut. Behind it, Anna could hear muffled voices. She paused, unsure what to do. The solarium door was almost never shut. What could they be doing inside? Curiosity getting the best of her, Anna pushed the door open.

  Immediately, she wished she hadn’t.

  Her father was standing in front of Elsa, his arms crossed. “Try again, Elsa,” he said, his usually calm tone laced with frustration. “You need to figure this out.”

  Elsa looked at the ground. Wis
ps of white-blond hair fell around her face. When she finally glanced back up, Anna was surprised to see tears sliding down her sister’s rosy cheeks. “I can’t,” she said. “Don’t you think I would if I could?”

  “Be careful. Crying only makes it worse,” the king said, the restraint evident in his voice. Anna recognized that tone from times when he and her mother were discussing problems in the kingdom. Something was wrong, and he wasn’t sure how to fix it.

  Anna took a step back nervously. This was obviously a private moment.

  “Agnarr, please.” The queen’s voice was soothing as she reached out a hand and placed it gently on her husband’s arm. “Elsa is exhausted. Let her go. We can try again when we come back.”

  Elsa shook her head. “I know I failed you. I’ll try and do better. I promise. I just…I just…I don’t…” She didn’t finish. A sob threatened to burst from her chest, but Elsa swallowed it down. She dried her eyes and walked quickly toward the door. Elsa brushed past Anna, barely even giving her sister a glance before bolting into the hallway and disappearing.

  From the shadows, Anna watched her parents. She had never seen them so quiet…and so sad.

  “I just wish we could help her more,” Anna heard her mother say softly. “I wish she wouldn’t push us away. So many times, Agnarr, I’ve wanted to hold her in my arms and tell her it will be okay, and so many times, she’s just…she thinks she needs to handle this on her own.”

  Anna was beginning to think she should find her mother another time. Something was going on, and she didn’t know quite what. Turning, she began to tiptoe toward the hallway. But the floor creaked under her feet. Whipping around, her mother spotted her.

  “Oh, darling!” she said. “I didn’t see you. Have you been there long?”

  “Um, no?” she answered, approaching her parents. “Just got here a moment ago. Is everything…all right?”

  “Of course, Anna. Of course,” her mother said. “Isn’t that right, Agnarr? Everything is just fine.”

  The king, who had been staring after Elsa with a perplexed look on his face, finally looked up. Seeing Anna, he smiled. “Your mother is right, my little one. We were just telling Elsa what she needs to get done while we are away. Nothing to worry about. Thank goodness I have your mother here to remind me to keep my temper.”

  “But you never lose your temper,” Anna pointed out. “Never. Even when I spilled hot chocolate on your white suit, remember? You didn’t get upset at all! And when I was four and tripped and fell into your friend, the Dignitary of Somewhere, and he sprained his wrist? You told him not to be mad, that was just my way of saying hello.”

  Her father laughed and reached out a hand, patting her head. “I guess I’m getting crankier in my old age,” he said playfully. “Next thing you know, I’ll be talking to myself and yelling at pictures.”

  Anna smiled, some of the tension in her shoulders disappearing as her father’s normal attitude returned. “I’ll make sure you don’t do anything that silly,” she reassured him. “You know, I could go with you on your trip next week. Just to make sure you behave.” She clasped her palms together and raised them up. “Please?”

  “Darling, you know we can’t take you with us,” her mother said gently. “We would love to. But you need to stay here with your sister.”

  “Why?” Anna said. “It’s not like she’s going to talk to me while you’re away.”

  “You must be patient with Elsa,” her mother said. “She’s going through a difficult time.”

  Anna rolled her eyes. “If ‘difficult time’ means wanting nothing to do with me, then I see your point.”

  Her parents exchanged looks that were hard to read. Then, each putting an arm around Anna, they gave her a squeeze. Anna sank into their embrace. Seeing Elsa had rattled her, and hearing that her mother felt isolated from her, too, made Anna feel even stranger.

  “I love you very much, Anna,” her mother said, placing a gentle kiss on her head. “I will always love you. And so will Elsa. In her own way.”

  Anna’s father pinched her cheek. “Why don’t we plan on doing something special when we get back? All of us, even Elsa. As soon as she starts feeling better.”

  Anna pulled back. “Really?” she said, clapping her hands together. “That would be amazing!”

  “Well, we will talk about it when we return,” the king said, squeezing her arm. “Now, I should go meet with Kai and see how preparations are going. I’ll leave you lovely ladies to enjoy the day.” Leaning over, he kissed his wife gently on the lips. “I’ll miss you till I see you next,” he said. Then, turning, he left the room.

  Anna watched her mother watching him go. The earlier tension in her eyes was gone, and now they were full of love and warmth. “Someday I want to love someone as much as you love Papa,” Anna said after a moment.

  “I want that for you, too, Anna,” her mother said, turning and smiling down at her. “Whoever you love will be so very lucky. Just like I’m so lucky that you love me. Now,” she said, changing the subject, “what do you say about grabbing some cookies from the kitchen? I could really use a little something sweet.”

  Anna nodded eagerly, the idea of a ride forgotten for now. Her mother rarely indulged in treats, and Anna wasn’t going to miss the opportunity. She only had a few more days before they left. She would take any time with her mother that she could get. Smiling, she grabbed her mother’s hand and began dragging her toward the door. “Let’s go!” she said. “I’m pretty sure Cook was baking macaroons today….”

  THE SOUTHERN ISLES were not known for being a bastion of quiet. The seven islands that made up the kingdom were, after all, located in the middle of a large expanse of sea. There were no mountains to hold back the howling winds and no sandy beaches to muffle the roaring surf. All the islands but one, where the king and his family made their home, were rocky. And at almost any point in the day, on almost any point of the islands, the air carried with it the strong odor of salt.

  The crown jewel of the Southern Isles was, of course, the king’s palace. When people who had never been to the Southern Isles first saw the long, low walls stretching across the horizon, they often mistook it for a sea monster. The palace was made from the gleaming black rock that was found only in the Southern Isles. The only breaks in the stony outer walls were four large windows on the northern side, facing the kingdom’s nearest neighbor. This made the palace nearly impregnable, but the result was a building that did, in fact, look like a serpent. The people who had been born and raised in the kingdom loved the castle and found it beautiful. They thought there was something empowering about the fact that it had managed to survive—even flourish—in such an inhospitable environment.

  But to Prince Hans, the youngest son of the king of the Southern Isles, the castle was ugly. Ugly and awful. He hated it as much as he hated every inch of every island. To him, it did not matter that the sea provided the freshest harvests of fish or that the hard island rock fetched high prices when carved into statues. To him, it didn’t matter that his father was, as a result of all this, wealthy beyond imagination. To him, the Southern Isles—and its castle—were a prison, and his father the jailer.

  For the past twenty minutes, Hans had been standing outside the door to the castle’s Great Hall, unwilling to make his entrance quite yet. The wind had stilled a bit as day turned to night. Usually, nothing could be heard over the whipping wind, and Hans was surprised at how clearly he could now make out the sounds coming from the other side of the door. He could hear his father’s voice most clearly. It was impossible not to. The big man’s voice was deep, his sentences clipped. The king did not waste words. “To the point, Hans. Always just get to the point,” he would say whenever he deemed Hans had stayed too long in his presence.

  Beneath his father’s boom, Hans could hear the voices of his twelve older brothers. That sound was as familiar to him as the wind in the air or the smell of the salt. And often just as annoying. He had never known life without them. Every m
emory he had involved one or more of them.

  And not many of them were good memories.

  Hans took a deep breath. While he would have liked nothing more than to turn and walk away, he knew he had to at least make an appearance. His father had requested his presence, and when the king made a request, you did whatever was asked. In this particular case, that meant attending the last in a long line of dinners being held in honor of his mother’s birthday. I’ll just go in, say hello to Father, and give my love to Mother, again, and then I’ll be on my way, Hans thought. Five minutes, no more. How bad can five minutes be?

  He shuddered. With his brothers, five minutes could be very, very bad.

  Taking a deep breath, Hans pushed open the door and stepped into the Great Hall. The room was lit by a thousand candles, their flames making the room smoky and the air hard to breathe. At the front of the room his father sat talking to his eldest brother, Caleb. The two men were engrossed in each other, blatantly ignoring the women at their sides. The queen, Hans’s mother, didn’t seem bothered by it. She was, after all, used to it after nearly thirty years of marriage. She stared out over the room with glazed eyes as one hand stroked the large jewel hanging on her neck and the other held tightly to the stem of her wineglass. Seeing her son, she gave him a weak smile.

  Hans returned the smile before turning his attention to Caleb’s wife. Unlike the queen, whose tranquility was impressive, the princess could not sit still. Almost nine months pregnant with her second child, she fidgeted in her seat, glancing over at Caleb and then out at the tables before returning her gaze to Caleb. Her hands were in constant motion as well—resting on her belly for a moment before reaching for her wineglass and then thinking better of it. She looked painfully uncomfortable, and for one brief moment, Hans felt sorry for her.