Chapter 20

Right Out Here

"Good morning, Queen Elsa." Ash's eyes twinkle as he says my title and name. "How are you?"

I rub my eyes wearily. "I didn't sleep too well last night."

Ash nears me. "What's wrong?"

"Ash . . ." I don't know how to word this. "I think . . . I think I'm going crazy."

Both of us early risers, Ash and I are the first to sit at the breakfast table. A servant sets my food down before me on a silver platter. I just stare at it while Ash digests my words.

He frowns. "What do you mean?"

I chew on my lip and fold my hands on my lap to keep them from shaking. As gently and slowly as I can, I say, "I saw . . . I mean . . . I heard Jack's voice last night."

A dark expression comes over Ash's face. He doesn't say anything, but motions for me to continue.

"He was talking to me . . . saying my name over and over. He couldn't remember who he was or who I was. But he'd been observing . . . us. I told him to leave me and he did. And . . . that's all."

Ash still doesn't speak for several moments after my story. I chew nervously on my lip. What have I done in telling him this? What emotions have been revived in his mind: hurt, anger, pain, sorrow?

"You think you . . . heard him," Ash finally says, his voice loud enough so just I can hear him. "But you didn't see him. Was there . . . any proof that it was him? I mean, Elsa, you could've just been hearing the wind."

"No," I say, "I really heard something. I wasn't just imagining it . . . well, maybe I was. Maybe I'm going crazy. . . . But it seemed so much like him. I haven't forgotten his voice, Ash. I remember exactly what it's like. I remember everything about him."

For a moment, Ash looks angry. Maybe it's because he knows I liked Jack first, and he knows that there is now something between us . . . something neither of us can explain.

"I have no proof it was him," I continue, "because, like I said, he didn't remember anything about himself. He didn't know anything about me . . . or you."

Ash turns his face away from me, and I remember just how hurt he is. As the oldest, he has the burdens of keeping his siblings safe. As one with powers, he also has the burden of keeping those secret and himself safe. He couldn't save Jack. Saving Asta is out of his control now. I'm not sure if he's been able to save himself, either.

Ash is closed and reclusive, but I can see through him like I see through Anna, who has her heart on her sleeve. It helps that we spent many nights after Jack died talking. Just talking. About ourselves, our powers, what they have done to us.

Ash has been subdued all his life. He's never felt like he fit in with his family. And having powers, he never fit in with anyone else. He never could.

Falling back into a conversation we once had, I remember the words he spoke to me:

We lean up against my bed, our shoulders touching.

"Ash . . . ," I murmur.

"Elsa," he says.

"What was your life like? Living with powers such as yours?"

"It was hard to keep them hidden," he says, "like I'm sure you know. It was so hard to keep them under control. I still can't control that . . . and I regret that every day."

"Why? What do you regret about that?"

"It's not something you need to know," he says.

"But . . . ," I start to protest, but think better of it. Ash has his secrets; I have mine.

"Do other people know about your powers?" I ask him.

"Just my family," he says, "and you." He smiles. "I'm glad you do now. And I'm glad I know about yours. It . . . makes things easier."

"It does," I say. "I don't know how I'd be able to cope without you." A blush creeps up my cheeks. How intimate that sounds.

He laughs. "I don't know how I'd be able to get through this without you, either, Elsa." He turns his head to look at me, and breathes out, "You're so beautiful." My heart stops beating as he reaches out a hand and tugs a piece of hair from my bun. "I never noticed that before. You should wear your hair down sometime."

"I'm going to be the queen," I say stiffly, still in shock by the touch. "I'm supposed to always look —"

"In control," he finishes for me.

"Yes. That's right. . . ." How is it that having barely spoken before, we are so close now? How can something so different as fire powers and ice powers bring two estranged people together?

Jack, I think. Jack is who brought is together. Without him, both of us would've lived our lives never knowing of the other. This is the doing of Jack. Whether he meant it or not.

It makes me want to cry: how Jack is still working in our lives, even though he's dead.

It still makes me want to cry.

Later that day, after I've read through pages and pages of Anna's wedding plans, Ash strolls into the throne room with a determined look on his face.

"This can't be good," I say. My tone is meant to be light, but I'm not sure I achieved it.

"I want to go to the trolls," he says, striding toward me, before stopping and bowing, "Queen Elsa."

"It's just Elsa!" I say, but I say that only because I am in shock. Gathering my thoughts, I say, "Why the trolls?"

"You're not going crazy on me, Elsa," he says. "Anyone can see that. So there must be an explanation for Jack's appearance . . . a magical explanation. And everyone knows that trolls know more of magic than anyone else."

"They may not help us," I say.

"But they could," he says. "It's worth a try. Isn't it? To find out about Jack?" His voice cracks on the last word which shoots a pain through my heart.

"You're right," I say. "I'm almost done. Give me half an hour and we'll leave. In that time, you can get our horses ready."

Ash bows again, his back stiff as he does so. "As you wish, Queen Elsa."

I wish he would stop saying that.

Our year apart has changed us both. I am happier than I have ever been.

Ash is angry and afraid.

I know why: he's afraid he'll lose everything. And he's angry that he won't be able to stop it from happening.

It takes us an hour to get to where the trolls live. I vividly remember being here when I was eight years old. I remember Grand Pabbie healing Anna, and taking away her memories, showing me the future. Telling me that fear would be my enemy.

I have never forgotten those words.

As Ash and I travel, I can feel his anger simmering beneath his skin, close enough to the rim, but not hot enough to boil over. Soon, though, it will happen. I'm not sure what to do when it erupts.

"We should stop here," I say, motioning to Ash. Just outside of the trolls' home, we tie our horses to a tree, and walk forward.

Hundreds of rocks cover the green grass, lying in their round form. They are silent and still.

"Please," I say, "it's Queen Elsa. We would like your help . . . and advice."

At first, the trolls don't move or answer. For a moment, I wish I had brought Kristoff, Anna's fiancée, here. They would've answered to him, as they did adopt him, and he's part of their family as if he were a troll himself.

Then, the rocks start to rumble and they all start crashing toward us. I nearly jump, but Ash puts his hand on my shoulder to keep me steady.

The trolls reveal themselves and all look up at me in awe.

"It's the queen!" they shout, and they bow before me.

"Please," I say, "there is no need for that. You have helped me on more occasions than one. I ask for your help once more."

"What is it you need?" The deep voice emerges from one of the eldest trolls: they call him Grand Pabbie.

"My brother," Ash says, "he died three years ago, but Queen Elsa believes she heard his voice. Is it even possible . . . could it be possible that he's really alive?"

Grand Pabbie turns to me, the gemstones around his neck lighting up. "You attest to his death," he says. "You saw it yourself."

"I did." I nod, and grasp Ash's hand.

Grand Pabbie shakes his head slightly. "And you used to have feelings for him." Ash stiffens behind me.

Grand Pabbie waves his hand in the air, and I hear screaming as an image projects itself into the sky. It is us on that fateful night. I see Asta slipping on the ice, Jack falling into the water, my ice hitting his heart.

I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to see any more.

"Please," Ash says in a strained voice, "stop."

Grand Pabbie waves his hand again and the images disappear. Tears slip down from my eyes onto my cheeks.

"The boy you speak of," Grand Pabbie says. "Jack. I can feel his presence in the air around me."

"He's alive?" Ash says.

"In a peculiar way," Grand Pabbie says, "he is. But he is but a vapor, only to be seen by those who believe in him. Only to be heard by those who wish to hear his voice. Only to be touched by those who trust him. He has been gifted beyond imagine, and cursed beyond wonder."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Your friend has been revived by magic," Grand Pabbie says. "A deep magic that even I cannot entirely comprehend." The trolls murmur around us. "If he is to truly be part of your lives again, you must believe."

"In what?"

"In him," he says, "and most importantly, yourselves."

"How is Asta?" I ask the nurse as I enter the healing room.

"She is getting worse," the nurse says in a throaty voice. She shelves some medicine before turning her attention fully to me and Ash. "We have done everything we can to make sure she is comfortable."

"NO," Ash says forcefully. "That can't be right. She can't be . . ."

Dying.

Ever since Jack died, Asta's health has gotten worse. We don't know if it's partly mental strain that is affecting her physical health, some unknown disease battling at her immune system, or magic that is ailing her.

But Asta is sick. And she's getting worse.

The nurse leaves us to have some privacy, and Ash and I walk up to Asta's bed. The girl lies curled up in a ball as if she's cold, though the fire in the room provides plenty of heat. Her forehead is sticky with sweat, and her skin is pale.

As if she can sense us looking at her, she opens her eyes.

"Ash. Elsa," she rasps out and I nearly flinch at her voice. It is nothing like the sweet sound I remember.

"Asta," I say quietly.

She tries to smile, but starts coughing. A horrendous noise that sends shivers up my back.

Ash nears Asta, his face emotionless, and puts his hand on his sister's.

"Are you cold?" he asks.

"Freezing," she answers.

"I'll see what I can do."

He nears the fire, and thrusts both of his hands into the flames. Immune to the heat like I am the cold. The flames burst into the chimney, and a wave of heat pours over us. I breathe in. Even though the cold is my element, I have never liked it. The heat is what I crave. The heat of fire, of the sun, of the friction between touches.

Ash takes his hands out of the fire, and despite myself, I half expect them to be burned, blackened. But they are as whole as ever.

Asta shivers as the warmth starts to recede once again.

"You'll be okay," I tell her.

"I promise," Ash says. "I won't let you die."

Asta forces a smile. "It's okay, big brother," she says. "I'm ready if it has to happen."

It's a horrible thing for a fifteen-year-old to say. The thought of someone so young giving up their life — being ready for it — sickens me. Why must someone like that die?

"You're not going to die," Ash says fervently. "I promise."

Asta is still smiling when we leave.

Author's Note: *sigh* More complications. So, whatcha think? Thanks for reading!

- J. Dom