Liv finally allowed herself to take a breath. It had been a long day, but at least the hunt had been fruitful, and tonight they would enjoy a feast worthy of their hard work, as soon as her father returned. It had been two months since he'd left on a diplomatic mission to Arendelle. Although she was used to his absences, that didn't make them any more endurable.
She slumped onto the stone railing, letting her arms hang limply, and let out a long sigh. Her warm breath formed a cloud of condensation, barely visible in the fresh autumn air. Outside Haliori, directly facing her, stood the two highest mountains in the whole kingdom, and between their snow-capped flanks, Arendelle, nestling in the fjord far below, could be discerned. Liv watched distractedly as a ship docked there, looking tiny from up here.
"Still dreaming of going there?"
Harold's voice made her jump. She turned to see the lord of Haliori step forward and lean against the railing beside her. Next to him, she looked extremely small. He was as tall as a beanpole, his jaw and features well-trimmed, and his devouring beard concealing a teasing smile. The thin crown on his head failed to hide the graying locks of his back-combed hair.
Liv replied with a smile.
"I can't help it. Ever since I was a little girl, I've heard my father's tales of Arendelle. I feel like I know every street in Arendelle without ever having been there."
"It's true that your father has a talent for oratory," Harold conceded with a chuckle. "He's always boasting that it's because of this that he..."
"He achieved peace between the Northuldras tribes and Haliori," Liv added with a mocking smile. "He can't stop talking about it between diplomatic missions."
This time, Harold laughed outright as he ruffled Liv's hair. The gesture, though affectionate, might have seemed inappropriate if it had been anyone other than Liv. But her father and Harold were good friends, and the lord of Haliori looked after her and her education when her father was away on business, which was far too often. She had come to think of Harold as an adoptive father.
The latter opened his mouth to speak again when, below, he saw a figure running at full speed towards the castle's main entrance.
"Who is it?" asked Liv.
"A messenger," Harold replied simply, frowning. "Wait for me here, Liv."
Before she could add anything, the lord had already moved away and was hurrying down the stairs.
A strange feeling compressed Liv's chest and twisted her stomach. After a few seconds' hesitation, she left the balcony. She'd never been good at listening to orders.
She discreetly slipped out of her room and went downstairs. The corridors seemed colder than usual, each step echoing unpleasantly in her skull. When she reached the large throne room, she saw Harold standing in front of the messenger, his face pale and shut. Liv felt the warmth leave her own cheeks.
"What's going on?" she asked in a trembling voice.
Both men turned to her in surprise. Harold seemed about to speak, but his lips trembled. His face flushed and he couldn't lay eyes on Liv, who hadn't moved from the doorway. The lord of Haliori strove to remain upright, but his broad shoulders seemed crushed by an invisible weight, and his eyes had lost their sparkling mischief.
Finally, he took a deep breath.
"Liv... Your father..."
Harold's voice broke. Liv felt her legs give way beneath her. Discreetly, she leaned against the wooden door, which creaked slightly under her weight.
"No..." she breathed.
"He's... He's not coming back. His convoy was attacked by... By a group of Northuldras."
He was unable to say anything more.
"No!" Liv suddenly shouted. "It doesn't make any sense! They wouldn't do that! Why... why would they...?"
Liv burst into tears, and would have fallen backwards if Harold hadn't stepped forward to take her in his trembling arms. Her tears drowned in the thick fur of her coat.
"Why..."
The wind howled, shaking the windows of the small room, and its roar grew louder as it descended into the chimney flue, causing the flames to flicker. Anna was sitting in front of the hearth, soberly dressed, a few rebellious strands of hair falling over her face. The fire danced before her eyes but she couldn't see them, and the trembling of her lips had nothing to do with the cold. Behind her, Elsa, straight as an i, her frail figure hidden beneath a white dress, had placed her hand on her sister's shoulder. Her porcelain face showed no emotion.
An hour earlier, a ship had docked at Arendelle harbor, and a messenger had asked to meet them urgently. Anna and Elsa had received him in this small rectangular room, with only a wooden table and a few chairs, which was usually used for meetings between their father and a few advisors.
The messenger had just left the room, narrowly avoiding a vase thrown by Anna, whose shattered pieces were now lying in front of the door.
"It's unfair," the redhead finally said. "They've already made the trip to the South Islands dozens of times. Why this time..."
"The South Sea is often traversed by storms," replied Elsa in a hushed voice. "They've always managed to avoid them, but the climate has changed so quickly..."
Anna interrupted, rising abruptly to her feet. She moved to the window and gazed out over the city, one hand resting against the icy glass. Her breath drew an irregular circle of mist.
"They were King and Queen!" she exclaimed, louder than she intended. "They had to go back and rule Arendelle! It was their duty!"
Elsa reached out to put her hand on her sister's shoulder again, but she shook her off with an abrupt gesture.
"Don't touch me!"
The blonde drew back her hand, looking frightened.
"Who's going to look after us now? she continued angrily. And Arendelle? I won't be old enough to rule for another three years! They had no right to leave us!"
Caught up in an uncontrollable rage, she slammed her fist into the stone wall. A spray of flames erupted from the impact, and a scorch mark blackened her palm and the stone. Elsa gasped, but said nothing.
Anna leaned her head forward until her forehead was in contact with the window. It was cold. It did nothing to calm her thoughts or the storm raging inside her. She closed her eyes. A tear beaded and slid slowly down her cheek, before evaporating under the warmth of the magic she radiated.
Elsa looked at her, helpless. She wanted to speak, to tell her that she understood, that she felt the same pain... but the words choked in her throat. What was the point? Anna never listened when she was like this, and they both knew her words would be a lie.
Her eyes wanted to mourn their parents' death too. But she couldn't. It had been years since she had felt the slightest emotion.
A heavy rain was falling on Arendelle, as if the sky itself was mourning the loss of the royal parents. The drops made a deafening din on the surface of the sea, but from where the sisters stood, all that could be heard was the rustle of the breeze.
Elsa and Anna stood in the center of the circle formed by the court and the people, one step ahead of the others. Facing them, two tall menhirs had been erected. On their surface, among the ancient runes carved into the stone, were the names of Agnarr and Iduna.
Elsa, standing straight and motionless, stared at them without even seeing them, listening distractedly to the priest's drawling voice as he recited blessings in old Narrish. Her black dress brought out the pallor of the young woman's skin. Her face was impassive, but her fingers were trembling slightly.
She felt Anna's fingers slip between hers. She turned her head towards her sister, surprised, before gently squeezing her hand and resting her head against her shoulder. She closed her eyes to feel the warmth of her hand and to escape the vision of the menhirs.
Anna's face, red with anger and grief, contrasted with her sister's pallor. She had glanced at Elsa several times during the ceremony, searching in vain for some reaction, some glimmer of emotion that would confirm that they were sharing the same pain. Elsa was always silent, always in the background, as if expressing any feelings might break something inside her. For years, she had been looking for that trace of humanity on her face, and she had hoped that this time would be different. That the pain of grief would act as a trigger. In vain.
She had lost her sister when the trolls had sealed her powers. She had just lost her parents. Now, she was alone.
She lifted her chin, gazing determinedly at the steles. A dull heat was beginning to rise in her chest, a spark she didn't yet understand but which made her unable to stand still.
"In three years, the burden of the reign will be mine. I'll make it on my own. I won't let Arendelle fall apart."
The crackling of the fire echoed in the valley outside Haliori. Flames licked the dark sky as they devoured the pyre. Wild roses, white lilies, lavender and rosehips were scattered in great quantities around the corpse, covered with a white sheet. Their scents masked that of the flesh and were meant to soothe the soul of the one joining his ancestors.
As for Liv, she was far from soothed. Behind her, the townspeople, some of her father's friends, had gathered in front of the funeral pyre and were murmuring incantations intended to accompany their cherished one one last time. Harold stood beside the young brunette, a massive hand on her shoulder that almost made her sway. The lord of Haliori, usually so imposing, now seemed bent under the weight of grief and sorrow.
Liv wasn't crying. She'd already cried too much since the news of her father's death. She was staring into the flames until her retina hurt. Among the bouquets of flowers, symbolic objects had been laid out, a token of one's bond with the deceased; a medallion, a piece of clothing, a piece of jewelry. Liv had laid out all the objects her father had brought her from Arendelle over the years.
In the last few hours, she'd had time to think. The details of her father's death made no sense.
"Why would the Northuldras attack him, when he concluded peace between us years ago?"
Of course, the possibility of a dissident group could not be ruled out, but her instincts were telling her it wasn't that. Her father had just returned from Arendelle, which was on the opposite side of Northuldra territory.
"Arendelle..." the name popped into her mind.
Arendelle, the kingdom she had always admired through her father's stories, could not be behind such treachery. But doubt, once planted, was hard to ignore.
After the ceremony, she would announce her decision to Harold. She would leave for Arendelle. Her resolution made her tremble with rage.
"I'll find out the truth, Father. Whatever it takes."