The Winter Kingdom

Chapter 1

The scene outside the glass was an unbroken canvas of white. Slivers of grey suggested shapes of things unrecognizable against the ceiling of clouds. The boundaries of road and forest were blurred until the path was caught between winter's cold white teeth. Only the black and spindly fingers of a few tall pines clawed beyond the snow. Their tortured shadows stretched past the horizon and onto the chalk dust sky.

The whiteness did not end at what could be seen. It seeped between the corners of the carriage interior, kissing cold against the child's skin. She felt it on the back of her neck, stuck to the strands of her shawl. The girl breathed onto the glass, slowly wiping up the frost with her fingers until her pale blue reflection stared back at her.

"Agostina, stop that."

She curled her fingers back up into a fist. The gray shine began to leach back over her handprints, until a second layer of white had resumed its station over the glass.

"Are we almost there, Papa?" Agostina asked. She leaned over into her mother's shoulder. The elegant woman next to her wrapped her arm around Agostina, welcoming her into the soft folds of her coat. The little girl settled against her mother, and Mama began to caress Agostina's braided hair.

"A few more minutes," her papa said, his handsome face turning into a smile that for a moment melted all the white ice around her. She reached out and he returned the gesture, her small hand dwarfed in his. Over Agostina's head, husband and wife exchanged concerned glances.

Her mother leaned down and pressed her finely structured features into Agostina's bright copper hair. Braided for the sake of practicality, it usually burst forth like stuffing through the ripped seam of a teddy bear, her face lost in all the red curls. It had taken every ounce of effort to coax it into a neat and obedient braid.

Mama kissed the top of Agostina's head. Agostina could smell the sweet scent of springtime on the fabric of Mama's clothes. It brought to mind a vivid memory of running barefoot through the garden. She pinched one of the buttons of mama's long coat between her fingers and listened patiently to the murmuring of the wind.

"Agostina, we must talk with you darling." Mama's voice fell as softly as the snow outside. Agostina wanted to curl up in the warmth of her words.

She looked up at her mama, with a curious flicker in her charcoal eyes. Mama looked back at her with the dimpled cheeks and straight, delicate nose they shared. Papa said they had been painted by the same angel, and that is why their faces were so strikingly familiar.

"You are a big girl now," her papa said, and she turned her eyes to him. Agostina always felt that Mama and Papa spoke with one voice at moments like this. There was a harmony to their words that united them as one parental entity. It seemed from the look in Papa's eyes that he anticipated what Mama would say, though they had never agreed on it out loud.

"Okay," Agostina answered, her voice almost soft enough to get lost in the overwhelming silence of the world outside. Mama squeezed her shoulder in reassurance.

"It is not anything you've done, Ina," Papa clarified. "But we must speak with you as a big girl now. You must understand that I'm about to have an adult conversation with you, which means it stays within the three of us. Do you understand?"

Agostina nodded.

"Good girl," Papa said, with a look of relief.

Agostina waited for him to tell her their secret. She leaned against Mama and listened to the sound of her heart beating, the steady echo of a time before here, when mama and her only knew each other. Mama held her closely.

"You know Agostina that the King and Queen have a son your age, yes?"

She nodded.

"He's- well he's very... quiet I suppose. It gets very lonely in the castle with no one to play with."

Mama nodded gravely in agreement.

"I believe he is a nice boy Ina. Try to be kind to him, alright?"

"Yes Papa," she replied.

"But Agostina-"

"Yes Papa?"

"If you're ever in any kind of trouble, you come find me immediately. Is that understood?"

Agostina stared up at him, and she saw him not as Papa, but as Father. Father only showed his face when there was something Papa could not tell her while he was laughing. Agostina nodded again and Papa returned with a smile.

"You are a good girl Agostina."

Agostina bowed her head in acceptance and began to study the fingers of mama's gloves. The shadows of the trees receded from the window and in the white light, mama's gloves looked even whiter. Next to them, Agostina inspected her own bread colored gloves and frowned.

The carriage rolled on in silence, the sounds of their movement blanketed by snow. Under the cycling wheels and heavy hoofs the dirt road transformed into time-worn cobbles, jolting Agostina from a daydream. She sat up and pressed her cheek to the window.

Agostina heard the moan of a wrought iron gate swinging back on its hinges. A severe man in colors stared at the carriage as it passed. He lifted his hand to his forehead, as if to block the winter sun from his eyes, then pointed his fingers down to the ground. Agostina copied him in a small movement, curious what it might mean. She stared open mouthed as he disappeared behind her, lost in the chill of afternoon.

Up ahead the path wound on. The cobbles lined one upon another through sinuous curves. Agostina followed it with her eyes. A charcoal slash broke through the snow covered trees towards a mammoth structure ahead. The stone beast rose like needles from the hilltop, its gothic arches yawned and wailed against the wind. Agostina closed her hand around Mama's.

"Is this it?" Mama asked, her fingers wiggling affectionately in Agostina's grip.

"Yes," Papa replied, peering out the window. A dark shadow passed over his eyes. He looked down and saw Agostina watching him, and his smile burst forth like the sun from clouds.

"Ina have I told you the story of the princess and the wolf?"

Papa's face lit up with boyish enthusiasm and she thought of sitting on his lap while he wove tales from the yarn of his imagination. A warm fire flickered in the back of her mind, and she felt the sleepiness of memory settle over her like a great sigh. Agostina shook her head.

"Tonight before you go to bed I will tell it to you. It is perfect for a wintery night in a big castle like this. Will you remind me?"

Agostina nodded. The carriage rolled to a halt. As the journey ended, the wheels ground in protest beneath it, and the horses snorted in relief. Agostina shrunk from the door, afraid of the cold blast that would issue from it when it was opened. Mama began to gather the few loose things on the seat beside her.

In the last moments before exiting, Agostina pressed her face to the window one last time. The hollow eyes of the castle spires stared down at her as the white clouds of snow gathered ominously at their peaks. She clenched her jaw against her chattering and tried to find the top of the castle. She looked away without success, dizzied by her attempt. Daunted, Agostina dove into her mother's side and hid her face in the warm wool of mama's jacket.