The Ice King

Chapter One

Einar - 1826

    “And--and then what do you do?” Asmund asked from the window seat, his blue eyes looking at Einar, who had his hand wedged in his white hair.

    Einar sighed. “I don’t know, Asmund. I think,” he shook his head. “I think it just happens. Like--oh, gosh--like that, I guess,” he said as the desk began to frost over. Asmund giggled.

    “Your Majesty?” a call came through the library doors. “The Duke of  Weselton wishes to see you!”

    Einar jumped up, knocking the stacks of books on their father’s desk over the ice and the floor. “Your--oh, Einar, this is a mess! I’ll go get--”

    “No, Miss Linnea,” Einar said. “I’ll clean it up. I think I saw Papa in the dining room.” The woman nodded and walked away.

    Asmund jumped up from the cushioned seat. “Why can’t Miss Linnea see the ice?”

    Einar shushed him. “Mama and Papa told me that no one else can know about it, okay? They told me that people wouldn’t like it, so you can’t tell anyone about it either, remember? Now I’ve just got to go… get a rag, I guess. Could you go ask Miss Ingrid for one? She should be in the kitchen. Don’t tell her why you need it, please,  Asmund,” he said as his little brother raced off. 

    “Goodnight, my darlings,” their mother told them as the day came to an end. “Sleep well.”

    Not ten minutes after she left, just as Einar was beginning to fall asleep, he heard Asmund’s quiet footsteps crossing the room. Asmund knocked the air out of him, pouncing on Einar as he fought to keep his eyes closed, hoping that if Asmund thought he was asleep, he would go back to his own bed. Einar had other things to keep him awake. His powers were getting stronger. Every time he was startled, the frost crept up around him, and it only panicked him more when people were close enough to see it. What if Miss Linnea had seen the ice on Papa’s desk this afternoon? The thought made him grimace.

    Asmund shook him. “Einar! Einar, Einar, Einar!” He whispered in his still-baby-like voice, bouncing on his knees. “Do you wanna play? You wanna build a snowman?”

    The words triggered a barrage of happy memories, mostly from last year. When they were both so young, and when Einar didn’t know his power was dangerous, there had been nothing better than building snowmen and forts and ice skating in the summer.

    But Papa told him no; they didn’t know enough about his power to know that it was okay. Papa said it was better if he kept it to himself.

    Conceal, don’t feel.

    Einar suddenly felt another emotion rising in him. What was so bad about his power? Why couldn’t people know about it? Why did everything have to be so veiled and confusing? The thoughts whipped into a flurry in his mind, and he could feel his fingertips tingling so bad it burned.

    “Einar, c’mon!” Asmund said, jumping on the bed again.

    “Asmund, stop!” Einar said sharply, shoving his little brother off the bed. He immediately regretted it, bracing himself for the cry Asmund would let out, which would certainly draw the attention of his parents.

    There was only silence.

    “Asmund?” Einar asked in a small voice. He crawled over to the edge of the bed, gasping. His brother lay there on the floor, curled in a small ball. He didn’t cry, or yell, or anything that Einar would expect him to do. “Asmund?” He repeated. He slipped off the bed and picked him up, holding him in his lap. He was ice cold. “Are you okay? This isn’t funny,” he said, gasping again when a patch of white streaked through Asmund’s bright hair.