More and more wolflike.
Until suddenly, there was no Hans, just a great white wolf with amber eyes and teeth the size of dinner knives. It was the same wolf that had stalked her childhood dreams. But while most things from childhood seem to become smaller as one grows, the wolf had, in fact, only grown with Anna. He was fiercer now. Hungrier.
The wolf licked his maw and advanced.
Wake up, Anna, she thought frantically, tripping on her skirts as she tried to scramble backward. Wake up! Wake up! Wake up—
“Wake up!” Anna sat straight up. The sound of her own voice shattered her nightmare. Relief, warm and sweet as fresh honey, coursed through her. It had been so long since she’d had this particular dream, this particular nightmare, and the fear it spawned was unfortunately as familiar as the ache of missing her parents. And this time, there was no Mother to tell her a distracting story or Father to bring her hot chocolate.
Always rely on each other for help.
Leaning forward, Anna grabbed Secrets of the Magic Makers, which had slid to the foot of her bed. She tucked it close to her chest and raced into her parents’ old bedroom. Not because she thought they would be there, but because Elsa had moved into it after her coronation, abandoning her childhood bedroom. But looking around the room and at the dying fire, Anna wondered why Elsa had not yet returned. She reassured herself that sometimes queenly duties could last all night.
She walked back to her room. Before clambering into bed, she stopped by her dressing table and took hold of her father’s sketchbook. King Agnarr had been a talented artist, wielding both his pencil and sword with ease. On the bad days, when Anna felt most alone, she liked to open his sketchbook up and see the world as he once had. There were images of Arendelle Castle, as well as the far-off lands he’d seen on his grand tour.
Elsa would leave on her own grand tour in just four—no, now three days—and if Anna could heal the animals before then, there was still a chance she’d be able to sail away with Elsa.
Returning to her bed, Anna decided that she’d wake up extra early to show Elsa the spell first thing. And so, with her father’s sketchbook on one side of her pillow and her mother’s book on the other, she at last dared to close her eyes.
The wolf did not return.
ANNA HEARD THE SOUND of chimes and footsteps from somewhere in the castle.
Dawn had broken, spilling warm autumn sunlight across her face. Keeping her eyes closed, Anna stretched, enjoying the coziness of her quilt and the softness of her pillow. Just a few more minutes. She could afford to wait before she found Elsa, asked more about the Westens’ goats, and told her about what she’d found last night in their mother’s book. After all, she was so comfortable that it would be a crime to untuck herself, and—
Her thoughts screeched to a halt.
Secrets of the Magic Makers. The book with spells in it. The book with a potential cure for the animals.
Anna lurched up, eyes flying open—only to be blinded not by the light of dawn, but by golden mid-morning sun. She’d overslept again!
Faster than Sven could chomp a carrot, Anna tumbled out of bed before she could even untwist herself from her quilt. She grabbed Secrets of the Magic Makers, and with her blanket flapping behind her, she sprinted through the dressing room and downstairs. Not bothering to knock, she flung open the door to her parents’ old bedroom. The bed was neatly made, the ashes cold in their hearth.
Of course—her sister would have been up for hours at this point. Elsa, for some strange reason, enjoyed mornings. She said they made her feel fresh as new snow, while they made Anna feel as fresh as chicken droppings. A headache pounded at her temples. Even though she’d overslept by hours, it had been a restless sleep, as it had taken her long hours to relax after the return of the childhood nightmare.
Think. Where would Elsa be at this time of day? Whirling from the bedchamber, Anna ran down the hallway to peer through open doors. Elsa wasn’t in the library or council chambers. Maybe the portrait gallery? Anna flew downstairs and made a sharp turn on the landing—and barreled into something warm and solid.
Anna flew backward, sprawling onto the ground. A dull pain rattled through her backside, but thankfully, the majority of her fall had been cushioned by the carpet. Ow.
“Hey!” the warm wall grumbled from above. “Watch where you’re going!”
“You watch where you’re going!” Anna replied, and instantly regretted it. That’s not what someone hoping to be a royal ambassador on a grand tour should say. “I’m sorry,” she added, looking up to see the old, wrinkled face of Madam Eniola staring down at her.
“Anna!” Madam Eniola bobbed a curtsy, her long brown skirt contrasting with the bundle of white ribbons she held in her arms. “My apologies, I didn’t recognize you in your…” Her eyes swept up and down. “Quilt?”
Anna winced. Royal ambassadors should also probably remember to put on proper clothes before carrying out their important missions—and to comb their hair, too. Her hair didn’t look so much like hair as it resembled a bird’s nest. “That’s all right.” Anna clambered to her feet. “I should have been paying attention.” Like always. She pulled her quilt tighter around her and hoped it looked more dignified than her ruffled pale green nightgown and bare feet.
Anna knew Eniola as one of the new villagers who’d moved to Arendelle from Tikaani, and specifically as the one who had taught Tikaani’s national anthem to Anna. Eniola lived in a cozy cottage on the outskirts of the farmlands. Holding her chin up, Anna asked, “What brings you to the castle, Madam Eniola?”
Eniola sighed, and the creases on her face, which already held more lines than King Agnarr’s old sailing charts, seemed to increase tenfold as she frowned. “I’m here to speak to the queen.” She pursed her lips. “We all are.”
Anna arched an eyebrow. “We?”
Eniola stepped back to reveal more villagers lined up outside the Great Hall, staring at Anna. She recognized many of her friends—the candymaker, the farmer, the gas lamp lighter, the miller, the two blacksmiths, and many more. Many, many more.
Anna’s eyes widened as she saw that the line of villagers extended from the double doors that led into the Great Hall all the way through the second great hall and into the portrait gallery. Anna’s mouth went dry, and she cleared her throat. “Why do you need to see Elsa? Erm, Queen Elsa?” she asked.
Eniola held out her bundle of ribbons, which Anna saw now were not actually ribbons at all. They were strands of wheat, but instead of the long golden straws Anna was used to seeing from the tower window, these strands were short and mottled white—moldy and rotten all the way through and recognizable only by the heads of grains at the tops. Even as Anna stared, a few seeds crumbled off into white dust. First the animals, then the crops. What was going on?
“We woke this morning,” Eniola said, “and it’s all like this—everything!”
The villagers grumbled in agreement behind her.
Anna needed to tell Elsa about all these villagers—now.
“Excuse me.” Anna tore her eyes away from the pitiful bundle in Madam Eniola’s arms and hurried downstairs in the direction of the Great Hall. “Pardon me, coming through!” The line shifted to allow Anna to wiggle by, and as she did, she saw that each and every person held white bundles similar to the one that Madam Eniola held: the pumpkins, usually the color of the sunset, had large unsightly splotches splashed across them, while the apples, usually red, round, and crisp, seemed to have the same consistency as raw dough. Up and down the line, Anna saw dried corn husks, white-mottled potatoes, and carrots as pale as cream. Every crop, every vegetable, every grain Anna could think of, was destroyed. Rotten.