“Your soul,” she repeated calmly. The faucet was off now.
When I whirled on the queen, she remained still, statuesque. The room fell quiet, nothing but the steady bustle of hands breaking the silence.
My face twisted in confusion. “How does that work?”
Hildur clasped her lean fingers, resting them against her mustard-colored robes. “We will conduct an ancient ceremony, where your spirit guides will burn the blooms from our Töfratré.”
Their ice tree in the atrium—it was no surprise to me that it held magical properties.
Was this what the Coffin Seeker was referring to then, when he said that most couldn’t handle Jarðarbæli because it meant facing themselves?
Our souls… They were just another version of us. Kind of like a doppelgänger. My gut twisted. Kind of.
I so badly wanted to ask her about all this, but I really didn’t need her knowing I went snooping around her dungeons. Not yet, at least. What if she took this opportunity away?
“Once you inhale the fumes, you will be transported to the Heimer Töfra: the World of Enchantment. There’s a network of caves in the highlands.”
A steady line of woodsy, leathery smoke wafted in the air, tickling my nostrils. “And that’s where Gaia’s is?”
Placing her palm on my shoulder, she ushered me on with a gentle spin. “The Andavörður will help you.”
Maybe she took my comment as a statement instead of a question. I went to ask again.
“So, Gaia’s—” An elf lowered a burning stick onto a set of lava rocks—so that’s what that smell was. They bent into a bow before gesturing to the tub. “I just got back from the healing pools. I think I’m good.”
They stared at me expectantly. Tendrils of steam rose from the water, white flowers floating amidst the bubbles.
“Oh. Uh. Okay, sure,” I said. “I’ll get in.”
Clearly, there wasn’t any other option anyway. Hands fidgeting at my sides, I swallowed the prickles of fear.
“So, these caves,” I tossed behind me, but Hildur had already breezed out of the room. The door clicked shut.
The Andavörður, two of them, didn’t say much—probably barred from small talk—but they seemed kind enough, looking away when I undressed, pouring floral-scented pitchers of water over my head, softly scrubbing my back. Pressing cool washcloths against my brow after an intense plucking, applying lotion after a scream-worthy waxing, gently correcting my posture when I couldn’t sit still during the hour it took to paint my body in intricate silver swirls. Their silken headdresses fluttered as they helped me into the flowing skirts of my ombre-blue dress and set my hair into loose curls, pinning the upper half.
Now dragging a trail of shimmering fabric, I entered the sitting area.
Hildur rose from the settee in a slow sweep. Kristjan quickly followed, clipboard to chest, swiping the porcelain cup of tea from her hand.
The remaining few Andavörður scattered.
“How”—my throat bobbed, unsure—“how do I look?”
A lethal smile split the queen’s cheeks. “Like a most perfect offering.”
“Um. Thanks?”
She crossed over the rug, meeting me at the threshold in bold, graceful steps.
Leaning over the table, she plucked something circular and sparkly from the clutter and placed it on my head: a diadem.
She spun me so I faced a mirror.
A soft gasp spilled from my glossy, pink lips. My hand brushed through my hair, the classic-looking waves spilling over my shoulders and the sapphire-studded straps of my dress.
“It’s beautiful, but…” I blinked, the thick extensions on my lashes causing it to come off as a dramatic bat of my eyes. “Is this the right attire for a cave?”
“For where you’re heading, yes,” she cooed, tucking a curl behind my ear. “We must go to Galdrahöllin, the Hall of Mystics, now to conduct the ceremony. Kristjan will walk us to the elevator, from which I will escort you. Alone.”
