“Mmm, smells delicious,” I lied. “What is this, anyway?”
“Elf, I believe.” Releasing the hold on my scruff, she moved to a shadowy corner and rummaged through a pile of junk. An eyeball rolled across the ground.
My gut twisted. To be granted safe passage, we must provide an offering, the queen had told me, even if only temporary. Safe to say, the last offering she sent became a permanent guest.
I would make it out.
I had to.
Swiping a spoon off the table, I tucked it under my thigh. “I seem to be missing utensils.”
She grunted.
I crossed my arms. “I can’t eat without a spoon.”
A blistered palm slammed onto the tabletop, splintering the wood with its force. In it, a flash of bent silver twisted, twinkled. “Here you are.”
Plastering on a fake smile that soured my cheeks, I chirped, “Thank you.”
I gripped the handle of the spoon, even against the trembling of my muscles.
Pushing empty bottles and trinkets aside, she plopped into the seat across from me at the other end of the table and opened a wicker basket.
“Delicious.” I pretended to slurp, the foul liquid brushing my lips. Hints of rot and ash tore into my taste buds. Disgusting. “So, are you a collector of sorts?”
“Hm?” The angle of her head drifted from the knitting needles in her hands, to me.
I gestured to the cages, eyes falling on a rusted one in the corner with a soiled rag for a blanket. Is that where she’d kept her last visitor? Is that where she’d keep me?
Gulping, I shook the gruesome thoughts away. “You just have a lot of nice things.”
“That queen sends gifts. Trying to ease tensions.” I didn’t miss the way her lip curled at the mention of Hildur, how her gnarled fingers tightened on her tools.
At my staring, she held up the thick implement, then dug the tip into a flimsy square, too translucent to be fabric, too delicate to be flesh.
A soul.
A blanket of them, stitched together like a patchwork quilt. Trapped in this realm, in this cave. I eyed the human-sized cage more closely. Red stains dappled the bars. Thin scratches scored the bottom—nail marks.
Horror clenched my insides.
Another fake sip, another gag, another lie. “Yeah, she’s awful. You know, she talks about you incessantly. Grýla, Grýla, Grýla. It’s her favorite topic. She’s obsessed.”
The ogress’s fingers stilled. Loose cloth still shielded her face, but at this angle, I swore I saw a thin lip quirk up.
Resting my chin in my palm, I batted my eyes, the extra lashes heavy on my lids. “What did you do? Tell her off? Curse her kingdom?”
“You have things confused, my dear.” Her nails curled inwards, growing longer, sharper. “A curse is not a curse when it is one half of a bargain.”
“What kind of bargain?” I leaned in, like we were in on some secret. “A soul for a soul?”
“A soul for a kingdom.”
A lighthearted laugh bubbled out of me, but neither one of us was smiling anymore.
“Bit by bit, until it crumbles,” she sang.
My words were spitting, harsh. “You don’t mean you’re the one destroying the Galdur? Sending Ískastali to its ruin…” I trailed off. Judgement would get me nowhere. Flattery would get me… somewhere. I hoped. I swallowed my pride and sweetened my tone. “And all the way from here. How crafty of you. How do you do it?”
