“Himinn Tower,” Helga said, unprompted.
It took me a moment to realize she wasn’t speaking to me but to the elevator itself, because at her voice, the cart lurched. My heart leapt into my throat, and we shot upwards.
The walls were free of railings, of anything I could latch onto, and I needed to latch onto something. Without thinking, I took Helga’s palm in mine. Her skin was cold and fair, like she’d been sculpted out of the snow. She gripped back and, despite the temperature, there was a warmth in the gesture, as she gently patted the back of my hand.
Still, saliva flooded my mouth, my gut churning nervously.
It was dark. Cramped. And we were zooming upwards in a box made out of the most breakable material in the world.
I pulled on my collar.
Shadows roamed over the transparent walls when suddenly, the entire world went white, and I squinted against the flare of daylight.
Slowly, I unclenched my fingers, breaking off from Helga. A crystal-clear view unveiled itself before and below us—the valleys, canyons, smoking chimneys, and snow-laden hillsides stretching out for miles in all directions.
We were traveling up the side of the mountain.
The landscape was stunning, endless, a new pocket of the panorama exposed every second we climbed. I blew out a frosty breath, the anxiety slowly giving way to excitement.
Another windchime signaled our stop. The doors crept open. Helga stepped out promptly into a foyer. “Welcome to Himinn Tower, also known as Sky Tower.”
I strode to the center of the cylindrical space and did a slow spin.
It was immediately obvious how this part of the castle earned that name: instead of walls, there were windows filled with expansive views across the elves’ wintry realm.
Thankfully, the floor was the same natural tile that filled the castle below. And from what I could see, so was the single corridor branching off this entry room.
My insides fluttered and, for the first time in days, it wasn’t due to being threatened or scared or chased. It was beautiful.
“There are four suites on this floor.” Helga whisked past the seating area on silent feet, leading me down the hall. Stone soon replaced the windows, the warmly lit passage mimicking the ones on ground level. “Your rooms are here. You will go to the queen’s private quarters for breakfast. I will fetch you in the morning.”
Meeting the monarch was daunting enough, but the locked doors drew my gaze. “Who’s staying in those?” I nodded to the ones farther down the hallway.
Helga’s lips pressed together into a line. “They are occupied by other visitors.” There was no room for questions in that tone.
Dropping the subject, I approached the circular handle to the room she’d indicated was to be mine.
My pulse ticked in my neck. I wasn’t sure what I was afraid of; I’d been granted amnesty, and even if the queen were to change her mind, I was the furthest I could possibly get from the dungeons, probably hundreds of floors above them.
Still, I remembered that eerie draw, that pull. A sense that wasn’t entirely my own, like I was feeling someone else’s dread, someone else’s hopelessness and terror.
My hand was shaky as I gave the handle a twist and pressed the door inward, and the uneasiness floated away.
When the elf said rooms, she wasn’t kidding. This wasn’t a room; it wasn’t even a suite. It was pretty much a small apartment—I was hardly one foot in, and I could already tell it was bigger than the one my dad and I shared in Santa Cruz. Epic didn’t even begin to cover it.
“Sorry!” Helga squeaked from behind me, her voice timid and rushed.
Sorry for what? The chic, tufted seating area? The tray of pickled veggies, cheese, meat, fish, and bread on the coffee table? The wall of books, the crackling fire, the panoramic view overlooking the mountains?
I turned just in time to catch the thick fabric of her green dress slipping out of the room.
The lock clicked.
“Wait!” I sprinted towards the door and jiggled the handle, banged on the surface with my angry fists. But it wouldn’t give. “Rude!” I shouted through the thick wood. No clue if she heard me.
So, I was still a prisoner, then, just in a pretty, gilded cell.
Pressing my ear to the door, I waited for the faintest sound of skittering feet, of soft breathing, but Helga had disappeared. The hall had fallen silent.
