Page 66

“I can’t, but I know I won’t leave without you. If Alfrun throws you in the dungeons, I’ll make her throw me in there too.”

Lilja looked up at me, and her eyes shone with tears. “Selma, that’s madness.”

It was. It absolutely was. But it was also the truth. I would do anything to free Lilja from her magical bonds, but if the choice was to go back to Norstad without her or staying with her… well, the decision was simple. I wasn’t going home without her—and not just because I loved her but because I had given her a promise.

“It might be madness,” I said. “But it’s the truth. I said forever. I meant it.”

She leaned her head against my shoulder, but only for a moment before the soldier pushed me in the back, and we both stumbled. Alma stepped in front of us, preventing our fall. Helena’s glare at him was as deep as the deepest well.

“Move along,” he growled.

I took Lilja’s hand again, and we stepped through the door. I had expected more tunnels, or a sort of corridor perhaps, but we were in what appeared to be a grand hall. And grand it was. I had to squint to glimpse the other end—and then I could only vaguely make out what appeared to be a dais with a throne on it. Empty, as far as I could tell.

Step after step, we got closer. I had never been to Stockholm, but Alma had, and once she had told me of Storkyrkan, about the cathedral’s high, vaulted ceiling. Above us was something like it, a roof shaped like inverted domes cut into the stone and covered in what appeared to be silver inlaid with blue and white gems. It was like a starry sky, except that the metal had a harshness that was very far from the velvety feel of true night.

Below our feet, the floor was an intricate mosaic of at least a dozen types of granites, all in different dark shades. It was laid in a pattern emulating flowers, many different kinds, like a meadow in summer. The stone had been polished to a shine, and it looked as smooth as the ice of a lake after a quick frost.

Doors along the walls, in bronze too but not as tall, opened and elves crowded into the hall. It seemed word of our arrival had run from mouth to mouth in their chambers or whatever it was that was back there. There were so many more than I had expected. Hundreds. Who knew a mountain that looked no different than any other could hold a court, an entire world?

No one spoke to us, but their whispers as they watched us pass were like the whistle of the wind in a grove of firs. It had a different cadence than Swedish, like the language Lilja had spoken to the Alfrun in her wolf form.

One word, though, I understood.

Eivor.

Eivor.

Eivor.

It seemed Lilja hadn’t been forgotten. She moved closer to me, and I managed a smile down at her, although my face felt as stiff as if made from hardened clay.

When I looked ahead again, the throne was no longer empty. Alfrun had taken her seat. Her cloak was the dark blue of a midsummer night, and her lily-pale hair hung loose over the fur collar. Her face was cold and serene—not unlike the snow that blanketed her mountain. In her hand she held a staff of a polished wood. Elm. Just like Lilja had said.

The elves of Alfrun’s court crowded around, although no one came closer than a few yards. Their eyes, most of them that unsettlingly pale of a winter sky, followed us. I felt how my steps slowed as we neared the dais. Lilja and Alma both faltered. Only Helena’s strides had a firmness. She held her chin high, and she stared straight ahead as she pulled Alma along by the hand.

Alfrun watched us approach. Her throne wasn’t just a seat, but a magnificent work of art. Carved entirely in what looked like white, sparkly quartz, the back, set with blue gemstones, extended far above her head. On top perched two obsidian ravens with onyx eyes that looked eerily lifelike. The armrests were shaped like standing wolves intertwined with swirling lines of stone. Alfrun’s staff had a similar design, carved like the branch of a troll hazel, only with perfect symmetry. I couldn’t imagine a human throne more magnificent. Surely not even the Emperor of China had a more glorious seat.

Everything in the hall was in the same swirling artistic style. It had an ancient feel to it. One time, Alma had shown me a picture of a stone from the age of the Vikings she had seen in Stockholm. Framing a ship had been what looked like intertwining ropes. There was something of that same form to the elfish aesthetic.

On either side of Alfrun stood a man. One was stout with short cropped blonde hair and broad shoulders. He wore a short-sleeved tunic, and scars littered his powerful arms and hands. This was Stali, no doubt, Alfrun’s master artisan. The iris of his one eye was milky white.

The other man had to be Hrafn, Alfrun’s court overseer. He was as lean as a birch and, to my surprise, didn’t have the paleness of the others. With his dark hair and eyes, he looked more like Lilja than Alfrun.

Guards flanked the dais, all dressed identically to the soldier who had found us outside, and all with a metal-tipped spear. Their faces held the same blankness, and I thought of the grave countenances of the hundreds of wooden soldiers I had painted over the years. Could all these men change into wolves? What a terrifying pack they would be.

Alfrun’s eyes brushed over us all, settling on Vemund. “You brought humans into my hall. Why?”

Vemund pointed that skeletal finger to the soldier standing on our other side. “He refused to obey my orders.”

The soldier’s mouth fell open. “I did not. They had a rifle and⁠—”

Alfrun’s voice cut through his frantic babble. “Do they have a rifle now?”

“No, but⁠—”

Alfrun flicked her wrist and the soldier flew backward, landing on the floor with a hard thump and the crack of bones. The back of my skull ached at the sound.

“Take him to the dungeons,” she said. Two blank-faced soldiers stepped forward, and each of the soldiers grabbed one of his arms. They dragged him up onto the dais. No cheers, no mumbling of dismay either. The only sound was the fading sound of footsteps. Every elf pretended a great interest in their nails or the floor below their feet, and they pulled him through a door behind the throne. It closed with a metallic clank, and Alfrun’s eyes fixed on Lilja.