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I sat back down at my bench, turning the doll in my hands. The joints moved well, the light from the lamp made her gemstone eyes sparkle. Helena had done a marvelous job on the embroidery. The stems of the flowers ran intertwined along the border in silver thread. The seed pearls in the flower’s center gifted the skirt a pleasant weight.

There were several options for a doll’s hair. The cheapest was to simply paint it on. Short for a boy or a baby, a wreath of braids around the head for a girl. That wouldn’t do for this doll though.

Another option was mohair. It was soft and easy to style, but it had a woolly texture very unlike real hair.

And that was the third option—real hair. The most expensive dolls, the porcelain sort from England and France, had real hair. I had never done it though, because my Norstad clientele wasn’t fancy folk.

For this doll I needed the very best, though. I grabbed the scissors from their place on my wall. My only mirror was in my room, so that was where I went. I didn’t use it often, and I had to search the drawer for it. Placing it upright against the wall on the dresser, I didn’t hesitate before I put the blades to my braid right above my shoulders. The color wasn’t as pretty as Lilja’s raven-dark locks, but it would have to do.

I wasn’t very good at sewing, but I could make a doll’s wig, although it was different working with real hair. The texture was more slippery, but at least the doll’s head was small. When I had the hair fastened to the cotton cap, I held my gouge into the flames of the oven, then wrapped a lock of hair around it. Soon the doll had an entire head of soft, brown curls. With the leftover forget-me-not blue ribbon, I tied some of it away from her face with a bow.

In the parlor, I sat her next to the sad remains of the broken doll. She was the prettiest sight I had ever seen, but would Stali agree? Or would he have nothing but a scoff and disdain for my skill and talent? And that of Alma and Helena too?

Chapter Thirty-Seven

When I woke up the next morning, I found Helena and Alma in front of the bureau peering into the box with the doll. I had lain her on a bed of bunched-up muslin so she might make the journey unscathed.

“She’s perfect with the hair,” Alma said when I joined them. “Just… she’s masterful, Selma.”

“You think so?”

“Yes. And I’ve seen my share of beautiful and expensive dolls.” She ran a finger along Helena’s embroidered hem. “None like this one though.”

“If Stali doesn’t give you the victory,” Helena said, “he’s a goddamn miserable liar.”

We all stood side by side, admiring our work. She was a beautiful sight, with fine features and richly dressed, even prettier than I could have ever imagined a doll from my hands.

“Let’s get going,” I said. “I’ll go to Jonsson’s while you pack up.”

An hour later, we said goodbye to my uncle. Alma told him Lilja had sent me a telegram asking us to come get her. We still had two days before the seven days ran out, but the journey might not go as smoothly this time.

It was the last day of the year, and like our last departure, the smell of cooking followed us as we drove through Norstad’s streets. Helena sat next to me on the bench, and when we had left the town behind, she pulled out the rifle and placed it on her lap. We had skipped breakfast, but now we dug into our abundant provisions. We weren’t planning on stopping for anything except to let the horses drink and have a short rest.

The forest had closed in around us when we had finished. Alma, behind me in the sleigh, said, “I have something to show you.” I turned, and she held out a leather sheath, then pulled the knife from its inside. “The blade is copper. I found it at the bottom of one of my father’s old crates of stuff.”

“Did you do that symbol?” I asked because a sign was etched into the metal.

“Yes. It’s the rune for death.”

“They won’t let us bring it inside the mountain,” I said.

“Only if they know we have it.”

“How could they not? They sense things.”

She slid the blade into the sheath and turned it. Imprinted into the leather was another symbol. “This is a concealment rune. If it works, I’ll carry it inside my boot.”

“That’s clever.”

“I have more,” she said and pulled away a blanket, revealing half a dozen wooden spears. She held one up for us to admire. They were elm wood and the symbol from the dagger decorated the tip. The rune of death.

“I didn’t know you could carve wood,” I said.

Alma smiled. “I know someone who’s a master, and I’ve watched her for years.”

“They’re beautifully done.”

“They’re lethal, that’s the thing.”