Page 81

Side by side, me with the doll and Alma with the book, we made our way through the whirling snow and stepped into the quiet dark.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

It was a good thing the tunnel leading to Alfrun’s hall was a simple one. No arms veering off in different directions, no twists, no turns, just miles of trodding along. We hurried, walking fast, sometimes almost running because time was running out.

Did Lilja have any sense of how much time had passed? That time was almost up? It was hard to imagine that she did, being isolated in the dark far below. I hoped she didn’t. I wanted her sense of time to be warped, for it to feel much shorter than it was. For her not to know that in hours, perhaps minutes, she could be Alfrun’s prisoner forever.

The doll wasn’t heavy, and neither was the box, but soon my arms ached because the shape was awkward. Still, I clutched it to my side. I had to keep believing that there was a chance it might win Lilja’s freedom. It wasn’t just beautiful. It had magic. A magic we knew worked.

The snow in my hair melted, and drops ran down my neck and under the collar of my jacket, making me shiver. That was the one disadvantage of lacking my braid.

We went through the plan as we went along, all of us breathless as we spoke. I was going to present the doll to Alfrun and Stali while Helena and Alma kept an eye on the surroundings. She had sent her wolf soldiers to hurt us, and we didn’t trust Alfrun one bit to honor her promise.

Like out on the mountain, it felt like we had walked far too long. Perhaps Alfrun had the power of illusion, making the tunnels never-ending and the door unreachable? I wanted to cry at the thought—and mostly out of fury.

Right as tears filled my eyes, Helena pointed ahead. “I see it. We’re almost there.”

The bronze doors gleamed faintly ahead, and we set into a run but then came to a dead halt in front of them. “How do we get inside?” I asked. They had neither handles nor keyholes.

“Hrafn won’t help us,” Alma said. “We’re so close Alfrun would know if he did. Magic is the only way.” She walked to one of the strange lights on the wall and opened the book. Helena and I stood on either side, skimming the pages with her.

“There are hundreds of symbols,” I said.

“But the right one’s in here somewhere. I know I’ve seen it.”

The desperation was like a crawl of flies on my skin, knowing we were so close and yet still thick bronze doors away. Lilja was near too, but still infinitely far, buried under tons of stone beneath us.

Alma pointed to a symbol. “This one.” I read the description in the margin. “Open” was all it said. “We need to edge it on the door.”

“How?” Helena said. “We haven’t got any tools.”

“The dagger,” Alma suggested.

I shook my head. “Copper won’t make a dent in bronze. It’s softer. We need steel or stone.”

“Oh,” Helena said and pulled a pin from her hair. “Will this work?”

“Let’s see.”

Helena took the box with the doll while Alma and I stepped up to the door. She held the book, keeping her finger under the right symbol. I pressed the pin to the bronze. It left a scratch but not a very deep one. I completed the symbol anyway, as well as I could in the faint light.

Alma and I stepped back. It seemed like an eternity that nothing happened. I was just about to suggest we try again, that perhaps I hadn’t done it right, when the doors swung open in a silent, unhurried gliding motion.

No time to hesitate. I took the box from Helena, and as we stepped over the threshold, she grabbed Alma’s hand. Alfrun’s grand hall lay before us, as beautiful as before, but it was nothing like the last time. Then it had been filled with strange whispers and the tread of feet on the polished stone. Now it was empty. No one had come to gawk at us. Except for the one above the dais, the grand chandeliers were unlit, and the intricate ceiling lay cloaked in darkness.

The walk to the dais seemed as long as that through the tunnels. My heart wasn’t just pounding. It was revolting in my chest, beating painfully against my ribs. The box felt made of solid stone.

The dais was arranged the same as last time we had stood before it. Alfrun was in her chair with her three advisors standing around her. Behind them and to either side of the dais stood the elven soldiers with their spears and green tunics.

Other things were different, though. Vemund had a black eye, and Stali’s giant arms were crossed tightly in front of his chest, his coarse features set in a deep scowl. Hrafn’s face was unreadable. Alfrun’s was one of frozen, calm fury as she watched us approach. Her only movement was the thrum of her fingers on the armrest.

The eyes of the soldiers darted around, finding rest nowhere. One had a bandage on his arm, another a gash across his cheek. There was a skittishness to them that had been lacking the last time we had been here. Something had happened, something more than the death of their kin to Alma’s spear. These injuries were older than that. An insurrection, perhaps, like Hrafn had feared. It would explain the empty hall.

A sudden thought made me go cold all over. What if the reason was Lilja? What if Lilja had been harmed, and that was what had made the elves revolt? She was their hope. Alma had said so herself, and Alma was a damn genius.

Before the claws of anger and sorrow could fully clutch at my heart, Alfrun bent forward. “So you’ve come,” she said.

“We have,” I managed in a nearly steady voice. “To honor our side of the agreement made.”