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“I’m not coming with you,” Lilja said.

Alfrun looked around, wrinkling her narrow nose. “To think you’d prefer this hovel to my court.”

Her court? I felt dizzy, like hazy from a fever, from everything she was saying.

Lilja crossed her arms, and there was such defiance in the stance. “You kept me and the others in the dark and the cold. Why would I return?”

“Don’t pretend that’s not what your kind prefer.”

“You know I’m not that kind. I’m⁠—”

Alfrun waved a hand. “Stop talking. I’ve listened to your nonsense long enough. Come along. The journey home is long.”

“I’m not coming with you.”

“You have no choice. You’re bound to me.”

“Let me go, then. Release me.”

Alfrun tilted her head again, and it came to me what that movement reminded me of—the wolf that had attacked us. I remembered then how she had flinched when she had used her right hand. But surely… no. That was impossible.

It happened in a single moment, like I had blinked and then the world was moving. Helena spun around, grabbed the Christmas tree, tilted it, and pointed the top toward Alfrun. She stepped back, but Helena followed, poking the metal into her chest. The star fell off, and the wire spiral pushed into Alfrun’s cloak.

“Don’t move or I’ll spear your heart,” Helena said.

Alfrun’s eyes widened, and she shrank back. She parted her lips to speak, but before she could, Alma darted by me, grabbed the wrought iron candlestick on the bureau, raised it, and brought it down on top of the doll. The ash wood cracked as its head split in two. She raised the candlestick again, and this time it was the chest that broke, the smock of the dress deflating. The third blow separated an arm from the body.

Alma stood panting, the candlestick in her hand, all of us staring at the broken doll. Alfrun pushed away the Christmas tree as easily as if it had been a twig. Helena staggered, then put it down. Cones and straw and flags were all over the floor. The star lay broken in two.

“You’re a clever one too,” Alfrun said to Alma, taking a step away from the wall. “Although it makes no difference. Eivor’s chains aren’t made of wool and ash, only her prison. Or rather, her former prison. Even with the doll in pieces, she’s still mine.” Her shrug had a lightness, an indifference that made me want to rake my nails down her face.

“Leave,” I said. “Or we’ll hurt you.”

Alfrun’s laugh was as harsh as the rap of hail. “You’ll not succeed.”

“I’ll hurt you,” Lilja said and pointed a finger at her arm. “I already did. I’ll do it again. I won’t hesitate.” She lifted the hammer in her hand. Her knuckles were pale from holding onto it so tightly.

Alfrun narrowed her eyes, her gaze turning distant. The room was as quiet as the forest at night. Finally, she straightened her already rod-straight back and clenched her hands into fists. Spinning around so fast her cloak billowed, she left, but in the doorway, she halted and looked over her shoulder. “I’ll come back for you, Eivor. You belong under my mountain, and I won’t rest until you’re back there. And I’ll hurt anyone who tries to keep you from me.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Helena locked the door after Alfrun, and Alma carried in a chair from the kitchen and wedged it between the handle and the floor. From the workshop, I got two metal hooks. With screws, I attached one to the door and the other to the frame. Alma, guessing what I was doing, fetched me an iron rod, and I slipped it into my makeshift bolt. It felt a bit pointless since the house had a back door and many windows. I would secure those in the morning.

Lilja was standing by the bureau when we returned to the parlor. She held the doll’s leg in her hand.

“I’ll make us all some coffee,” Helena said. Alma went with her to the kitchen.

I went to the oven and started a fire, then put my hand on Lilja’s shoulder. Placing the leg gently down, she turned and wrapped her arms around my waist. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I put you all in danger.”

I just held her because I didn’t know where to start with my questions. It all seemed like a dream, like waking up from a nightmare, except that there was evidence all over that it was real—the broken doll, the flags and star on the floor. The way I still trembled. The way Lilja shook too.

Helena and Alma returned with the coffee and the cups. I pulled Lilja to the sofa while they poured. “All right, dear,” Helena said when we were all seated with a steaming cup in our hands. “Tell us all of it. The truth.”

I marveled at how collected she was. I could hardly put a handful of words into a sentence yet. Alma looked as stunned as I felt.

Lilja blinked into her cup, running her finger absently along the rim. “It’s a very long story.”

“Start from the beginning, then,” Helena said. “That’ll make it easier.”