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I nodded toward Stali at her side. “Then let him be our judge. He’s your master artisan.”

Stali chuckled. “Your work is like a child’s drawings in the dirt compared to mine.”

“You have nothing to lose, then.”

Someone grabbed my arm, and I spun. It was Helena.

“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t make this bargain, Selma.” She bent in close to my ear. “Remember the doll for Ahlqvist? How she wanted her money back? The same thing happened with the one for Dalin.”

There were no Ahlqvists or Dalins in Norstad, no one had ever complained about any toy I had made, but Helena was clever because something passed over the faces of all three men. Alfrun’s too. With their heightened senses, they had heard Helena’s every word.

“A doll,” Stali said, placing both his feet in Helena’s trap. “You make a doll better than the one I made for Eivor’s captivity, and I’ll declare you the victor.”

His eyes glinted with triumph—as if he was fooling us. He was as dumb as he looked, then. Alfrun wasn’t fooled though, because she shook her head. “I’m not letting Eivor go for a doll.”

“Your Majesty,” Hrafn said, “if I may speak?” His voice was low and hoarse. The way he pronounced his words, with a softness different to Alfrun’s, reminded me of Lilja.

Alfrun gave an irritated wave. “Sure.”

“I think you ought to consider this proposition.”

“Of course you do. She’s your kind.”

Your kind. That explained it. Hrafn was a dark elf too. I shuddered to think what he had done to win Alfrun’s trust, to rise so high at her court.

Hrafn lowered his voice so that only us around the dais could hear him. “I only meant that it might be a good way to demonstrate your supremeness.”

Her pale eyes snapped up, striking his face. “How come? Do my people doubt me?”

“Certainly not, but they do like a good jest, and what could be more entertaining than this…” He waved his hand at me. “This woman’s feeble attempt at imitating elfish beauty.”

Alfrun twisted her staff in her hand as she studied me through narrowed eyes. Her gaze was like cold fingers gripping my throat. She turned to Vemund. “What do you say?”

“I say it’s nothing but a waste of time. The idea that one of their kind might in any way compete with our genius is dangerous.”

Stali scoffed. “There’s nothing dangerous about it.” He laughed, and the sound was like the roll of thunder against the walls. “It’s a farce, is what it is.”

Alfrun thrummed her fingers on the armrest again. Her gaze brushed over her subjects behind me. “I’ll let the court decide.” She stood and banged the end of her staff against the floor. Pointlessly, because apart from a few whispers her court was quiet. “What do you say? Do we let this human make a fool of herself?”

A cheer rose from the spectators but… but there was a falseness to it, like an untuned organ in a church—powerful but dissonant. Alma had been right. Alfrun didn’t stir the hearts of her subjects, only their fear.

Alfrun sat back down. “You have seven days,” she said to me. “Bring me this doll within seven days.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?” I asked.

“Because elves are bound by their promises. We can’t deceive with lies.”

I turned to Lilja. “Is that true?”

“Yes. If she swears on her staff, the magic will make sure it comes true.”

I turned back to Alfrun. “I want both you and your master artisan to swear you’ll do as you promised. That he’ll judge my doll fairly and that you’ll let Lilja go if I win.”

“Of course, but you shall swear too. If you don’t succeed, you’ll belong to me.”

“I’ll swear it,” I said because I was her captive already with an entire mountain above us. “But you first.”

Alfrun laid the staff across her lap and with her fingers wrapped around the wood, she said, “I swear to let Lilja be free of her elven bonds if this human produces a doll greater than that of my court’s artisans.”