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It wasn’t that I hadn’t known this task was near impossible before, but hearing him, Alfrun’s confidante and advisor, say it so plainly made my eyes sting with the tears I had held back since Lilja had been dragged away.

“And you’ve come to tell us this? How kind you are.” Helena’s words were dripping with wry disdain.

Hrafn shook his head. He was so close now, closer than he had been up on the dais. In the light from the lamp, his eyes were the same very dark green as Lilja’s.

“No,” he said. “I’m here because I think we agree on one thing.”

I managed a dry laugh. “I doubt that.”

He took the last step which brought him right in front of us. “I think Eivor’s suffered enough.”

“We think she’d suffered far too much,” Helena shot back. “At the hands of your queen.”

Next to me, Alma spoke. “Are you saying this because she’s your kind?”

“No. I’m here because Eivor’s… presence could be dangerous to Alfrun. I’d rather have her in your town than in my dungeons.”

Helena poked the barrel of the gun toward him. “Explain yourself?”

Hrafn didn’t flinch. “Eivor’s the only prisoner who ever made it out of the dungeons, and she took others with her. She has a certain reputation among some elements at our court. Not that they’d ever dare speak about it freely.”

“So you want to get rid of Eivor because she’s a symbol of hope?” Alma said.

This conversation was rushing by me like a river after thaw. I could have believed those quickness of thought beads were working their magic, but Alma and Helena were always clever.

Hrafn tilted his head. He seemed not to care in the least that a rifle was pointed at his chest. “You might put it that way.”

“If this is true,” I said, “why is Alfrun so determined to get Lilja back?”

“Alfrun’s an exacting ruler. She won’t let a slight go.”

“Because it’ll set an example if she does,” Alma said. It wasn’t phrased as a question.

Hrafn inclined his head, giving her a single nod.

“If you’re here to help us,” Helena said, “then tell us what to do. We don’t have time to waste on your riddles.”

Hrafn’s gaze slid across to Helena. “Very well. Make the doll out of hazel wood.”

“Why?” she said. “Is Stali especially fond of it?”

“No. It’s what took the sight in his one eye. An arrow hit him during a fight with humans a long time ago.”

“Displeasing him seems like a bad idea,” I argued.

“But it’s not. Pride is Stali’s weakness. He’ll never admit it, even to himself, that you have skill. The only thing that might stir some sort of admiration in him is bravery. Defiance. Daring.”

“You’re lying to us,” Helena said. “Why?”

Anger tightened Hrafn’s lips. “I’m not lying, but elves don’t think the way you do. Their fear of dying is even greater than yours since death is rare and we don’t believe in a benevolent God who welcomes us to an existence of comfort and peace. Making him consider his own mortality is the only way to weaken Stali, to make him doubt himself. And that doubt in his heart—it might convince him your doll is better than his.”

All three of us were quiet. What he said made sense in an odd way. Perhaps Stali was more like a rabid dog than a skilled master to impress. Maybe it was better to look him in the eye and sneer at him than grovel and hope you were insignificant enough to avoid his rage.

Hrafn took a step back. “A last thing. Make Stali jealous. No elf would ever admit it, but our lives are ones of envy. We long for the over world.”

“Is that why you steal us?” Helena asked.

“Yes. It’s spite.” His lips quirked into a mirthless smile. “What else would it be?”