4

Exchanged

Finn and I waited in the parlor, and I was happy that I’d changed out of my ill-fitting attire into a much more presentable crocheted romper. I had been to a few events at the palace—ancillary invites, thanks to Finn—but those had all been in grand ballrooms crowded with other guests. This was my first time in the smaller, more private but still luxe areas of the Queen’s residence.

The Trylle palace was the most modern I had seen, an opulent white mansion near the top of the bluffs with plenty of windows to make the most of the lush view of thick forests and a wide river.

The parlor was in the corner of the palace, with the two outer walls made entirely of glass. The wallpaper was cream colored with a subtle shine accentuating a pale green vine pattern. Books lined the shelves on one wall, and on the other, above a marble fireplace, was a painting of a stunning young woman, sitting in a garden.

We waited, Finn poised and still, one leg crossed over the other as he sat on the settee. I sat across from him, literally on the edge of my seat. I had an irrational fear that the delicately carved legs and embroidered satin would collapse under me, like it was made of matchsticks.

“Who are we meeting?” I asked as I watched the hands tick slowly on the bronze grandfather clock behind Finn. Before we’d left, all he had told me was that it was a mutual friend of the Queen’s, and she wanted to meet with us too.

“Tove Kroner,” Finn said. “You’ve met him before.”

I had, but only a handful of times, and he’d hardly spoken to me. The few times he came by the house, I was usually busy with the kids, and he generally seemed very soft-spoken. What I knew of him was that he was an advisor to the Queen, and he’d married the Chancellor Bain Ottesen several years ago.

“He can help recover memories?” I asked in surprise.

The kids talked a lot about all the cool telekinetic abilities he had, and I had personally seen him make the kids “fly” by lifting them in the air with his powers at Liam’s birthday party last year. But I’d never heard he was capable of something like this.

Many trolls had the ability of persuasion—a telekinetic power to get someone to do something using only their thoughts. Basically, a mild form of mind control.

Finn had attempted to use it on me earlier today, at my request, by thinking Remember the last twenty-four hours, but it had been completely ineffective. So I couldn’t imagine that he’d brought me here for Tove to try that, but I didn’t think that Tove flying me around the room would help either.

“No, he’ll be here as support mainly,” Finn said. “His younger sister Sunniva has a unique set of abilities. Their mother is a great healer, and Sunniva’s inherited some of her skills. Both Tove and Sunniva can see auras, but she can also heal them.”

“She can heal auras?” I shook my head in confusion.

I didn’t understand what that meant or how it could recover my memories. Admittedly, I didn’t know much about auras, just their general definition. Auras were the luminous radiation that surrounded all living beings, emanating from within, and their coloration could give indications about someone’s health, mood, even true intentions.

But auras weren’t visible to everyone, and since I couldn’t see them, I didn’t study them.

“Auras appear to be light floating around you, but they’re really a part of you,” Finn explained. “But they also can work like a road map, darkening in the areas you’re hurting or need help. Sunniva’s had some success with working on those dark spots to ease psychological trauma and pain.”

“I don’t think my memory loss is due to trauma, though. I left myself notes in preparation for it, so I knew it was coming. It had to have been a spell or some type of troll ability.”

“I presumed as much, so I told Tove the same,” Finn said. “He still thinks he and Sunniva might be able to help you.”

A minute later, the door to the parlor opened, and the Queen strode in. It was the first time I had seen Wendy without her entourage.

But here she was, on her own and stripped of her usual pageantry. Her long curls hung down her back, free of her crown, and she’d left off most of her jewels. She was in her late twenties, with a stark silver lock of hair contrasting with her otherwise dark brown hair, and she had friendly eyes and a cool, anxious smile.

I got to my feet the moment she opened the door, but Finn still beat me. Wendy went to him first, giving him a cordial hug while offering apologies. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. Tove and Sunniva are on their way.”

“No apology necessary,” he assured her. “You’ve already done so much. I’m only sorry that I need to keep imposing on you.”

“Finn, it’s no imposition, and you know that,” she said, then turned to me. “Ulla, it’s so good to see you after the ordeal you’ve had.” She dismissed my curtsey with a wave of her hand and motioned for me to sit down beside her on the settee.

“I’m all right, all things considered,” I said.

“Good.” She smiled. “We were all so worried about you here.”

“Thank you. I appreciate all you’ve done to help.”

“You are a citizen of the Trylle kingdom, and it’s my duty to protect you,” she said. “Your family are among my oldest friends. There was no choice between your life and a flowering plant.”

“. . . what?” I asked.

“That’s what we traded,” she elaborated. “The mourning flower.”

“What?” I repeated. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m not sure how much you remember.” She glanced to Finn, and he gave a small shrug before she looked back at me. “We negotiated through Patrik Boden in Isarna, who was talking with the leader of a radicalized tribe called the Älvolk. Most of the time, he only sent lengthy screeds about his beliefs with no real discussion at all.

“But eventually, the only thing they demanded was the sorgblomma, more poetically known as the mourning flower,” she went on.

“I thought that was just made up,” I admitted.

Emma had a book called Sunny Plants for Funny Kids, and it had everything from Venus flytraps to Tolkien’s fictional Ents. I’d assumed that a globeflower with the Latin name trollius funus was a myth like some of the others.

If the illustrations were accurate, it was an arctic bush with large peony-like flowers. The petals were mostly a bold yellow-gold but they became a vivid red near the stem. The stem itself was filled with a viscous, aloe-like substance that “bled” out if the thorns were broken off.

The most notable thing about the flower—and where its name came from—was that it smelled like death. Sickly sweet and musty with floral undertones.

“The mourning flower is real, but the only known plants have been solely in my family’s possession for generations,” Wendy said.

“What does it do? Why do they want it?” I asked.

“We’re not sure,” the Queen admitted with a surreptitious glance toward Finn. “We’re hoping that your recovered memories could shed some light.”

I swallowed hard. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to help.”

“Don’t worry.” Finn leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees. “You’re here, and you’re safe, and your only focus is on getting better.”

“I’m just trying to wrap my head around the fact that I was exchanged for . . . flowers,” I said. “What about the others? Were the flowers ransom enough for all of us, or were they traded for something else?”

“It was a package deal—all of the plants for all four of you.” Wendy hesitated slightly before continuing. “That’s part of the reason that the negotiations took as long as they did. We needed time to be sure that the sorgblomma doesn’t have any dangerous applications.”

Finn made a sound—a subtle grunt of disagreement—and she frowned.

“We all value your lives, but I had to be sure that I wasn’t handing a radical cult a weapon of destruction,” she said, then softer, more empathetic: “I’m sorry for any suffering you endured, but it is my duty to keep the kingdom safe.”

“So what were the applications of the flower?” I asked.

“The nectar in the stem can be used to flavor tea, but it leaves a bitter taste and even a spoonful can lead to stomach upset,” she said with a sigh. “We couldn’t find anything more serious than that. Markis Ansvarig Patrik asked the Älvolk what they wanted the flowers for, but the only answer he got was their insistence that the flowers always belonged to them. Indu claimed—”

“Indu?” I asked, startled to hear her saying his name.

“Indu Mattison, one of the leaders of the Älvolk cult,” she said. “You remember him?”

“Sorta. Not really. He’s . . . he’s my father,” I said, but the words felt cold on my tongue.

Her eyes widened. “He never mentioned that.” Then she looked to Finn. “Neither did you.”

“I only just found out today,” he told her.

“It’s one of the last things I remember clearly,” I said. “We met in Isarna a month ago.”

“So he held his daughter hostage in exchange for a flower and tea flavoring.” Her brow furrowed, and her lips pressed together, and I realized this was the first time I’d seen the Queen worried.