“So my mother is the one who let those princesses out of their story?” I say.
“Not exactly. Every time we read a story . . .” Marit flashes a glance at Kaja. “Well, every time some of us read a story, we let the characters out. But Silje changed them as she let them out. We both changed them, though she always blamed herself for having the idea in the first place and writing the words.”
“You were only trying to help,” says Kaja.
“But there were things we didn’t understand,” says Marit. “We’d given them freedom, yes, but nothing more. They were blank slates—pretty dolls for trolls to hoard and princes to win. So when we gave them fierceness and freedom and no attachments to anyone, that was all they got. And that grew and warped into what they are now.”
I shiver, wishing I still had my coat on. “My grandmother knitted them into a blanket too.”
“Silje mentioned something about that,” says Marit. “For her birthday? But then she didn’t get to keep it?”
“That’s right. I wonder if it’s linked to them too, if it also changed something about them?”
Marit scratches the back of her head, staring at the floor. “It’s certainly possible.”
“Anyway, they seem more meddling than actually dangerous,” I say. “They stole my best friend’s diary and showed me something cruel she’d written.”
Marit’s eyes flash. “Let’s hope that meddling is the worst you ever see of them. They seem to have some sort of fixation with you, Eline. Probably because you’re Silje’s daughter. You need to be careful.”
I understand that—those girls make my insides crawl. But they keep saying they want to help me, and my options are dwindling.
“Come over here.” Marit’s slippers shuffle across the dusty floor to the alcove where her bed is. Its walls are covered with paintings of my mother. They start when she’s a child standing in the snow with too-big mittens and a pom-pom hat. The early paintings are crafted with much clumsier brushstrokes and less perspective than the ones out in the main room. As my mother ages, the technique improves, and the last few—of her at the age when she disappeared—are breathtaking. Each individual eyelash, each tiny line in her face is rendered in an impeccable, nearly photorealistic way. I could almost reach into them and feel her skin.
In the last painting, my mother has black holes for eyes. There’s a fist inside my chest, crushing my heart.
“Is this how she looked in your dream?” I say.
“Yes.” Marit’s voice drops to a whisper. “She looks like she’s falling apart, doesn’t she?”
Speechless, I stare at the painting. Those hole-like eyes, the hollow cheeks, the painful sharpness of all of her bones. It’s worse than the last time I saw her.
“I did tell you to hurry.” Marit returns to the kitchen area and pours more aquavit into her mug, but leaves it sitting on the counter. She wraps her arms around her middle, and for a speck of a moment, she looks like a frightened child.
Underneath the painting of the third princess, there’s a narrow canvas covered with a scaly, twisting lindworm. Its mouth gapes open, and a little girl cowers under one huge fang.
“What am I supposed to do now?” I say.
Marit lets out a phlegmy, crackling cough. “Find her while you still can.”
The smell of paint fumes and cigarettes and aquavit is making me dizzy. “Will you help me? Everybody keeps saying you can’t get to Ekmanfjorden at this time of year, but can we try?”
She starts to reach for her pack of cigarettes, then catches herself. “You can still get to Ekmanfjorden if you know what you’re doing. It might take a couple of days, depending on the ice conditions on the fjords and the weather. There’s not much daylight still for traveling.”
“Can we go?” I’m practically yelling, and I don’t care.
Marit takes a long swill from her mug, wincing as she swallows. “My friend has a cabin near Pyramiden. We could sleep there if we needed to . . .”
“Yes,” I gasp, but she holds up a yellow-stained finger.
“If your father says it’s okay.”
He’ll never agree to that. It doesn’t matter, though.
“I’ll ask him as soon as we get back,” I say. Kaja lifts an eyebrow, and I pretend not to notice. “Can we go tomorrow if he says yes?”
Marit contemplates the inside of her mug, then nods. “This is too important to waste any more time. Let me give you my phone number so you can text me as soon as you talk to your father, and I’ll start packing this afternoon. We’ll need to leave as soon as it’s light.”
“Sounds good.” I tap Marit’s number into my phone, and Kaja shoots me an incredulous look as we pull on our boots and coats. “I’ll text you as soon as I can.”
“Good luck,” says Marit. “And tell Peter I said hello.”
Just as we’re stepping outside, Marit holds up her hand. “Watch out for those princesses. They might offer to help you too, but they’ll want some kind of payment.”
“Okay.”
She sets her empty mug on the counter and burps quietly into her sleeve. “It might be more than you can afford.”