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“Youstop,” she snapped. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but this isn’t right!”

“She’s right.” Magni looked at Mímir like he had lost his mind. “We can’t just kill them if they’re not doing anything. I’m sure the king will want to see them and see what we can do.”

Blár grabbed Mímir by the collar of his shirt and shoved him a few feet away, where he stumbled backward and fell to the floor. Blár’s eyes blazed with irritation. “How about you explain what the hell you’re doing?”

“I thought it would be quicker to demonstrate.” Mímir rose to his feet and dusted his pants. He shot Blár a dark look. “No need to get so violent.”

“Says the guy with a dagger who just stabbed a”—Blár waved to the fae—“vegetable.”

Mímir held up the dagger and the sharp edge of it glinted ominously in the sunlight. “This dagger is called theGenfødsel Kniv. It’s an ancient artifact that dates back over a thousand years. It was crafted with the souls of countless innocent people, fae and human alike. Its sister is theDød Sværd.Sound familiar? The royal family owns that sword, but this one, in my opinion, is so much better. This blade is invaluable. Stab someone once, and they’ll be put into an eternal slumber. The only way to awaken them is to stab them again with it. Useful, huh?”

Blár raised an eyebrow. “How is that possible? Magic isn’t infinite.”

Mímir nodded and twirled the knife again. “There is a tradeoff. Whoever stabs the person and puts them in a slumber, the blade takes years of your lifespan. Sometimes it’s a few years, other times it’s decades. You really don’t know. It’s been recorded in history that some people used it once and died straight away. The blade had taken their whole lifespan. It’s dicey to use but useful.”

“Useful?” Truda leaned against the moss-ridden doorframe and crossed her arms over her chest. Her eyes narrowed. “To who?”

“I’ve never used it for that.” Mímir held his hands up. “But it’s useful here, since they were likely stabbed with this in the first place.”

“And you just so happened to have that on you?” Kolfinna asked, eyebrows raised. She was suddenly reminded of the night she had tried escaping the Royal Guards’ headquarters and how, when she had poked a hole through the wall into the next room, she had found Mímir in the room with a dagger balanced on his thigh and a stack of papers in his hand. She shook that image away. There was nothing foreboding about that memory, even if it unsettled her.

“I figured it would be useful since we’re in this place.”

Magni peered at the lady Mímir had stabbed, an uneasy expression on his regal face. “You probably should have told us that before you stabbed her.”

“I thought she would wake up.” Mímir frowned again as he looked into her coffin. “But maybe it’s because her soul is trapped in another dimension like Kolfinna said. Only this one”—he motioned to Revna—“was freed, correct?”

“Yes,” Kolfinna said. “I freed her when we”—she glanced at Blár—“were in the desert dimension.”

“Excellent. Now, if you don’t mind …” Mímir took his spot in front of Revna’s coffin and positioned the blade over her body. Kolfinna cringed when the blade disappeared into Revna’s chest. The instant he pulled the blade out, Revna’s fingers started twitching, then she stirred, and then her eyes fluttered open.

They all watched in amazement as she pushed herself into a sitting position.

“Kolfinna?” Revna rubbed the side of her face. Her graying black hair spilled over her shoulders, and her bright lavender eyes flicked from person to person. “Oh my …” She looked down at her withered hands, which now shook. “I’m … back.” Tears filled her eyes and she gave a soft, relieved sigh. “Thank you. Thank you.”

Kolfinna couldn’t rejoice in the moment like she would have if Revna hadn’t lied to her and used her. Kolfinna would’ve been the first person to congratulate her and cry with her after her thousand-plus-year imprisonment, but when she looked at Revna now, the bitterness of being betrayed filled her mouth with an ashy taste.

Blár similarly appeared peeved.

“You—” he started.

Kolfinna cut in, “You used me. We made a deal, and youusedme.”

Revna reached over the edge of the coffin to touch Kolfinna’s hand, but Kolfinna stepped away. “Kolfinna …” Her hand hung in the air. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Then why did you not tell me how to use the runes properly to free everyone? We had to figure out by ourselves how to get everyone out of the other dimensions! If you hadn’t wasted my time, I could’ve saved more people in our party.” Kolfinna’s voice caught in her throat.

“What was I supposed to do? Wait for someone else to come by and free me?” Revna smoothed out her scratchy, thinning dress with a huff. She waved a hand in Kolfinna’s direction. “I don’t like humans. They’re partially the reason I was stuck here! So excuse me for not wanting to help them. But you have to understand, it wasn’t aboutyou.”

Kolfinna was at a loss for words. Was she supposed to be grateful that Revna didn’t dislike her? She couldn’t believe that Revna was so dismissive about Kolfinna’s feelings on the matter. But should she have really been surprised?

Before she could voice those thoughts, Revna was already speaking.

“Besides, I did help you, didn’t I? I taught you about runes! That’s far more important than anything else, isn’t it? From what you told me, you had no other way to learn, so I did a huge favor for you.” Revna dragged a finger over the edge of the coffin and inspected the dust between her fingers with disgust. “And, dear, let’s not forget who fixed your leg. You should be grateful.”

Kolfinna didn’t even know what to say, but she could feel seedlings of unease growing in the pit of her stomach.

“Thank you, nonetheless.” The corner of Revna’s mouth and eyes crinkled and she flicked her violet gaze over the party. Magni and Blár wore similarly blasé expressions, Truda and Eyfura appeared nervous, and Mímir kept close to the coffin and seemed to cling to Revna’s every word with a look of awe.