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CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

February 8, 2019

Lilja’s head is on her shoulder, and Agnes thinks the weight of it is the only thing keeping her pinned to the earth. She smooths her palm over Lilja’s bare back, enjoying the silky texture of her skin. Lilja’s talking about a graphic novel she’s working on. It’s the only thing, other than ása, that’s helped her remain sane during her studies.

“What’s it about?” Agnes asks. She can’t imagine Lilja as a lawyer, can only picture her now hunched over that desk, drawing, bringing new worlds to life.

“I’m not really a writer,” Lilja says. “I’ve been sketching out images, things I want to include. You’re going to laugh at me, but it’s mostly about trolls.”

“Trolls?” Agnes asks. “Like the kind that live under a bridge?”

“No,” Lilja says. “The ones in our legends. They say the trolls lived in total darkness and turned to stone in sunlight. I like the idea of this entire landscape, all these black rocks, being trolls. Living things, sleeping like they’re under a fairy-tale spell. There are other, less fun stories of them getting drunk and stealing bad children, but I’m not drawing that.”

“So these beautiful fields,” Agnes says, “this entire island, basically, is just a troll graveyard.”

“Basically.”

“Why would I laugh at that?” Agnes asks. “It’s lovely. What’s the story?”

She feels Lilja’s sigh at the base of her spine. “That’s as far as I’ve gotten. I want to write about one specific troll. The last troll. She tends to all the others, cultivating their moss, making sure they’re all still there. She’s trying to find a way to bring them back, is what I’m thinking. But there are volcanos here, you know, the shifting magma. She’s lonely, like me.”

Agnes pulls Lilja in tighter. “What does she do, when she realizes they’re turning into magma?”

“She’s going to leave.”

“Do you want to leave?”

“No,” Lilja says. “I don’t know. I want to move to Reykjavík. I don’t want to be here any longer than I have to.” Restless, she rolls away from Agnes, stretching and finding a new position in the sheets. “ása wanted to leave, too. Sometimes I can tell myself she’s just in the city, living with her boyfriend and forgetting us.”

“Is that possible?” It’s a nice thought.

“No. She’s on the news. Her face is everywhere. She wouldn’t be able to hide long.”

Agnes says, “I’m going to the city tomorrow. Nora wants to see óskar’s show. Will you be there?”

Lilja turns back to her. “I wasn’t going to go.” The soft gaze, hovering somewhere above Agnes’s cheek. “Maybe I will, if you’ll be there.”

Agnes reaches for her. Outside of this room is Nora Carver and her grandfather’s sordid history and every other responsibility waiting to crush her. Right now, in this bed, with this woman, she feels quiet. At peace.