“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.