“I’m afraid I don’t know anything about a place like that,” he said. “Truth be told, I don’t even really remember writing the book. My wife and I were little more than newlyweds still, and Nikolas was only a baby. I was having my go at tracking, so I’d be gone for long stretches of time. The stories were something I wrote to ease my boredom and to feel close to my family.

“But I was miserable, and sleep-deprived for most of it,” Johan went on. “I know I wrote the book, but I have no recollection of it.”

Hanna frowned and her brow pinched up, and she’d gotten that look, like she was about to start arguing. Mia leaned in and put a hand on her daughter’s back, curbing Hanna before she got going.

“Nikolas always spoke fondly of his childhood,” Mia said. “I don’t think he was ever aware of any hardships in the family.”

“I’ve always thought it’s such a blessing that children never know everything about their parents,” he said, but he sounded morose.

“As I’ve been talking about these things with Hanna, I realized that I know very little of your life before Nikolas was born,” Mia said.

“I grew up in a small village, and I doubt that it was that much different than yours.” Johan leaned back in his chair slightly. “I am happy to talk to you about Nikolas or your lives or yes, the fantasy world I told my son as a bedtime story thirty years ago. But I am rather perplexed about your interest in this.”

“It’s sort of hard to explain, but I’ve been trying to find my parents,” I began uncertainly. “And somehow, the paths keep leading back to this book. My mother’s name is Senka, and she’s from another kingdom, called Alfheim.”

“Alfheim?” His bushy eyebrows raised high. “No, that’s not a troll myth. That’s the humans and their Norse myths.”

“They’ve based other stories on us too,” Hanna interjected. “Grandma Annali always says that even a broken clock is right twice a day.”

Johan chuckled, but it wasn’t as warm as it had been before. Even his smile changed, his lips pressed together in a thin line nearly hidden by his beard. “She sounds like a smart woman.”

“So you don’t know anything more about Jem-Kruk or Senka than what’s in your book?” I asked, giving it one last attempt.

“No, I’m saying that I don’t even know that much,” he corrected me. “All of that was made up, and I don’t even remember making it up anymore.”

“If you don’t want to talk about the book, Johan, that’s fine, and completely understandable,” Mia said. “But we’d still like to talk to you about your life and about your childhood and Nikolas’s.”