“Indu and the Älvolk live in Áibmoráigi, in northern Sweden,” he said. “It’s within a day’s journey of Isarna, and although the memory of the exact location of Áibmoráigi is blocked from my mind, it’s safe to assume that Isarna is the closest troll community to the Älvolk.

“As you know, Isarna is an unusual place,” he continued. “A single island city belonging to two kingdoms—the Trylle and the Skojare. Given the proximity, I imagine that there are many Älvolk who had children with the Isarnans.”

“You think Indu is Bryn’s father,” I realized.

“I would say it’s likely that Indu is Trylle and Skojare, as opposed to being fully Omte, which is what he’d need to be in order for you to be half-Omte, half-álfar,” Elof said. “I did only see him briefly in Sweden—that I can recall, at least—and I did not see much of a resemblance to you, or the Omte either.”

“He’s not my father,” I said breathlessly, and as a wave of relief washed over me, I couldn’t help but smile. “Noomi’s not my sister. I’m not an Indudottir.” I laughed to myself.

“I’m happy to see you’re taking it so well,” he said.

“Yeah, I really am.” I laughed again. “I know that in a way, I’m worse off. I went from thinking I know who my dad is to having no clue once again. But all that I feel is a weight lifted off my shoulders, knowing that the kidnapping baby-crazy jerk isn’t my father.” I breathed in deeply.

And then I looked over at him. “So is Senka my mother?”

“I think that one álfar parent would explain the unusual nature of your blood, but I can’t say for certain if it’s your mother or father, let alone someone I’ve only heard about from you.”

“Why did Indu claim he was my father?” I asked.

“Maybe he was mistaken, or perhaps he was lying. Or perhaps he was lied to himself,” Elof said.

As we grew closer to the city wall, the scenery began to change. The elk meadow had given way to orchards and fields of sugar beets, but they appeared to be coming to an end a short distance in front of us. The lush gardens were replaced by squat dirt mounds, staggered around in circular patterns.

I sat up straighter, trying to get a better look, and I realized there were doors in the mound, slender and curved. And then I saw them—the tall and sinewy Ögonen, with their semi-transparent ochre skin leaving all their organs visible; they were trollian and otherworldly all at once. There were half a dozen of them, their heads just visible over the top of the dirt.

“Is this where the Ögonen live?” I asked Elof quietly. “Is this where we’re going?”

“It is, and it is,” he answered.