“The thrimavolk are the daughters of the Älvolk,” Sarina answered. “They are warriors, the guardians of Áibmoráigi and the Älvolk. Our fathers are the protectors of the history and creators of order, and the daughters enforce their rule.”

“So . . . they’re the brain, and you’re the brawn?” Hanna asked skeptically, but that was reasonable given Sarina’s rather frail appearance.

“Something like that. But not all thrimavolk turned out the way the Älvolk intended.” Sarina smiled briefly, but it quickly fell away. “Indu and I were born a year apart, the first children of the Freyarian Älvolk. My father, Som, and Indu’s father, Mattis, were both devout followers and eventually chieftains among the Älvolk.

“Mattis died when Indu and I were still children,” Sarina continued. “Indu couldn’t have been more than eight or nine, and they tapped him for an important leadership role. I didn’t see much of him after that, not until I was much older.”

She stared off for a moment, thinking. “The life of a thrimavolk is order, discipline, sacrifice. My time was filled with ritualistic training and intensive chores. Exercise and combat in the mornings, cleaning and sewing in the afternoons, choir and quiet contemplation in the evenings.

“But I didn’t know any better,” she said. “When I was a teenager, I was allowed to venture outside Áibmoráigi for the first time, to forage and hunt in the mountains. If it went well, I might have eventually earned the privilege to trade with the humans and go to their villages. But it did not go well.”

“She met me,” Johan said with a squeeze of her hand, and she returned his adoring smile.

“That I did,” she said wistfully. “I met Senka first, and we became friends, and she told me of a life that didn’t involve complete servitude. And then I met Johan and we fell in love, and I knew I had to get out of Áibmoráigi.”

“Where did Senka and Johan come from?” I asked. “Isarna? A human town?”

She took a deep breath. “They came across the Bridge of Dimma, from the hidden kingdom of Alfheim and the city of Adlrivellir.”

My stomach dropped, and I felt dizzy. “They . . . Where is Alfheim?”

“I don’t know.” She shook her head once. “The bridge runs across a vast ravine. The south side is in Áibmoráigi, the north side is at the base of the waterfall. We guard the south side, but we can never, ever cross.

“Alfheim is on the other side of the bridge, and that’s where Senka and Johan came from,” she said.

“And you don’t remember, Johan?” I asked.

“I recall hardly anything before 1989, I’m afraid,” he said.