The Lost City

by Amanda Hocking

  I bit the inside of my cheek—deliberately, shocking myself out of my flustered nervous attempts at flirtation—and I slowly regained my cool. “Judging by color seems more hygienic than prodding every berry on the bush.”

  “To each their own.” He tossed the fruit in his mouth, and his grin deepened. “Those are perfect.”

  “Thanks, I think?” I offered him an uncertain smile. “Are you walking around making sure that everyone only buys ripe fruit?”

  “I was passing time, and you looked lost.”

  “I am not much of an expert on fruit,” I admitted.

  He licked his lips and shook his head once. “That’s a shame. The sweet nectar of a perfectly ripe berry is truly a gift from the gods.”

  Heat rushed to my cheeks and I looked away, hoping he didn’t notice the blush rising. “I don’t think I’ve had any fruit that I’d describe that way.”

  “It sounds like you haven’t ever had an Idunnian pear in prime form,” he countered.

  I shook my head. “Idunnian pear? What’s that?”

  “I’ve searched high and low through this whole bazaar, and I haven’t been able to find it,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “Apparently it’s not common around here. It’s one of those things that you don’t fully appreciate until it’s unavailable.”

  I took a few bills out of my pocket and paid the vendor before walking away from the booth.

  I wasn’t sure that he would follow, but he did, and we meandered together through the crowd, occasionally admiring the intriguing wares or more alluring showmen.

  “Where I’m from, up in the subarctic, our native cuisine was a lot of salty fish and tubers, and honestly, I don’t miss either very much,” I said.

  He snickered. “I don’t think I would either.”

  “How long have you been in Merellä?”

  “Long enough to be homesick but not long enough to have given up hope on finding Idunnian pears. What about you?”

  I wasn’t looking at him, but I could feel his gaze as he studied me—warm and penetrating—and waited for my answer. “I’ve been too busy to be homesick so far, but maybe I just need a little more time.”

  “It depends on why you left home, I suspect,” he said reflectively.

  “I don’t know.” I tucked my hair behind my ears and let thoughts of my childhood wash over me for a moment. “Even when you run away, you sometimes miss where you came from.”

  “You sound like you say that from experience.”

  “You look like an experienced guy yourself,” I said, evading his question.

  “I’ve always considered myself to have a well-learned but slightly sheltered existence,” he said. “Traveling, unfortunately, hasn’t been common in my life, but an opportunity came up here that I couldn’t miss.”

  “I know the feeling. What brought you here?” I asked.

  “Officially, I’m here for research, but between you and me, I really came here to find myself.”

  Before I had a chance to ask him a follow-up question, a boisterous trio of lute players circled around us, belting out old Skojare fishing songs.

  “Would you want to continue this conversation somewhere a little less . . .” He spoke loudly to be heard over the noise, and he motioned vaguely around us. “We could grab some lunch?”

  “Um.” I stumbled over my response, and my stomach flipped in anguish as I heard myself turning down his invitation. “I would, but I’ve actually used almost my entire lunch break wandering through the market, and I have to get back to work.”

  A thin smile of understanding passed across his lips. “I suppose I should do the same.”

  “Thanks for keeping me company and giving me some berry tips.” I held up my recent cloudberry purchase.

  “Anytime. Hopefully I’ll bump into you again at the market, and I’ll be able to expand my helpful tips to all fruits and eventually vegetables and pastries.”

  “I’m always happy to learn.” I smiled at him. “It was nice meeting you.”

  “Likewise.”

  It wasn’t until I started walking away that I realized I hadn’t actually met him. The whole time we’d been talking, we hadn’t ever exchanged our names. I turned around to correct that, but he was already gone, having disappeared into the crowd.

  24

  Invitations

  At the end of the day, before I even rounded the corner toward my apartment above the carriage house, I could smell the semla—a Trylle specialty similar to a cream puff that scented the air all sugary sweet like doughnuts fresh at the bakery—and I heard the loud, abrasive melodic/shrill combo of Hanna and Eliana singing together. Based on the lyrics and inconsistent tune, I guessed the song was a mash-up of an old troll lullaby, the theme to Fuller House, and a Taylor Swift song.

  When I entered the apartment, Hanna and Eliana were laughing hysterically in the kitchen. Dagny sat on the couch, typing furiously on her laptop while wearing a large pair of noise-canceling headphones.

  Dagny glanced up at me, and she moved her headphones so that one ear was open, and she loudly explained, “I want to be pissed at them, I really do, but honestly, they’ve been plying me with delicious snacks all evening, and I can’t bring myself to be angry at anyone who makes food like this. I should’ve gone down to the archery range by now, but I’ve been way too content just eating and organizing class data for Elof.”

  I dropped my bag on the table and walked over to see what trouble Hanna and Eliana were cooking up. “What have you two been up to today?”

  “We worked all morning coming up with our friendship song, and then we made semla,” Hanna announced brightly.

  “I also watched another three episodes of that Riverland show,” Eliana added.

  “Riverdale,” Hanna corrected her.

  “Right, that one.”

  “But we stayed in all day, just like you asked,” Hanna said with exaggerated compliance that made me suspicious.

  “Technically, I didn’t specify that Eliana needed to stay in, since she’s a stranger and I have no say over what she does and does not do,” I clarified.

  Hanna shot me a look. “She’s not a stranger, Ulla. She’s my friend.”

  “Right, yeah,” I agreed uneasily. “Well, I still don’t get to tell her what to do, but it’s nice that she helped you honor my wishes, I guess.” I took the fruit I’d bought at the bazaar out of my bag and set it on the counter in front of Hanna. “I did get you those cloudberries you wanted.”

  “Thank you so much!” Hanna said, and Eliana clapped her hands together in delight. “You know, we have been running out of stuff to cook. If you’d allow me out of the apartment, I could pick stuff up myself.”

  “Leave me a list, and I’ll get it for you tomorrow,” Dagny said from the couch. “I’m going to the archery range after work, and I can stop by the market on my way home.”

  “Dagny’s got you covered,” I said.

  “Thanks, Dagny,” Hanna replied bitterly.

  “It’s safer for you both if you stay off the streets,” I said.

  Hanna’s sour mood instantly disappeared, and she started bouncing on the balls of her feet, as if I had suggested the most wonderful thing. “Then Eliana should stay here.”

  “What? No.” I shook my head. “I mean, no. That’s not . . . there isn’t any room.”

  “We are already beyond max capacity,” Dagny chimed in flatly.

  “I like it outside,” Eliana said. “The nights are so warm, and the stars are so bright.”

  Hanna looked gravely at Eliana. “But Ulla’s friend Pan said it was dangerous here at night.”

  “I can handle myself,” Eliana said with a shrug.

  “You fell through the roof of our Jeep,” I reminded her.

  “Anyone can slip and fall in any place,” she reasoned, unfazed.

  “Maybe so, but it’s still safer here,” Hanna argued.

  “Maybe once Hanna is gone, we’ll have some room,” I suggested.

  E
liana’s eyes widened, and she shot a look at Hanna. “You’ll be gone? What do you mean?”

  “I told you, Eliana,” Hanna explained carefully. “This isn’t my real home. I live in a house in the bluffs on a river, and it’s thousands of miles away from here.”

  Eliana’s brow furrowed, but she nodded. “Oh, right. I guess I forgot.”

  “Have you always had problems with your memory?” I asked.

  “And how would I know that?” Eliana looked up at me. “I can’t remember. That’s the whole point.”

  A knock at the front door punctuated her statement.

  “Are you expecting anyone?” I asked Hanna.

  “Nope,” she said. “Eliana’s the only one I know here, outside of you two.”

  “I know more than that, but I don’t usually have guests,” Dagny said with a sharp glare. “I like my privacy.”

  I started toward the door when Hanna asked, “You’re not gonna answer that, are you?”

  “I don’t see any reason not to,” I replied, making sure to keep my voice low so whoever was at the door wouldn’t hear.

  Hanna cast me a wary gaze, and she leaned toward Eliana, whispering, “Maybe it’ll be better if you stay out of sight. Just to be safe.”

  Eliana shrugged. “Sure, no problem.”

  She crouched down slightly, barely bending her knees, and then she suddenly sprang up, landing lightly on the balls of her feet on the countertop. Before I could even fully register the awesomeness and near-impossibility of her vertical jump, she was on the move in a flash. She ran at the wall, then kicked off with her foot, and she landed delicately on the narrow railing around my little loft bedroom.

  Without even a pause to breathe, she leapt from the railing up to a beam that ran across the ceiling, and she lay down on her back on the beam. Her hands hung slightly over the edge, holding the wood, and I saw her fingers slowly shift color—her normal tawny brown changing to the dark, rugged mahogany of the exposed wood.

  “Holy shit,” I gasped after Eliana’s stunning acrobatic display had come to an end and she was safely hidden.

  “Ulla?” Pan called from outside the door, and he knocked again. “Ulla? I needed to talk to you for a second.”

  I plastered a smile on my face and opened the door. “Sorry for making you wait. Come on in. You remember Hanna, and you already know my flatmate Dagny.”

  “Hi.” He offered a small wave to both of them, then his dark eyes settled on me. “Sorry to bother you at home, especially when it’s so late.”

  “No, it’s no problem.” I ran a hand through my hair. “You can stop by anytime, day or night.” He cocked an eyebrow at me, and my cheeks flushed with warmth. “I mean, not anytime, but if you need something, or, you know, at least call ahead, maybe . . . Anyway, what is it that you, um, needed to talk about?”

  “Sylvi made some requests, and she was able to get in touch with a Mästare. After talking, they decided to invite us to morning tea tomorrow at seven forty-five sharp.”

  “Whoa, wait.” Dagny slammed her laptop shut and ditched her headphones completely. “You got a meeting with a Mästare?”

  “Yeah, I mean, Sylvi Hagen got it, not me,” Pan clarified with a self-deprecating laugh. “I doubt her office would ever take my requests.”

  Dagny stood up and walked over to us. “Which one is it?”

  “Amalie Grímms.”

  “That makes sense,” Dagny said thoughtfully. “She did work in the archives.”

  “Is Amalie a good one?” I asked.

  “Good is a very subjective term, Ulla,” Dagny replied derisively. “Amalie was orphaned as a toddler, and then chosen from by the Mimirin elite to be raised and tutored for service here. She was the youngest woman ever to become the head of a department, hers being the archives. For the past twenty-three years she’s been a Mästare—a position that only one of every twenty heads has even a chance of attaining. She’s also rumored to be on the Information Styrelse, but the policy of the Mimirin is never to confirm or deny the identity of the board members.

  “Good I would say isn’t the right word,” Dagny said, finishing her rant. “Formidable is the one I’d choose.”

  “Awesome.” I smiled thinly. “That all sounds . . . awesome. Will Sylvi be there?”

  “I can’t say for sure, but I don’t think so,” Pan said. “It sounds like it will be the two of us and Amalie.”

  “Great.” I swallowed my unease and nodded once. “Great. It’s really . . .”

  “Great?” Pan supplied with a smile.

  “Sorry, I’m a bit nervous, I guess, but that’s okay,” I said with a tight laugh. “I didn’t plan to sleep tonight anyway.”

  “I get it, but it’s going to be fine,” Pan assured me, his voice low and soothing. “You just wanna talk to her, get a few answers to some basic questions, and you won’t be alone. I’ll be there with you the whole time.”

  I smiled at him, genuinely this time. “I know, and thank you.”

  “I’ll meet you outside of the Mimirin tomorrow. Let’s say a quarter after seven to be safe?”

  “Perfect,” I said. “I’ll see you in the morning, then. And thanks for coming out to let me know.”

  “Cell service can be so sketchy out here, and I wanted to make sure you got the message,” he explained.

  As soon as he was gone and the door was shut behind him, Eliana dropped down from the ceiling, landing nearly silently in the center of the apartment.

  “Okay, seriously, what are you?” I asked.

  She glanced around the room. “Aren’t we all the same thing?”

  “What do you think we all are?” I asked carefully.

  “Trollian beings.”

  “Technically, she’s not wrong,” Dagny said dryly, but it definitely wasn’t the answer we were expecting. Most trolls would say either their tribe or just troll. “How old are you?” I asked Eliana directly. I’d been studying her youthful face. Physically, my best guess would put her in her late teens, but she acted so much younger than that—excitable, naïve, cheerful, and entirely unbothered by very serious things that would bother most everyone else, like pervasive amnesia.

  “Um . . . I honestly can’t remember exactly anymore. But I think I’m older than Hanna, but younger than Amalie Grímms,” she said after some thought.

  Dagny stiffened. “You know Amalie?”

  “No, I heard you talking, and you said she’s had her job for twenty-three years. Twenty-three years ago, I was still a baby. I think.” She paused and stared up at the ceiling for a moment. “Or maybe I was Hanna’s age.”

  “Okay, fine,” Dagny said, and exhaled roughly. “Eliana can stay here, but Hanna is the one who has to deal with figuring out the sleeping arrangements.”

  Hanna squealed in delight. “Yes! No problem!”

  “Why the sudden change of heart?” I asked.

  “We have a color-changing trollish acrobat who is unsure what planet she is from and refers to herself by a species name we don’t really use and can’t remember how old she is or anything about herself,” Dagny summarized. “At this point it seems irresponsible to let her wander around.”

  “I will stay here, but on one condition—I don’t do any tests or go anywhere if I don’t want to.” Eliana suppressed her joy and made her stipulations coolly. “No poking or prodding without my agree-ence.”

  “Agree-ence?”

  “I have to say yes to it,” Eliana clarified.

  “Did you mean agreement or consent?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “No, I meant agree-ence.”

  “This wouldn’t, by chance, be your way of saying that you’re ready to meet with Elof?” Dagny asked.

  Eliana shook her head forcefully. “No, not at all. Not even a little.”

  “Okay, then. As much as I would enjoy a grammar lesson from you, I need to get to bed, and I suggest that you all do the same. Ulla has a very important meeting in the morning, and I’m certain you would both feel quite terribl
e if you did anything to jeopardize that.”

  Dagny turned on her heel and went into her room, just as Hanna and Eliana started jumping up and down excitedly as they planned their first sleepover together.

  25

  Chambers

  The Mästare’s chambers were on the highest floor in the northwest corner of the Mimirin. The room was significantly larger than the entire apartment that I now shared with Dagny, Hanna, and Eliana.

  Her chambers had been divided into two parts—an office near the front, with a massive rosewood desk and high-backed chairs, and the rear area that was a more relaxed sitting area. Although relaxed was definitely stretching the definition of the word.

  The design was overtly lush and indulgent. The walls were done in a dark cinnamon Venetian plaster, with the light fixtures and antiques in bronze and copper. In the sitting area especially, there was an explosion of fabric—heavy curtains in vivid shades of indigo and crimson with latkan tassels, dozens of pillows covered in bold satin with metallic trellis patterns, handwoven paisley throw blankets, Oriental rugs in burgundy and deep teal.

  Double doors took up most of one wall, leading back into the Mästare’s private apartment. Kitty-corner from that was a velvet love seat. Just above the couch, a detailed woolly elk had been block-printed in burnt orange and ivory on a blue-green fabric and was hung in a bulky frame.

  Pan and I sat across from the painting in narrow, firm chairs, and the tea rested on a tray before us on the chunky coffee table. We had been sitting there for ten minutes, since the Mästare’s assistant had led us in, and we’d been alone since then, waiting in silence as the air thickened with the scent of the rosewater tea.

  Finally the double doors opened and Amalie Grímms came in, offering apologies before she even sat down. “Sorry to keep you waiting. A small, unexpected problem came up this morning, but it’s been dealt with.”

  She was petite, hardly five feet tall, and the layers of violet robes of the Mästare’s uniform only succeeded in drawing attention to her diminutive frame. Her hair was dark brown, nearly black, with a few silver streaks running through it, and it was cropped short and left unstyled. Her olive skin was besieged by wrinkles, but her eyes were youthful and bright.