Page 102 of The Sun He Buried

I cried for this man when I was nine.

He’s Baldr’s brother.

I have to sit here now like that’s an ordinary thing to know.

Eirik rests one gloved hand beside his plate. “We’ve met.”

Baldr’s head comes around. “You’ve met.”

“Briefly.”

“When? We got here yesterday.” He looks at me. “Sól?”

Yes. Last night. In his study, with his hand up a woman’s skirt.

I don’t say any of that.

Ketill reaches for his drink.

I stare at Eirik. “You knew I was there.”

“Before you touched the door.”

My fingers close harder around the cup. “How?”

“Doors aren’t required.”

Baldr’s jaw tightens. “Emotion feeders can sense people beyond touch. Eirik reaches farther than most.”

Eirik looks at him. “A charming little lesson.”

The woman’s voice returns. I want you to feed.

“Was she all right?”

His gaze comes back to me.

I’ve asked the wrong question. I know because his eye warms with amusement.

“She asked for the feeding. She chose every touch you saw. She knew one word would stop me.”

Good.

I breathe again.

Eirik tilts his head.

His pale-green eye moves to Baldr.

Only once.

Then he looks at me.

“You, however, widened the gap, stayed, and wanted me enough that I could feel you over her.”

Ketill spits his drink across the table.

It hits Eirik’s empty plate.