Page 110 of The Sun He Buried

“What does she expect from you?” he asks.

“Nothing after breakfast.”

“You may have achieved one goal.”

“Nothing requires cruelty. That’s why it remains so useful.”

“You’re doing badly.”

“At cruelty?”

“At indifference.”

I hold his gaze.

Ketill’s walls stay down. No fear. No victory.

He can’t see through me.

He keeps looking anyway.

Someone knocks.

Neither of us answers.

The door opens.

Her grey eyes move from Ketill to the mask.

She has braided her hair. One side is coming loose.

The grief I took from her hasn’t returned. Everything around it remains. Relief. Embarrassment. A quiet hope she’s trying not to press too hard.

She has come to me twice before.

The first time was the night her sister died. Thora sat in this chair until dawn and told me what the fever had done while I took enough grief for her to breathe.

The second time, she said nothing.

Neither visit put her on my desk.

Ketill raises his walls.

I don’t put mine down.

Her hand stays on the door. “I can come back.”

“No,” I say.

Hope warms.

“There’s no reason to.”

It goes out.

Ketill turns his head toward me.

Thora grips the edge of one sleeve. “I only wanted to see whether you were well.”