Page 111 of The Sun He Buried

“You’ve seen.”

Her eyes touch the blood at the edge of the silver. It was against her throat last night, and she knows what it costs. She’s never asked what’s under it. Twice in this chair, and she’s never asked.

“May I sit?”

“Why?”

The word comes out harder than I intended.

No.

Exactly as hard.

She looks at the chair across from me. “I thought we could speak.”

“We spoke last night.”

She tucks the loose strand behind her ear. “We did other things last night.”

Ketill studies the wall.

Thora takes one step toward the chair. “I know what you offer. I told you that.”

“Twice.”

Color reaches her cheeks. “I’m not confused about this.”

“Good,” I say.

“I didn’t come asking for promises.”

“You told me that too.”

“Because you kept asking,” she says.

I did.

Before I touched her. Before I fed. Again when the sound of Solveih’s slippers stopped outside the door.

Thora had every chance to refuse me.

I had every chance to stop using her answer against Solveih.

I kept going.

“Then what are you asking for?”

She looks at me.

There’s no performance in her. She knows I’d taste it before the first word.

“A little time,” she says. “The grief is quiet. I don’t want to be alone before it comes back.”

Ten minutes would cost me nothing.

I could let her sit. Pour coffee.

I could give her the small kindness she asked for after she trusted me with her body and the worst thing she carried.