Page 125 of The Sun He Buried

“The market.”

“In that?”

“It began on the way back.”

He reaches me and pushes the wet hood from my head. His hands move over my shoulders, arms, and face.

“I’m not hurt.”

“You’re soaked.”

“Asta caught me.”

His eyes go to her.

“Twice,” she says.

“Three times if we count the steps.”

“We’re counting the steps.”

Baldr exhales and cups one warm hand around the back of my neck. “Where’s Snowpetal?”

I look toward the doors.

He follows my eyes.

“Outside?”

“She likes the snow.”

“The storm is burying the lower path.”

“I explained that.”

“Did she listen?”

The doors shake.

“She had cake.”

Baldr closes both eyes.

Asta starts unfastening my cloak. “The guard is listening for biting.”

His eyes open.

“It made sense at the time,” I tell him.

Boots cross the stone behind Baldr.

I know Eirik is there before I turn.

That has nothing to do with emotion feeding. The nearest servants have gone quiet, and one of the children beside the jar cart has started counting in a whisper.

Eirik stops at the end of the hearth. His black coat is dry. The silver mask covers his face, and the purple eye finds mine before it goes to Baldr.

Ketill stands beside him with a rolled map under one arm.