Page 127 of The Sun He Buried

“My allotment had cleared three counts.”

“Now it has cleared four.”

Baldr takes another step.

Eirik doesn’t give him one.

The whole hall has found work that requires silence.

“You planned this,” Baldr says.

“I planned the sky, yes. The effort has left me exhausted.”

“It’s not like he can control the weather, Baldr.”

Both of them look at me.

Oh.

That was out loud.

I hold my wet cloak against my stomach. “He can be awful and still not control a storm.”

Eirik’s purple eye warms.

“Do not enjoy that,” I point my finger at him.

It doesn’t help.

Baldr rubs one hand over his face. “Sól, he knew.”

“He knew snow might come. You said the road was clear yesterday.”

“It was.”

“And the count was not finished.”

Baldr’s voice drops. “Because he stopped it.”

“Because the reserve was short.”

“My reserve was not.”

“If he had released yours and the eight bars never appeared, we would be asking whether they left in your wagons.”

The words come faster as Baldr’s face tightens.

I’m defending Eirik.

At breakfast he told an entire table that I wanted him. The other day he called Snowpetal’s rabbit a threat and then arranged blood for her because she needed it. Today he has trapped us in his hall after withholding a weather report.

He still didn’t make the storm.

Baldr looks past me to Asta.

She lifts both hands. “I have attempted to stop her several times today. My success has been limited.”

“This is not about stopping her.”