Page 130 of The Sun He Buried

He stops.

His eyes narrow. “The situation hasn’t required it.”

“It’s three syllables. Say it.” I step in on him. “Snow-pe-tal. Go on.”

“No.”

“She’s the size of a loaf of bread and you won’t say her name.” I poke him. “Unbelievable.”

“She bit a guard,” he says.

“Who grabbed her. She also wrecked a cushion nobody moved. Your whole hall treats her like a wet rug.” Poke. “Because you do.”

“She left a rabbit’s head in my scale yard.”

“She brought you a present and you’ve been sulking about it ever since.”

Snowpetal comes around my skirts and sits on his boot.

“See.” I don’t even point. “She’s braver than you and she weighs as much as a mitten.”

Eirik sighs.

Oh no. He did not just sigh at me.

Alright, he asked for it. Now he gets a list.

“Rudeness. Name-withholding. Being frightened of a mitten.” I count them off on the sore finger, up on my toes, almost hopping. “I can keep going.”

“I’ve no doubt.”

I cross my arms and puff up. “Then apologize. By name. You can do it kneeling, I’m not fussy.”

He looks from her to me.

Both his hands are still raised. He keeps stepping back. I keep coming.

Good.

“...She’s not a mutt,” he says.

“And?”

“That concludes my statement.”

“That wasn’t an apology.”

“It’s the one you have.”

I open my mouth for the rest of it—

Asta touches my shoulder. “Sól. Baldr.”

Right.

Baldr.

I point one final finger at Eirik.”This isn’t finished.”