Page 143 of The Sun He Buried

His mouth presses against my hair.

“Yes.”

“Does he know?”

“He knows everything people don’t want him to know.”

I tuck the blanket beneath my chin. “Do you think he loves you?”

Baldr is quiet long enough that the fire makes three little cracks near the hearth.

“I think he did once.”

My throat tightens.

“And now?”

“Now he makes certain my silver arrives eventually, insults my court, and finds a way to turn every conversation into a fight.”

“That doesn’t sound close.”

“No.”

“Was it the dinner?”

Baldr’s arm goes still around me.

“That wasn’t the beginning,” he says. “It ended what remained.”

I see white cloth turn red again. Blood over Baldr’s hands while he pressed them against a wound no one could survive.

“Did you ask him why?”

“Once.”

“What did he say?”

“That I had already chosen what to believe.”

“Had you?”

Baldr looks at the fire.

“She left him. Came to Sólvik. Sat beside me at the table. Everyone thought he killed her because he couldn’t bear that.”

“Did you?”

“I didn’t know what else to think.”

The mask. The purple eye. Eirik looking at Baldr before he looked at the woman in his hand.

“Do you think that now?”

“I don’t know.” Baldr’s fingers move once against my shoulder. “I can give you my side, Sól. Eirik has never let me far enough into his.”

“That’s lonely.”

“It’s easier than fighting him for an answer he won’t give.”