Page 166 of The Sun He Buried

“In the practice yard,” I add. “I saw him from the window this morning.”

“And?”

“And he looked dead.”

“He often does after drinking.”

“He was under the snow.”

“A hopeful arrangement.”

Snowpetal pushes her nose into the open edge of my nightdress. I pull her out before she reaches anything private.

“I went down to check.”

Baldr’s jaw moves once. “With Asta.”

“No.”

“A guard.”

“There were guards at the door.”

“At the door.”

“I could still see them.”

Baldr stands. He crosses to the hearth and sets another piece of wood on the fire. The flames climb around it.

He keeps his back to me.

“He was hurt,” I say.

“He heals.”

“He was cold.”

“He’s Skorvær.”

“He was still cold.”

Baldr takes the iron poker and pushes the wood farther into the coals.

The end goes red.

“So you brought him inside.”

“I mean, he walked by himself.”

“Because you asked.”

“Because I said Asta would come collect us if he didn’t.”

He still hasn’t turned around. “A grave threat.”

“You’ve seen her with a brush.”

That should make him smile.