Page 186 of The Sun He Buried

Ketill stops beside me and looks over the settlement. Wind catches his shirt and presses it against his ribs.

“The smithy’s still open,” I say.

“The west hinge cracked. They’re making another.”

“At this hour.”

“The doors prefer to remain attached.”

Reasonable.

He rubs snow from the top of his head. More replaces it.

“Halla rebuilt the last release under Sól’s split records,” he says. “Mine count and upper gate agree. The pass is still eight short.”

“Then the paper’s wrong at the pass.”

“Or the metal went wrong there.”

The old problem, wearing a cleaner coat.

“Send both tallies to the east watch when the road opens. Different riders.”

“Already written.”

“Then why tell me?”

“You like being included.”

I look at him. His concern doesn’t move. Neither does his mouth.

“Varrik sent another request,” he continues. “Private meeting. Winter companies. Nothing he’s willing to put in ink.”

“He can keep wanting.”

“I told the messenger you’d be touched.”

“Have him killed.”

“The messenger?”

“Varrik. The messenger’s suffered enough.”

Ketill gives one short laugh and turns his head toward me.

“Last night, fists,” he says. “Tonight, this.”

“Tomorrow I might take up embroidery.”

“You’d stab the cloth.”

“It might deserve it.”

“And the fourth night?”

The wind finds the open runes. “The storm will break.”

“You said that yesterday.”