Page 188 of The Sun He Buried

The deflections sound thin even to me.

Tedious.

“How long?” he asks.

“You said you knew.”

“I do.”

He doesn’t ask again.

He looks down at Myrkviðr, giving me the small mercy of not watching my face.

“She didn’t choose the bond,” he says.

My grip tightens around the mask.

“Neither did you. But you’re still the only one choosing to make it cruel.”

The wall inside me opens one fraction.

I could let him feel it.

Thirteen years. Glacial-blue eyes across a murdered woman. Every laugh received. Every night she slept inside my brother’s safety. Her body going hot in the practice ground while my hands stayed one inch from her.

Ketill has earned the truth.

I close the crack.

His concern stays where it was.

He nods once.

No disappointment. He expected nothing else.

“When the storm breaks,” I say, “the three wagons leave on separate roads. Baldr’s party goes with the first.”

“Back to Sólvik.”

“That’s where he rules.”

“And Sól?”

Her grief hasn’t eased.

“She goes with him.”

Ketill studies the trees below us. “You think distance will help.”

“Distance hasn’t worked in thirteen years. Absence might have more talent for it.”

“You tried absence.”

“Then I’ll try harder.”

He breathes out through his nose.

“The ridge watch will open first,” I continue. “The second they clear it, send the lead wagon. No feast. No court. No delay.”