Page 192 of The Sun He Buried

The seventh tries to kill me.

My heel catches the edge of his boot. He holds both my hands, turns the stumble into a spin, and brings me around without letting me reach the floor. I laugh so hard I miss the eighth step too.

People clap. Not because I fell.

Mostly.

The man with the split eyebrow guides me through the turn again. This time I get both feet in the correct places. The drum speeds up, and I spin past the hearth.

Asta stands beside the far table with a cup in her hand and Ketill stands much too close to her.

He says something I can’t hear. Asta’s eyes narrow. Ketill puts another cup in front of her, and she refuses it.

He drinks from his own, says something else, and pushes the second cup closer. Asta drinks.

Hmm.

Her mouth opens on one short laugh. Ketill sees, and that appears to be a problem. Asta looks furious with him, herself, the cup, and possibly me for witnessing any of this.

I wave. She points at the floor in front of me.

Right.

I look down before the next turn and keep both boots. When I look back, Ketill is leading her toward the kitchen passage. His hand stays near her back without touching. Asta is still holding the cup.

She looks over one shoulder at me. I grin. Her eyes promise consequences.

Tomorrow’s problem.

Tonight I have a song, a fire, and a man who knows how to keep me from breaking my nose during the seventh step, and I throw myself into all three.

The song ends and my partner bows. I bow too.

The floor arrives closer than expected. He catches my elbow.

The next song begins before either of us can reach the benches. A broad man with green eyes takes my partner’s place. He knows only four steps, which makes us evenly matched. We get through half the song by copying everyone else and the other half by turning in a circle until the room becomes unreliable.

“I need to stop.”

“Good.”

He lets go of my hands. I take one step toward the fire.

The hall keeps turning.

The green-eyed man catches both my shoulders and points me toward a bench.

“There.”

“I had it.”

“You were walking toward the wall.”

“The wall moved.”

He sits me down. Someone puts another horn in my hand.

Myrkviðr is very generous.