Page 196 of The Sun He Buried

“You’re lying in a drift.”

“I found it first.”

“You’re not dressed for this.”

I look down. Blue dress. Stockings. One boot already full of snow.

“I have both boots.”

He tries to lift me. I spread both arms, and snow goes into my sleeves.

This was a poor strategy. It still works.

Baldr stops before he has to drag me. “You’ll freeze.”

“I’m warm.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Also warm.”

His hands drop to his knees. The storm turns above his head. Snow catches in his light-brown hair and stays there.

“Come inside,” he says.

“Dance with me.”

The words are out before I mean them. Baldr’s face closes.

He looks away.

There it is. The hot place behind my eyes opens again.

“I don’t want to fight.”

“Neither do I.”

“Good.”

“Sól.”

“The snow is beautiful.”

Baldr follows my eyes toward the sky. He doesn’t lie down. He’s not going to.

“Where’s Asta?” he asks.

“Ketill stole her.”

His eyebrows rise.

“She went willingly,” I add. “Angrily.”

Baldr presses his palm over his mouth.

“I’ll find her.”

“Good.”