Page 204 of The Sun He Buried

Solveih moves her legs toward the side of the bed. Snowpetal refuses to move with them. Both nearly reach the floor before Solveih catches the animal.

“You’re not helping.”

Snowpetal climbs into her arms.

Solveih stands.

The room tips.

She catches the bedpost with one hand and shuts both eyes.

I don’t cross the room.

She waits until the floor returns, then opens them.

“Water,” she says. “Then Asta. Have you seen her?”

“Not since Ketill led her away.”

Solveih’s head comes up too quickly. She regrets it at once.

“He led her away?”

“She still had both feet.”

“That doesn’t answer anything.”

“It answered the important part.”

A grin tries to reach her face. She stops it because her skull objects.

“I have questions.”

“Find Ketill. He deserves them.”

She puts Snowpetal on one hip and collects her boots.

At the door, she looks back.

Her gaze touches the coat, then me.

“Thank you.”

“For the headache?”

“For bringing me inside.”

I face the storm.

The latch lifts.

“Eirik.”

I look over one shoulder.

She has one boot on and one in her hand. Snowpetal’s white head rests beneath her chin.

“I meant it,” she says. “About Myrkviðr.”