Page 207 of The Sun He Buried

“From your rooms to the west stair.”

“Myrkviðr contains many roads.”

His pale-green eye returns to mine.

He sees the smile.

He sees beneath it.

Damn him.

“You could’ve let her tell me,” he says. “You could’ve left it there.”

“You’ve heard her.”

“Then you came to make certain I heard you.”

The smile holds.

“Did it help?” he asks.

The question gets under the mask.

Last night returns in pieces. Snow in her curls. Her cheek on my coat. Her hand finding mine after she fell asleep.

Baldr waits.

He knows me.

Loves me anyway.

And I’m going to make him regret both.

“Immensely,” I say.

His face closes.

He stops looking for the part of me he found when we were boys.

Baldr steps around me.

I could stop him.

I have stopped armies with less effort.

My brother walks away.

I let him.

Ketill stands at the far end of the gallery.

One shoulder rests against the stone arch. His short hair is uncombed, and his shirt has been fastened wrong at the collar.

Asta has apparently survived.

Ketill waits until Baldr reaches the stairs.

Then his walls come down.