Page 212 of The Sun He Buried

Baldr’s palm presses harder against my back.

“How generous.”

Ketill looks at him.

Then Eirik.

His blue eyes have been doing this for days.

The brothers have spent the time since I woke in Eirik’s bed pretending they aren’t at war.

They’re terrible at it.

Ketill watches both of them and moves cups, maps, workers, and once an entire bench out of the path before anything can become worse.

It always becomes worse.

“The road made the decision,” Eirik says. “You may argue with it on the way down.”

Baldr leans back.

His arm comes around my waist and takes me with him.

I catch the table before my hip knocks it.

“Careful.”

His voice is warm against my hair.

Eirik’s pen stops.

Only for one breath.

Then he marks the tally.

Baldr bends and kisses the top of my head.

Every person at the table sees.

That’s the point.

I know it before Baldr’s mouth leaves my hair.

My face goes hot anyway.

His affection used to arrive when he wanted to touch me. A hand beneath the table. A kiss outside my door. His thumb moving over my fingers while I told a story he’d already heard.

Now it arrives when Eirik looks up.

Baldr’s arm tightens when the purple eye finds it.

I’m sitting in his lap without having moved there myself.

No.

Not his lap. The bench. Very close beside him.

This distinction helps nobody.