Page 215 of The Sun He Buried

Not far. His weight comes forward, one hand going flat to the wood—the front half of standing, before the standing.

Ketill’s hand is already on his arm.

Two fingers. That’s all it takes.

Eirik doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t look away from Baldr either.

He hasn’t moved like that all week. Not once.

Then it’s gone. He’s still again, and when he speaks, it’s to the map.

“Her seal change solves the weak point.”

Baldr turns toward him. “I didn’t ask.”

“No. You rarely do.”

Ketill closes both eyes.

Asta puts down her list.

Baldr’s knee shifts beneath the table. “You’ve discovered questions this week?”

“They save time when the person in front of me knows the answer.”

“A recent habit, then.”

The words are about me.

They’re also not about me at all.

One dinner. One dead woman. One brother who has loved the other through every ugly piece and has finally been given a piece he can’t carry.

I know only the edges.

They’re sharp enough.

“Ketill,” I say. “Can the seals be changed?”

He looks grateful enough to concern me.

“Before nightfall.”

“Good. Then we have a plan.”

“We had a plan,” Baldr says.

Eirik folds the map.

“Yes. You were going to count badly in three places instead of one.”

Baldr stands.

The bench scrapes stone.

His hand catches my shoulder when the movement tips me sideways. He steadies me, then leaves the palm there.

Eirik looks at it.