Page 223 of The Sun He Buried

“You knew before I said anything.”

“Baldr was kissing a woman who had stopped kissing him.”

Her jaw tightens. “You felt me.”

“I have eyes.”

Her arms fold. She’s not letting me have that one.

“You felt me in the snow.”

“You were drunk enough to announce yourself to the trees.”

I look toward the broken shutter. The last strip of wind pushes loose snow across the sill.

Solveih comes closer.

“You knew I trusted you when you carried me inside. You knew I was angry in the kitchen. You knew I didn’t want Baldr to touch me tonight, and you pulled him away before I could make myself say it.”

“You’ve kept quite a ledger—“

“Stop.”

The word catches harder than her finger ever did.

She stands in front of me now. Small, furious, and shaking badly enough that the loose curl moves against her mouth.

“You keep telling me what I want, then punishing me for wanting it. You pull me close. You make coffee cruel. You teach me to throw a knife, wait until I trust you, and cut me where you know it’ll hurt.”

“You should have listened.”

“To which part?” Her voice rises. “The part where you lay beside me in the snow? The part where your hand stayed in my hair? The part where I woke in your bed and knew you’d kept me safe before I remembered how I got there?”

I stand.

She has to tip her head back.

“You don’t understand what you’re—”

“Then explain it.”

The tiredness comes down on me all at once. I want the snow again.

She doesn’t move.

“Explain it.”

“Baldr’s waiting.”

Pain cuts through the bond.

Her eyes shine.

“He asked whether I wanted him to kiss me.”

I keep my mouth closed.

“I couldn’t lie.”