Page 248 of The Sun He Buried

Beside the door, the copper-eyed man shifts on a folded blanket. His ruined leg’s braced between two boards. Snowpetal bent his knee the wrong way on the road, and it’s stayed that way despite the wrapping.

Good.

He catches me looking.

I smile.

His hand closes around the knife in his lap.

Varrik notices. “Leave her.”

“She broke my leg.”

“The Sanguir broke your leg.” Varrik waves him off.

“It was hers.”

“Snowpetal belongs to herself,” I say.

The copper-eyed man starts to rise.

His leg stops him.

Ha.

Varrik turns toward me. “The animal escaped because five men forgot their training.”

“She escaped because she’s clever.”

“She left you.”

“She went for help.”

My voice shakes on the last word.

Wonderful.

I’ve spent hours trying to keep it from doing that.

“A rider went east before we reached this house,” Varrik says. “The people I answer to will know what she is.”

My stomach twists.

“She’s a baby.”

“She’s a weapon our grandfathers failed to destroy.”

“She’s not yours.”

“That can be negotiated too.”

The bond runs beneath my ribs, warm and tight.

Eirik’s coming.

At first, he was a thin pull far behind me. Then pain reached through it. Rage followed. Now each breath brings him closer, and all the walls he showed me last night are gone.

He knows I’m cold.