Page 256 of The Sun He Buried

Eirik takes all of it.

Varrik’s mouth falls open.

His eyes stay on me, but nobody’s looking through them now.

I know that face.

White linen.

Blood across Baldr’s hands.

Nine-year-old me between the wall and my father’s legs, crying while everyone else screamed.

Back then I saw Eirik kill and knew it hurt him.

Now he’s inside my chest.

Varrik’s fury, terror, and devotion pour into him. Eirik carries every piece.

He crosses the room.

One hand closes beneath Varrik’s jaw.

Eirik pulls.

Skin tears.

Cartilage breaks.

Varrik’s throat comes away in his hand.

Blood strikes the floor, the chair, and the edge of my purple cloak.

Varrik drops.

Eirik stands over him. The same hand. The same blood.

The same purple eye finding me across a ruined room.

I cry for him again.

His face turns toward the door.

For half a breath, I’m nine and he’s leaving.

“Eirik.”

He stops.

The bond jerks with the sound of his name.

I lean toward him as far as the rope allows.

“Come here.”

He drops Varrik’s throat.

Then he kneels in front of me.