Page 27 of The Sun He Buried

Baldr breaks the seal with his thumb. I focus on my pastry.

I manage three bites before curiosity wins.

His eyes move across the page.

Then back to the beginning.

His jaw tightens.

That’s familiar.

I lean closer. “Good news?”

“Excellent.”

“You’re bending the letter.”

He looks down. The lower corner has folded beneath his fingers.

“It came that way.”

The steward looks at the ground.

I rescue him. “Thank you. You can go.”

He glances at Baldr.

Baldr nods. “Go eat something before the kitchens clear breakfast.”

“Yes, Dróttin.”

The steward heads back up the steps at a safer speed.

Baldr reads the letter once more. The pastry in his other hand is losing sugar to the wind.

I stop chewing. “Is it the count?”

“The count is flawless.”

“That sounds useful.”

“Every number recorded in Myrkviðr is flawless. Every scale is flawless. Every cart left exactly as heavy as it should have been, and Ketill’s clerks are wounded that I asked.”

“Did they write wounded?”

“Eirik used more words.”

I know the name. Eirik rules Myrkviðr. Baldr’s brother. A man I’ve heard discussed in rooms that grew quieter after his name.

I can’t find a face for him.

“What does he want you to do?”

Baldr hands me the letter.

The writing is neat and narrow. Most of it concerns weights, route seals, and Ketill’s opinion of Sólvik’s record keeping. Ketill’s opinion isn’t generous.

The final lines are shorter.