Page 28 of The Sun He Buried

If Baldr doubts the mine count, he may observe the next release himself. Myrkviðr will prepare a replacement allotment when he arrives. No additional silver will be sent east until then.

The signature is one sharp word.

Eirik.

“He wants you to collect it.”

“He wants to be difficult.”

“Can he be difficult and want you to collect it?”

“He’d insist on both.”

Baldr takes the letter back and folds it along the old crease. The new crease near the bottom remains.

“My insufferable brother is being stubborn.”

“His clerk is wounded too.”

“Ketill is always wounded. Usually by incompetence.”

“Ours?”

“Everyone’s.”

I finish the last bite of pastry while Baldr looks over the letter again. “When will you go?”

“As soon as I can leave the harbor work in someone else’s hands. Three days, perhaps four.”

There it is.

I’m going to miss him.

Oh.

That was quick.

Three days on the road, several more in Myrkviðr, three days back. Longer if Eirik’s scales need to be admired one by one.

Baldr lowers the letter. “Come with me.”

I stop brushing sugar from my coat.

“To Myrkviðr?”

“If you want to.” His eyes stay on mine. “I have to go. You don’t.”

I picture a dark road through the mountains, strange halls, colder weather, and Baldr beside me for all of it.

“Yes.”

“You can think about it.”

“I did.”

“That was fast.”

“I’m very efficient.”