Page 41 of The Sun He Buried

“I kept my knees.”

“They were excellent knees.”

She beams and runs back.

The light moves behind the hall roof. Wind comes over the courtyard wall and dries the sweat on Baldr’s back. He finally calls the last round.

I slide from the wall.

Now.

I’ll ask now.

The recruits empty their quivers, collect the arrows, and carry the bows to the rack. Baldr checks each string before he hangs it.

I pick up the smallest bow from the wall.

It’s heavier than I expected. Smooth wood presses into my palm, worn pale near the grip.

Baldr turns.

I lift it toward him. “This one too.”

“Thank you.”

He takes it and checks the string.

He thinks I’m helping.

I am helping.

I also want the bow back.

One question would do it.

The young recruits gather around Baldr to say good night. Runa hugs him around the waist, darts away, and returns because she forgot her rock.

I can ask next time.

Baldr invited me today. There will be another day after Myrkviðr, when the ore is delivered and the harbor work has vein-silver again.

Plenty of time.

The children leave in twos and threes. The gate closes behind the last boy.

Baldr reaches for his shirt.

I hold it against my stomach. “Are you sure?”

“You’ve damaged it enough.”

“I kept it off the ground.”

“You wiped your hands on it.”

“The ground is much worse.”

He holds out his hand.