Page 55 of The Sun He Buried

“Tomorrow tomorrow?”

“There is only one.”

“You knew this in the yard.”

“I did.”

“You walked me all the way here to tell me.”

“That was the plan.”

I look at the dress on the floor, then at him.

“You got distracted.”

“So did you.”

“You were shirtless.”

“You kept the shirt.”

I find it hanging over the chair and point. “It’s right there.”

“You tried.”

He is smiling. I push his shoulder.

He catches my hand and kisses my palm. “Asta knows. The wagons are loaded. Your bags go down before breakfast.”

“Asta knows?”

“She gave the steward a list.”

“Of course she did.”

“Three lists.”

“That sounds right.”

I lie down again. Baldr pulls the blanket over us and tucks it around my shoulder.

“Do you want me to go?” he asks.

I put my head back on his chest. “No.”

His arm tightens around me.

“Stay.”

“I will.”

The fire makes a small sound in the hearth. Baldr’s fingers move through the ends of my hair. Tomorrow there will be mountains, three days of road, and one insufferable brother waiting at the other end.

Tonight I have Baldr warm beneath me and seven steps to his room that neither of us needs to take.

At sunrise, Asta is going to look at my face and know everything.

I should decide how much to tell her.