Page 75 of The Sun He Buried

Baldr looks at the white animal in her arms. “You’ve known her for three hours.”

“They were peaceful hours.”

The guard attempts to assure her he will live. He directs the words toward Baldr, which is easier than turning his back on the Sanguir.

Solveih shifts the creature higher. “I’m sorry. Snowpetal, you’re sorry too.”

Snowpetal yawns.

Snowpetal plants both paws against her collarbone and tracks the guard across the yard.

The bone club rests across Solveih’s arm. Its six spikes are clean and quite capable of ruining the next person who comes close. The guard notices this too. He chooses a wide path toward the infirmary.

“She brought a Sanguir into your hall,” Ketill says.

“The Sanguir hasn’t reached the hall.”

“A reassuring distinction.”

Below us, Solveih turns toward Baldr. Her hood has fallen back. She lifts her face, and I see the eyes.

Those survived the years.

Pale blue. Clear. The same eyes that found me through a wall of frightened adults while blood ran off my hand.

She’s laughing now.

I step away from the window.

Ketill doesn’t.

“Go receive them.”

“You could come with me.”

“I could also take an ear.”

Ketill doesn’t move. “You’d only spoil a matched set.”

“Then keep them matched. Go.”

Ketill collects his coat from the chair. His emotional walls stay low. He lets me have the concern under his amusement, open and steady, because he has never learned when privacy would improve him.

“West rooms?” he asks.

“They were prepared for Baldr.”

“There are more guests than Baldr.”

“You do understand how adjoining rooms work.”

“The human women, then. Hot water, food, every comfort?”

“They crossed a winter road. Yes.”

“And Snowpetal?”

“Keep her away from the staff.”