Page 8 of The Sun He Buried

The man’s gaze drops. He turns to me. It takes him a second. “Lady Solveih. Forgive me.”

I smile. “For which part?”

Asta finally gives me the hook. The blunt end presses into my palm.

The courtier looks toward Baldr.

Baldr doesn’t help him.

The words come out flat. “All of it.”

“Thank you.” I crouch and set the hook in my basket. “I do appreciate a complete apology.”

He leaves through the opposite arch without looking at either of us.

Baldr watches until he’s gone. The men nearest the gate remember their drills. Wood cracks again, louder than before, everybody very interested in hitting things properly.

He turns to me. “You let him keep going.”

I untangle the yarn from my boots. “I wanted to see how far he’d go.”

“You found out.”

“I’d have found out more if you’d waited.”

His mouth pulls into a grin. It reaches both eyes and makes him look younger, though he’s been fully grown since my great-grandparents were children. “Should I go fetch him?”

“No. He’ll have prepared answers now.”

“Terrible luck.” He offers me his hand. “Next time one of my court forgets his manners, you don’t need to stand there and let him practice on you.”

“I wasn’t letting him practice. I was—”

He lifts me over the loose yarn before my boot can catch it again. Both my feet leave the ground. He sets me on the clear side of the basket with the same ease he uses to move chairs.

My explanation disappears.

Baldr looks down at the wool. “Asta, was she winning?”

“Completely.” Asta begins returning buttons to the basket. “The bread was an unrelated loss.”

I point my hook toward the gate. “The cat cheated.”

“He used the opening you gave him.” Asta doesn’t look up.

“You’re both being very unkind about this.”

Baldr laughs. He bends, lifts the end of my blue scarf, and studies it. “Is this a belt?”

“It’s a scarf.”

“For whom?”

I point at Asta.

She’s still holding the other end. “A surprise, apparently.”

“I’ve only just started it.” I snatch the scarf from Baldr. “There will be more scarf.”