Page 84 of The Sun He Buried

“That doesn’t make him wrong.”

“She’s right,” Asta says.

He looks at Asta properly for the first time.

Asta looks back.

I take another preserved berry.

Baldr reaches for his wine.

Snowpetal gets to her feet and walks out from beneath the chair. She sits between Ketill and Asta, tail club resting on the floor, and looks from one to the other.

This feels fair.

Ketill leans back first. “Lady Asta.”

“Mine overseer.”

“Ketill.”

“I heard the introduction.”

“And kept the title.”

“You kept the laugh.”

His mouth opens.

Nothing comes out.

Oh, I like her.

I’ve always liked her, but I like her again.

Baldr’s hand finds mine beneath the table. His thumb moves over my knuckles once.

“Sól.”

I turn toward him.

The line between his brows has eased. Not all the way. Enough.

“You’re right about the missing bars. They need to be counted.”

“But not your allotment.”

“The mine, the upper gate, the north room.”

“That’s a good number of places.”

“A very good number.”

I squeeze his hand. “I still think Eirik should count it if it’s leaving under his seal.”

Baldr looks toward the empty chair.

Only Snowpetal’s white fur left behind on one leg.