Page 86 of The Sun He Buried

Ketill cuts another piece. “He bled on their mother’s winter carpet.”

Baldr points his knife at him. “You are finished.”

“I oversee the food.”

“You oversee the mines.”

“The food’s near the mines.”

Asta reaches for the potatoes. “A peaceful childhood.”

Ketill looks at her again.

This time Asta doesn’t look up.

Dinner gets easier after that.

The servants stop freezing whenever Ketill speaks. Baldr tells me which road runs past the windows and how far the mines sit beyond the hill. Asta asks whether the windows in our rooms open far enough for Snowpetal to escape.

“The windows are vein-silver bound,” Ketill tells her. “The kit won’t break them.”

“Can she work the latches?”

We look at Snowpetal.

She’s climbed into Asta’s empty chair and is licking sauce from the edge of her plate.

Asta moves the plate.

Snowpetal follows it.

“Not yet,” I decide.

“Then you have time,” Ketill says.

“For what?”

“To learn how fast she grows.”

Baldr covers his eyes with one hand.

“We’ll make instructions,” I tell him.

Ketill nods. “Put that on the first page.”

Asta gives him a flat look. “You’re encouraging her again.”

“I’m encouraging the instructions.”

Snowpetal steals another piece of meat.

By the time the plates are cleared, I’ve eaten enough to make the walk upstairs feel ambitious. Baldr stands and offers me his hand.

Asta gathers Snowpetal from her chair. The little club-tail hooks around her arm. She turns the spikes away before they catch her sleeve.

Ketill opens the dining-room door.

“The west rooms are ready. A fire has been laid in each.”