Chapter Nine
Snowpetal has broken one cushion, eaten most of a venison chop, and fallen asleep beneath the empty chair at the head of the table.
I think this means dinner is going well.
The cushion may disagree. It’s lying near the hearth with one corner split open and wool stuffing pushed across the floor. A servant tried to gather it. Snowpetal opened one white eye and put a paw over the largest piece, so the stuffing remains where it is.
Nobody has tried again.
I tear a piece from my bread and look toward the empty chair.
It’s taller than the others. Dark wood, straight back, no carving beyond a narrow band of silver near the top. There’s no plate in front of it and no cup, though every other place has both.
The room was made for more people than four.
The table could hold twelve without anyone touching elbows.
Baldr sits on my right. Asta’s across from us, close enough to reach me before I do anything she’d object to.
Ketill sits between her and the empty chair, broad shoulders bent over his plate, burn scars bright where the fire catches one side of his face.
He met us at the door, found hot water, sent a healer to the bitten guard, and watched Snowpetal destroy the cushion without moving to stop her.
I like him.
Asta hasn’t decided.
“Does Eirik eat somewhere else?” I keep my voice low, though there’s nobody here to disturb except three servants and a predator with venison on her whiskers.
Baldr cuts through a potato. “When he wants to.”
Ketill drinks from his cup. “He usually wants to.”
“Just not with us.”
“Apparently.”
Asta’s knife moves through the meat in one clean line. Mine has been sawing at the same piece long enough to make it personal.
Baldr reaches over, trades our plates, and cuts it for me.
“I had that.”
“You were threatening it.”
“It knew what it did.”
Ketill looks at the knife in my hand, then at the neat pieces appearing under Baldr’s. “Should we send for a softer animal?”
“I could use softer meat.”
“It’s suffered enough,” Asta tells me.
I look between them.
Asta eats a potato.
Ketill goes back to his cup.
Good. Everyone is getting along.
Baldr returns my plate. The meat has been cut into pieces small enough for a child.
I stab the largest one.
“Thank you.”
His knee presses against mine beneath the table. “You’re welcome.”
Three days in a carriage should have made me less aware of his legs.
It didn’t.
The dining room’s warm enough that I left my purple cloak upstairs. The sleeves of my blue dress end at my wrists, and Baldr’s hand covers half my forearm when he reaches for the bread. His little finger brushes mine.
I miss the meat with my fork.
Asta sees.
Of course she does.
She takes a drink and keeps her face very still.
Snowpetal snores under the empty chair.
“Is she allowed in here?” I point my fork toward the white tail stretched across the floor.
Ketill glances beneath the table. “No.”
“Oh.”
“She bit the man assigned to remove her.”
“He picked her up without asking.”
“He’s learned from the experience.”
Baldr sets down his cup. “The guard in the yard was helping us.”
“I explained that to her.”
“Did she understand?”
Snowpetal rolls onto her back. All four paws curl against her chest. Two little horns rest against one leg of Eirik’s chair.
“She understands many things.”
Asta looks at the stuffing near the hearth. “Not cushions.”
“The cushion startled her.”
“It was on the floor.”
“Suspicious.”
Ketill makes a low sound into his cup. It might be a laugh.
Asta looks at him again.
He drinks.
I eat the piece of meat Baldr cut for me. It’s smoky and rich, with little black seeds in the sauce. The kitchens sent fish too, dark bread, white cheese, roasted roots, and a bowl of preserved berries that taste sharp enough to make my jaw hurt.
Myrkvier food expects winter to last forever.
I like that too.
Outside the narrow windows, the last blue light has gone from the snow. Stars show through the pines. The sky is clear enough that I can see a bright one between two branches whenever the fire drops.
The hall is quieter than Sólvik. There, the sea gets into every room. Here I can hear wood settle in the walls and boots pass in the corridor beyond the door.
One pair stops.
A young woman enters with a folded paper in one hand. Both eyes are grey. A dark streak crosses her cheek near the jaw, and her hair’s started escaping its knot.
She bows to Ketill. “The north room is open. Halla has the first crew on the sealed releases.”
Ketill closes his eyes.
That doesn’t sound promising.
“How long?” His cup stays halfway to the table.
“Three days if both crews work through the night. Four if they do not.”
Baldr’s fork lands against his plate.
The sound wakes Snowpetal. Her head appears beyond his knee.
Ketill takes the paper. “Pay the night crews double. Tell Halla no one works more than six hours without food and two without heat.”
The woman nods.
“And bring me the east release books when the current count is finished.”
“All?”
“Unless one of them has learned to answer questions.”
“Yes, overseer.”
She leaves at a quick walk.
Ketill unfolds the paper.
Baldr doesn’t wait. “What did he do?”
“The east reserve is eight bars short against the release ledger.”
“I know about the east reserve. What did Eirik do?”
Ketill folds the paper once and sets it down. “Ordered all four reserves counted by hand. Every sealed release opened. Nothing leaves until the physical total agrees with the books.”
Baldr leans back. “He wants to delay me.”
“Maybe Eirik wants to find the missing bars,” I say.
Baldr looks at me. “The bars are missing from the east reserve. My allotment was counted three times.”
“But Eirik doesn’t know where they went.”
“He knows they didn’t come from mine.”
“Does he?”
Baldr’s fingers tap the table.
“No.”
“Then he has to count everything.”
Ketill laughs.
It comes out loud. One hard burst that makes Snowpetal’s ears flatten and stops every servant in the room.
He puts a fist against his mouth.
I stare at him.
Asta sets down her cup. “What’s funny?”
“She took Eirik’s side.”
“I did,” I say.
Ketill looks at me. “He hasn’t even come downstairs to meet you.”
“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.
“My brother has a gift for finding the longest road to any inconvenience.”
Ketill takes another drink. “He says much the same about you.”
“Does he.”
“With less warmth.”
Baldr smiles without showing teeth. “That sounds right.”
My fork stops halfway to my mouth. “If he wanted to inconvenience you, why send the replacement at all?”
Neither answers at once.
Ketill studies the folded message.
Baldr rubs his thumb across mine again. “Eirik and I have had six hundred years to make simple things difficult.”
“That seems excessive.”
“We are thorough.”
“Did you start when you were children?”
“He broke my nose when we were children.”
“You said that was an accident.”
“He said it was an accident.”
Ketill cuts into his meat. “It wasn’t.”
Baldr turns. “You weren’t there.”
“He told me.”
“He told you?”
“He was very pleased.”
I start laughing.
Baldr looks injured.
“I was ten.”
“That does make it worse.”
“Thank you.”
“Did you bleed a great deal?”
“Sól.”
“I’m concerned.”
“You’re smiling.”
“I can do two things.”
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.”
“And the latches?” Asta shifts Snowpetal higher.
“Still on the doors.”
“High?”
“Higher than Solveih can reach.”
I stop beside Baldr. “I can reach doors.”
“You missed your own latch twice yesterday,” Asta tells me.