CHAPTER FORTY FIVE
“Father . . . father, the sword. Give it to Ari if you can’t manage. He will offer it for you.”
Snotra’s impatience rose like such a tidal wave she handed Gentle the wheat bouquet and grabbed the sword and handed it to Ari herself. Then she snatched the bouquet back again. Sin Gudrunsson extended his hands to clasp hers—one of them anyway. The wheat bouquet proved a little difficult to grasp. Snotra’s smile, her little gasp were ones of pure pleasure.
“Jesus,” Gentle tutted. “Don’t that make you—”
“It doesn’t anything.” Malice’s eyes burned in her head. “Didn’t you hear? We’ve been told to be quiet.”