The Lost Sun by Tessa Gratton

beginning to flip through the wheel of jukebox choices. I decide on the pulled-pork sandwich with fried potatoes. When the waitress comes, she smiles brightly and the wrinkles around her eyes gather. A bracelet of linked silver horses circles her wrist: she’s a devotee of Freyr the Satisfied, god of wealth and joy. She introduces herself as Esmeralda and takes our order. Astrid asksabout local sightseeing as if we’ll be in town longer to spend more money.
    The sun is bright outside, making the tiny town of Bassett bold and colorful. I’m quiet, sitting with my tattoo to the window so it won’t be readily visible to the restaurant.
    Our drinks are served and I don’t turn my face when I thank Esmeralda. After she’s scooted off again, Astrid leans across the table. “You don’t trust anyone anywhere, do you?”
    “It’s that they don’t trust me. When they see this.” I flick my thumb over the bottom of the spear tattoo.
    “Because you act as though you aren’t to be trusted.”
    Scowling, I decide not to mention being chased out of a convenience store when I was only thirteen. “You’ve seen how people turn away at school.”
    “Taffy said you’re the one who stopped hanging out with London. Stopped sitting with them at lunch.”
    “It was better that way, so he didn’t have to be uncomfortable.”
    She pushes curls behind her ears. “What about your comfort? Wouldn’t you rather have friends? You aren’t a monster.”
    I clench my jaw. There are so many arguments I could make, about being kicked out of battle guild, not allowed to spar with my peers. The way the girls all pulled back in Astrid’s own room the night she was reading runes. I ask, “Where exactly are we going after lunch?”
    Astrid waits, studying me with narrowed eyes; then she leans back into the booth. “The Badlands.”
    “That’s desert?”
    “Yes. It’s rocky and desolate and there isn’t any civilization for miles and miles. Good place to hide a god.” Astrid toys with the saltshaker.
    “You think someone did this on purpose, then.”
    “Must have. Baldur’s ashes didn’t get up and run away themselves.”
    “Gundrun Graycloak said it wasn’t Loki. Freya vouched for him.”
    She dashes salt on the table, lifts her glass of tea and puts it down on top of the salt. “He’s stolen things from his brother-gods before.”
    “What do pearls do for seething?” I nod at the string of them hugging her clavicle. “Protection? Ease of trance?”
    Astrid bites her bottom lip as she grins. “No.” She laughs and caresses the pearls. “These are plastic.”
    “Plastic.”
    “Oh, Soren. Don’t glower at me.” Her smile doesn’t fade. “Mom gave them to me, of course. Don’t you have some silly thing from yours?”
    “No.”
    She begins to speak, but her eyes slide over my shoulder. Her mouth forms a perfect O. Twisting, I glance back at the TV anchored over the bar. A sketched image of a desert valley is displayed across the monitor. A young woman behind the bar stands on tiptoe to turn up the volume.
    “… released from a massive seething dance performed privately in the court of the New World Tree. Seethkona Liljadescribed the image, and all six other seethkonas present agree that this is the place they saw in their dreams. Baldur was there, very much alone. No one has identified the location specifically, though the god of light is believed to be in the southern desert region, and possibly as near to Bright Home as the southern part of Colorada kingstate. Anyone with information is asked to call the tips hotline number shown at the bottom of the screen.”
    “Southern Colorada?” I turn back to Astrid. But she purses her lips in a mischievous smile and sips her tea.
    One of the men sitting at a table across from us pushes his chair back abruptly. His friend is glaring at me.
    I draw up straight and square my shoulders, but remain seated. With my eyes, I try to warn Astrid. The two men position themselves at