At the sight of the Steward, Solma’s hands tighten around the hilt of her knife.
“Steward,” she says. She’s trying not to be rude but she can hear how spectacularly she’s failing. “I’m sorry, I—”
She tries to push past him but Norsen doesn’t move. He smiles. Solma’s scowl deepens.
“Solma?” Bell’s says from inside. She descends into a fluster when she sees who’s at the door. “Earth’s sake, girl!” she squeals. “Invite him in!”
Solma slowly steps aside, glowering as Norsen steps past her with the mop-haired boy in tow. Solma watches with narrowed eyes as they head towards the table. The boy flops into a chair and immediately stands again at a sharp look from his Steward. Embarrassed, he smooths his fringe over his forehead and his squint deepens in embarrassment. He’s pale-skinned, Solma
