Anya darted a look at Bragi and bit her lip but didn’t pull back. “Old boyfriend,” she murmured. I turned away quickly, cheeks burning, glad the other boys weren’t paying attention. Fredrik had made a joke I hadn’t heard to Bragi and Hermódr, and the three were a rolling jumble of elbows and knees and fists.

Unsure whether to be concerned or amused, I glanced at Torden and found him leaning back on his elbows, studying me. His hair was tousled and he’d rolled up his shirtsleeves, and though my limbs felt heavy enough to sink into the ground, he didn’t look tired. “You’re not going to jump in?” I asked lightly.

He shook his head. “Not interested today.”

“Ah.”

A pause wider than the sky overhead stretched between us.

“I take it you are not a great lover of sports,” he finally said, tone as casual as mine. Or was it? Either way, I couldn’t pretend just to please him.

I picked at my borrowed wool tights. “I like to think I just haven’t found my game yet.”

Torden took the bait. “What have you tried?”

“Whatever Sister Agatha made us play in school.” I chewed the inside of my cheek. “Football. Rugby. Basketball. I wasn’t any good at any of them. I once hit myself in the face with a tennis racket.”

Torden’s lips twitched, and he scooted closer. “What about track and field? Badminton? Cricket?”

“Scratched every day for two weeks in the long jump. Would not touch a badminton racket after I hit myself in the face in tennis. And in cricket, I’d just jump to the end of the line over and over when my team was batting.”

He gave a broad laugh. “Really?”

I buried my face in my hands, peeking out through my fingers. “You’re probably really good at all of those.” Torden didn’t answer, but the set of his mouth said, Of course.

I felt full to the brim with embarrassment—awkward and silly in front of this flawless specimen of a boy. But a note of happiness sang through the blush I felt like a burn on my skin.

“I’m not even much of a runner,” I confessed, smiling despite myself. “I like to ride, though. On a beautiful day I can walk for miles. Or garden for hours.”

Torden’s gaze grew serious. “Are you telling me you are a competitive gardener? Is this a sport in Potomac? How are the matches structured? Because—”

“All right, enough,” I said, unable to hold in a nervous giggle. “So, no, I don’t like sports. What’s to like?”

“Well, training and competition channel our energy,” he began.

I cut my eyes at his brothers—Fredrik had Hermódr in a headlock. “I see.”