By now, Thori was treated more like a royal guest than an enslaved enemy, and Njord made him feel more valued and at home than he’d felt in Asgard for a long time. Was he being manipulated? Enchanted even? Quite possibly. But he couldn’t bring himself to care, because manipulation was all his father’s court had ever offered him. At least Njord bothered to make it feel good.
Still, Thori was restless. He’d never coped well with the breathless calm before an impending battle, and he didn’t know what to do with himself. Usually, it was him who had to plan and double-check and fight for every decision.
“Maybe Gylfa should position some of her archers up here?”
Thori had been brooding over a map of the fortress for hours, well aware that Njord was trusting him with crucial information about Nóatún’s layout. Njord had just returned from his evening inspection and looked over Thori’s shoulder with interest.
“You think Sveinn might attack from the open sea?”
“He had morevölurwith him when he captured me than I’ve ever seen on a single longboat. They might easily change his course and carry his fleet to open waters.”
Njord smiled, his eyes crinkling.
“Clever.”
“Just a warrior’s observation.”
“Is that what they told you in Asgard?”
“In Asgard, a warrior learns very quickly that a few tactical considerations are void compared to the schemes of the gods of wisdom and cunning. But you know that. You lived there, and you outsmarted my father at least once when you managed to return to Vanaheim without giving up your sister as a hostage.”
Njord’s smile turned rueful.
“Odin would claim I betrayed him.”
“He respects a good betrayal.”
“Yes, quite possibly.” Njord stepped closer, resting his hands on Thori’s shoulders. “I’ll ask Gylfa to adjust the positions. Your instincts are sound.”
More praise. Thori’s chest tightened with a confusing mix of pleasure and unease. He didn’t deserve this, and yet he craved more.
“You must be hungry,” Thori said abruptly, rolling up the map with hands that weren’t quite steady. “I could fetch you something from the kitchens. Or send for Hildur.”
“I’m not hungry. I ate earlier with Gylfa and Andora. Hildur brought yournattmal, I understand?”
“As per your orders.”
“Good. Now I order you to give that clever head of yours a break. You’ve been thrumming with tension ever since you found out about the Bog Mother, but you’ll need your strength in battle.”
“I’m not tired,” Thori said, knowing that rest wouldn’t come to him in a state like this.
“We’ll see about that. Come.”
Njord pulled him to his feet, guiding him toward his sleeping chambers, and Thori followed without protest because part of himwasfatigued and he wanted to see if Njord could, by some miracle, make him relax enough to sleep.
Unlikely.
But he could make do with a few of Njord’s sweet words, or maybe even a lovers’ tryst to distract himself from the utter disaster he’d let his life become. So, he allowed Njord to pour him a cup of mead and watched the sea god change into his sleeping garments.
The mead was strong and sweet, and Thori, suddenly feeling bold or maybe not caring enough about appearances anymore,shed his clothes and strolled into bed naked. To his delight, Njord sucked in a sharp breath and followed him, pulling the furs up around them both. His arm slung around Thori’s waist, solid and reassuring, and Thori found himself relaxing into his warmth.
Clarity washed over him like in those moments in battle when he suddenly knew exactly what he must do.
“When Sveinn comes, I’ll fight with you.”
“I know,” Njord said as if he’d no doubt whatsoever about Thori’s honor and bravery.
“How can you be so sure about me? I’m the son of Odin. I killed Jökull.”
