“Of course, you were prophesied that,” Svanhild purred. “By avalathat your father paid for. The poor thing was probably too scared to reveal a bad omen to the Allfather.”
“She wouldn’t have dared to lie to him.”
But dread settled heavily in his stomach at her words. Because if thevalain question had been clever, she would’ve lied and savored the years until Thori’s inevitable demise. She would’ve known that a grisly death awaited her if she prophesied anything but glory and good fortune for the Allfather’s firstborn son. She would’ve known that there was no escaping her fate. Only delaying it.
“Wouldn’t she have chosen to live a few more years?” Svanhild cooed, revealing that she thought along the same lines as Thori. “And how convenient for her that now that your destiny is coming to pass, there are whispers that the Allfather has vanished.”
Thori didn’t have an answer to that. Gods, could the disappearance of his parents have anything to do with a seeress fearing for her life? Grimly, Thori stared ahead.
“I’d rather die than play the docile thrall for a lowlyVanrchieftain,” he growled.
“But who will take care of your siblings when you are dead?” Svanhild asked with a sly gleam in her eyes. “Does Freyja have what it takes to defend Asgard? Or little Frey? That is, if he survives the arrow through his chest.”
White-hot rage clouded Thori’s vision. How dare she threaten his siblings? Thunder growled in the distance, and for one headysecond, he thought he’d caught her off guard, that he might break herseiðr. Elm’s fire danced across the mast and ran down Thori’s shoulders like a soft caress. His power sang like howling winds and strained against the bonds holding it. Thori grinned.
Drawing her staff, Svanhild struck him in the face. Hard.
“StupidÁss!” She struck him again, the pommel of her staff crashing against his temple. Stars exploded in front of Thori’s eyes; his thunder slipping from his grasp. “Björn, where are you? You’re responsible for ensuring that Odinsson doesn’t cause any trouble.”
“Yes, my lady.”
A warrior with a scarred face hurried to Svanhild’s side, hovering there indecisively, obviously unsure what to do with Thori.
“Put a sack over his head, you idiot! He can’t use his powers if he can’t see, and I don’t want to look at his stupid face.”
Before Thori could gather his bearings, Björn did as he was told. Suddenly blind, Thori was overwhelmed by helpless anger. He cursed and struggled, his ears still ringing with the force of Svanhild’s blows. Someone punched him in the stomach for good measure, reinforcing the message that he shouldn’t resist.
Thori groaned, his thunder once again out of reach. Svanhild’s bonds held tight.
He should have chosen a better opportunity to fight. Slumping in his chains, he waited for the throbbing pain in his temple to subside.Hel, for such a petite thing, Svanhild packed a hefty punch.
It felt like an eternity while Thori remained chained to the mast, sightless and hurting. His thoughts were in turmoil; his concernfor Freyja and Frey making him sick. And what had Svanhild’s dream shown her about his fate? Who was thismastershe’d talked about? Her words reminded him uncomfortably of the strange dreams that had haunted him for months. The images had been jumbled, not making much sense to Thori, but hadn’t there been a warrior lingering at the edge of his perception? Storm-gray eyes watching him?
Thori shuddered.
He sensed the ship landing and being pulled ashore, but Thori still winced as rough hands grabbed him, untying him from the mast. He was led to the beach, his boots crunching in the wet sand. Further up, the ground was muddy and uneven, but Thori was shoved forward anyway. He stumbled and fell to his knees more than once; Sveinn’s warriors simply pulled him along. He was going to kill them all.
When the sack was finally yanked off, the sudden daylight stung his eyes. Blinking rapidly, Thori tried to adjust and take in his surroundings. A crude wooden cage stood before him, not even large enough for a man to stand upright in. The two raiders who’d escorted him—the one Svanhild had called Björn and another man with a coarse black beard—forced him inside. The bearded man closed the door behind Thori, locking it with a mutteredseiðr.
Stunned, Thori stumbled backwards. He knew theVanirmade no distinctions between whom they taught theirseiðrto, teaching men and women alike. But didn’t these warriors feel any shame in displaying their proficiency in a woman’s business?
To his relief, Björn and his companion didn’t show any further interest in him, walking back to where Thori supposed the main camp lay. He could make out some tents and a few crude shelters and open fires burning along the beach. From his vantage point,the camp appeared sprawling. Sveinn had gathered a small army, more men than Thori had expected.
Sighing, he made himself comfortable on the cold floor, his back leaning against the wooden bars. His head was still throbbing from Svanhild’s blows, and the cold iron around his wrists was uncomfortable and chafing. Closing his eyes for a moment, Thori took deep breaths to steady himself. But despite his exhaustion, his mind raced with plans of escape.
A soft scraping sound made his eyes snap open again. To his right was an entire row of cages, most of them larger than the one he was being kept in and crowded. Thori didn’t want to acknowledge them. Especially not the one right next to him. Inside, a group of young thralls huddled together, their eyes wide with fear. Most of them were little more than children, their too-thin bodies wrapped in ragged clothing that offered little protection from the elements.
The thralls in Asgard were ruddy-cheeked and healthy, well-fed and clothed. Thori had always considered them happy; some of them even his friends. But most of them wereVanirorJötnarwho had been snatched from their homeland. Thori didn’t like to think about it, but they came from places like this one, didn’t they?
Suddenly feeling guilty, Thori found it difficult to look away from the youths. Most of them didn’t even dare to return his gaze, but a girl with dark, tangled hair stared right back at him. She sat apart from the others, her knees drawn to her chest, her eyes sparkling angrily.
Thori smiled at her, though he doubted it was wise.
“Stop leering at me, you freak,” she spat. “You’re one ofthem.”
Her defiance amused Thori.
“I’m Thori Odinsson,” he said, not without pride.
