After seeing him whipped, Njord should have known that Thori was ill. But when Odinsson had entered the tent, radiant next to Svanhild, Njord had hoped for the best. At first. Because it was easier to hate a man who could fight back, or at least had enough energy left to lift his head from where it was resting on his enemy’s thigh.
When Svanhild had pushed him to kneel between Njord’s legs, Thori had almost seemed fine. Dressed in pearl-colored silk and a nearly translucent shirt, he’d looked gorgeous. Like a favored whore. And for the better part of an hour, Thori had kept his back straight and his chin raised, snarking back at Njord as if he knew no fear.
But as the evening went on, Thori’s golden hair had turned dark with sweat, and his amber eyes had dulled. Now he was slumped, his head resting heavily against Njord’s thigh.
He had fallen asleep. By the waves, he’d been wary of Njord, even though theseiðrthat concealed Njord’s true identity had deceived him. That was to be expected; Odinsson wasn’t avala, after all. But now he was so exhausted that he couldn’t even keep himself awake.
“Consider my offer,” Sveinn slurred. “If we join forces, we can raid larger settlements, Saeborg or Glaðsheimur. The spoils will be astronomical.”
Petting Thori’s short hair as one would a well-behaved dog, Njord sent Sveinn a bored look.
“I just returned from the east. Raiding was good, and my warriors are keen to spend their spoils.”
“But think about the opportunities—”
“Saeborg’s citadel is as rich as Odin’s hall in Asgard,” Njord said haltingly. What did Sveinn know that he dared to threaten these powerful and excellently fortified settlements? “But I don’t consider the man wise who strives to battle the rulers of theÆsiron their home soil.”
Sveinn offered him a sly grin, his crooked teeth flashing.
“Rumor has it that Odin and Frigga have vanished.”
He emphasized his words with a flashy gesture, like a mummer entertaining some children, and Thori stirred. Moving on instinct, Njord shifted so his body was shielding Odinsson from Sveinn’s scornful glare, and his hand cupped Thori’s neck reassuringly. More kindness than this murderous bastard deserved, but a plan was forming in Njord’s mind upon hearing Sveinn’s words. Could Skalmöld be right? Was this his chance to take revenge and find his sister?
“They say Queen Vellamo has been missing for years, and still Bergelmir got a bloody nose when he tried to attack Saeborg.”
“Oh, I’m certain that she and her ghastly wife are lost. Her son, Talvinen, holds the citadel.”
“Prince Talvinen? I thought Rune was Vellamo’s eldest.”
“Rune is dead.”
Njord snorted. It was good to know that Sveinn was not as well-informed as he made himself out to be.
Wedging herself between Njord and Sveinn, Svanhild leaned against her chieftain’s chair as if she owned the man. A notion probably not too far from the truth.
“Rune went to raid the lands of theÆsir,but his ship never returned. And the heir of Asgard kneels at your feet.”
Svanhild’s voice effortlessly carried over the commotion of the feast, making Thori startle and blink up at Njord in confusion.
He’s cute, don’t you think?
Njord didn’t flinch, but it was a close thing.
That was Jökull’s voice speaking in his head, loud and clear, telling him that she thought the man who’d ended her life lookedcute. A cruel ploy by Svanhild? Was she messing with his head by sending him a vision?
Njord sent her a swift glance, but nothing seemed out of the way. Still, it had to be her doing. But that meant she knew who he really was, what Thori had taken from him.
Suddenly unable to stand looking at Odinsson, Njord grabbed a fistful of golden hair and pushed Thori’s head back down. Ignoring the muffled sound of protest, Njord tightened his grip on Thori, keeping him in place. He grinned at Sveinn.
“So, little Prince Talvinen rules over Vanaheim?”
“Better,” Svanhild purred. “He has ridden out on a summer’s journey, meeting his chieftains and inspecting the borders. He travels with a small retinue and hisJotunnhusband.”
“His what?”
Njord felt a headache forming behind his temples. What had his nephew done?
“Didn’t you hear?” Svanhild sounded smug. “He married Håkon Bloodaxe.”
