Interestingly, Svanhild herself didn’t seem too keen on this absurd sum. She was more concerned with making sure Njord stayed. What had her visions shown her that she so desperately wanted to come true?
Rising to his feet, Njord pulled Thori with him.
“Wait!”
Sveinn made a drunken grasp for Thori’s wrist. He would’ve knocked him to the ground again if Njord hadn’t supported his weight with an arm around his waist. Just great. Gruffly, he pulled Thori upright and out of the reach of Sveinn’s grabbing hands.
“You can’t just take him with you,” Sveinn protested meekly.
Surely, he was mourning the lost silver, maybe planning to take his anger about the lost deal out on Thori.
“He’s mine,” Njord simply said.
For Jökull’s sake, he’d have his revenge. Thori Odinsson would die a thrall, disgraced and shunned by the rest of the gods.
“Just make sure to be ready for the ritual tomorrow,” Svanhild said, uninterested in Sveinn’s protest. “I’ll visit you later to bring you another gift.”
Thori’s fingers dug almost painfully into his arm at her words. He didn’t resist as Njord guided him out of the tent.
eight
To Trap a God
Njord
It was well past midnight, and he was waiting for Skalmöld to return. Sveinn’s words about Talvi may have been nothing more than a drunkard’s bragging, but he still had to warn his nephew. So, he had sent the seeress to put her scrying abilities to good use and find the boy.
Njord made himself comfortable on his bed. Reclining against sumptuous cushions, he tried to enjoy the opulence of his pavilion, which stood in stark contrast to the otherwise primitive accommodations of the raiders’ camp. But the amenities failed to have the desired effect.
Thoughtfully turning his favorite knife in his hand, he continued to sharpen it meticulously. But the rhythmic scratching of the whetstone, which usually calmed him, couldn’t drown out Odinsson’s ragged breathing. The sound grated on Njord’s nerves.
Lying curled on the ground near the brazier, Thori shivered despite the warmth of the fire. Sweat glistened on his feverish skin; he was barely clinging to consciousness.
“Weakling,” Njord muttered under his breath, though if he was being honest with himself, he considered draping his cloak over Thori. Or should he bring him to the bed?
By the waves, he was here to take his revenge on Odinsson, not to care for him. Njord cursed his soft heart. Why had he brought Thori into his own tent instead of allowing Sveinn’s men to drag him back into his cage?
And he also cursed Svanhild for demanding his assistance in her fertility ritual, as if he would ever willingly perform one for which she could later take laurels.
A bone-chilling scream broke the camp’s nightly silence.
Njord’s hand slipped, and he nicked his thumb on the freshly sharpened blade. Hissing a curse, he sucked on the wound, tasting blood.
Listening carefully, Njord gauged whether there would be a commotion in the camp, but after the cry died away, everything was quiet once more. Sveinn’s guards remained impassive. No attack then. But who inHel’sname was sneaking through the camp at night to prey on defenseless thralls? Sveinn or one of his men, who wanted to release their anger? Svanhild?
Only moments later, his question was answered. The tent flap rustled, and Svanhild swept in, her once white gown smeared with blood. She didn’t bother with a proper greeting.
A golden collar lay in her bloodstained hands. The intricate snake-shaped design glinted in the firelight, and the tiny red gemstones forming the snake’s eyes seemed to be alive and moving. Svanhild’s eyes sparkled with dark delight as she approached.
“Your promised gift,” she said, her voice sweet. “A token of my gratitude. It was forged in blood just for this purpose.” She nodded toward Thori. “It will bind his power. As long as he wears it, he’s no more dangerous than a kitten. A fitting adornment for your new pet, don’t you think?”
Njord’s jaw tightened, but he gave her a curt nod.
“It’ll do.”
Watching her warily, Njord didn’t intervene as Svanhild crept closer. He disliked her methods; theseiðrof blood and human sacrifice wasn’t his forte, but she was right. Thori had to be kept in check, and the collar would ensure that. The crude shackles around his wrists wouldn’t bind Thori’s thunder forever.
Still crumpled on the ground beside the brazier, Thori stirred as Svanhild approached, his eyes snapping open.
