“Svanhild,” Thori mumbled. “What do you want?”
He tried to push himself up, but his strength failed him, and he collapsed back onto the furs. Growling in frustration, Thori tried again. Njord had to admire his strength of will.
Thori rose on unsteady feet and took in Svanhild’s blood-drenched form and the collar in her hands with fear-wide eyes.
“No. Don’t you dare touch me with your bloodyseiðr!”
Svanhild smiled wider, a predator savoring the kill. She stepped closer, but Thori stumbled backward, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps. In his retreat, he collided with Njord, his broad back slamming into Njord’s chest. On instinct, Njord clasped Thori’s shoulders, steadying him.
“Hold still.”
He didn’t like that Svanhild would touch his thrall again—Hel, even the fact that Thori was scared didn’t thrill him—but it couldn’t be helped.
“No! I won’t cause you any trouble. There’s no need to let her—”
Thori turned his head, looking up at him with a pleading look that Njord found, despite everything, hard to refuse. Gods, he couldn’t afford to feel pity for his worst enemy.
“Quiet,” Njord grumbled, but he couldn’t help stroking Thori’s shoulders soothingly. Which, of course, was not what he had in mind. “You’ll wear the collar. Let her put it on.”
Thori shied away, but Njord tightened his grip and held him in place.
Sensing her chance, the priestess wasted no time. Like a venomous snake, she dashed forward and fastened the collar around Thori’s neck before he could twist away. The serpent’s head clicked into place, and the enchantment surged to life.
Thori gasped, his whole body jolting as theseiðrtook hold. He pulled at the golden snake coiled around his throat, desperate but unable to loosen its hold.
“There is no point in resisting myseiðr,” Svanhild said. “Take it like a good little thrall.”
How her spitefulness annoyed Njord.
Thori’s curses turned into strangled gasps as the collar tightened, choking him.
Njord silently counted the seconds, watching Thori struggle in his grip.
Wrenching his hands away from the collar, Thori fumbled for Njord’s sleeves, his fingers digging into the fabric. His body went limp, all fight drained from him, although the collar still cut off his air. A desperate gesture of submission, meant for Njord, not Svanhild.
And weak as he was, Njord liked it.
“Enough. Make it stop.”
He shot a sharp look at Svanhild.
The priestess arched her brow, her expression one of mock innocence.
“It must settle, Stormtamer. Theseiðrneeds time to bind him fully.”
“I said, make it stop.”
Njord didn’t care about her excuses. If he must, he’d complete the enchantment himself, but he wouldn’t let her torture a thrall for her own entertainment, even if said thrall was Thori.
With an exaggerated sigh, Svanhild waved her hand. And though the golden serpent remained coiled around Thori’s neck, the tightening eased visibly. Njord could see a bruise forming where the thing had bitten into Thori’s skin.
Slumped in relief, Thori drew shallow, shaky breaths. His grip on Njord’s sleeves didn’t loosen.
Shifting his weight, Njord steadied his thrall, who was still swaying, still pressed against Njord’s chest.
“It’s done. You can leave now.”
He glared at Svanhild, her cruelty angering him more than necessary. Maybe he didn’t like that she’d damaged his property. Yes, this had to be it.
