Svanhild’s Ritual
Njord
Skalmöld returned to the tent, brushing dust from her hands and wearing a smug smirk. She regarded Njord with amusement as he sat at the edge of the bed next to Thori like a dutiful guard dog.
“You’re certainly smitten with your little thrall.”
“Shut up,” Njord grumbled.
Although hewasway too lenient with Thori. What had possessed him to promise Odinsson protection? He should have chosen his words more wisely. However, all Njord could do at the moment was restrain his rage and stop himself from storming after Svanhild to tear her to pieces. How dare she touch what was his?
Thori had been so desperate, had begged him not to drag him to the ritual in his dazed state. And Njord was supposed to revel in his distress, to fuel it, to make him suffer even more. But all he could think about was sparing him the ordeal.
“Could I conduct the ritual on my own? What do you think?”
“You mean you and your hand, or what?”
“Well—look at the state he’s in. I don’t want to—”
Skalmöld chuckled. “I understand.”
“You understand nothing. He deserves punishment, but—”
Skalmöld’s features softened. “But not like this. I understand. You’re an honorable man. You won’t torment him for the fun of it.”
“Yes.” He readily accepted her explanation, ignoring that what he had in mind for his thrall looked rather like kindness than a lack of cruelty. But who was there to judge? He could do whatever he wanted. “What took you so long to return to the camp in the first place? It was your job to keep my thrall safe.”
“I returned exactly when I intended to,” Skalmöld said haughtily. “Later, you’ll understand my actions. You’ll even be grateful to me.”
“I doubt it.”
Hel, he had no appetite for dealing with a prideful priestess, a wounded enemy, and his unruly nephew to boot. He was too old for this.
Skalmöld’s gaze turned blank.
“Your nephew is near. I’ll make sure that you can talk to him in private.”
“You act as if I chose you to be my very ownvala,” Njord groused. “But if Perhonen hadn’t vouched for you, I would never have sought your services. Until now, you’ve been of no use to me.”
“I wouldn’t see things so gloomily, Shipbreaker. Don’t you have Odinsson to do with as you please? Aren’t you reunited with your nephew?”
“Coincidences.”
“We’ll see.”
She spun and vanished from the pavilion, off to her questionable business.
Watching Thori turn restlessly on his stomach, Njord cursed under his breath. Even in this state, bruised and unconscious, Thori looked radiant. The glistening oil Svanhild had smeared on him made his bronzed skin glow, matching his dark blond hair beautifully. Examining the wounds on Thori’s back, Njord tried to fathom what Svanhild had done to him. It wouldn’t do for his thrall to succumb to an infection after all.
The oil reeked ofseiðr.
Hands placed on Thori’s shoulders, Njord tried to get a feel of the spell Svanhild had used. Maybe something to enhance the enchantment during the fertility ritual? It was impossible to tell, especially with the distracting softness of Thori’s skin under his palms.
Witnessing Thori’s miserable state had fury crashing over him. Svanhild’s audacity to return to his tent and put her greedy hands on his thrall was downright infuriating. The way she’d had her hands all over Thori’s body! The fact that she’d stripped him naked! It made Njord sick. How dare she touch what was his? Because if anyone punished Odinsson, it was him.
Thori uttered a soft, anguished sound in his sleep, and Njord had had enough.
He stomped to his chest and rummaged around in it until he found what he needed: two sleek golden cuffs matching the collar.
