“Am I in your service now?” Andora asked, her voice cracking with unshed tears.
“You and the others from your village.”
Despite her obvious distress, Andora glowered at Norrin.
“You know my village. I guess in this case, you also know the ruler of these lands,” she said.
“Njord of Nóatún.” An amused little smirk played around Norrin’s lips. “The Shipbreaker.”
“He won’t let the raid on his territory go unpunished,” Andora said in a toneless voice.
“Certainly.”
“You don’t fear his wrath?” Thori asked, eager to distract Norrin before Andora could say something to incur his displeasure.
“Not really.”
Norrin came from Vanaheim, and even if not allVanirloved Njord and the Queens Ahti and Vellamo, they had enough sense to respect their power. A dreadful suspicion made Thori’s stomach turn.
Could it be?
With sudden intensity, Thori felt Norrin’sseiðr. It coiled around his thunder, warm and soft, and flowed around Norrin, too. For a moment, the warrior’s image rippled as if Thori was looking at him through moving water. He blinked, trying to get a proper look.
And the image shattered.
“Thori?”
A gentle hand swept through his hair.
“What’s wrong with him?”
Andora’s frantic voice.
“He’s going to be fine. Fetch Skalmöld for me. Tell her to bring some tea to treat avalaoverwhelmed byseiðr.”
“But he isn’t avala.”
“Yes, girl. That’s exactly the problem.”
Through a veil of pain and confusion, Thori tried to compose himself. There was someone leaning over him. Someone tall and imposing. Dark hair and gray eyes.
Thori flinched.
Njord.
His vision swam.
Norrin.
Groaning, Thori tried to shield his eyes from the swirling brightness that filled the tent. Why was everything so bright?
“Look at me.”
And Thori did. Once more, he clung to the warrior’s strong shoulders, his knuckles white.
Njord of Nóatún.
Now that he’d seen through his disguise, Thori felt foolish. How hadn’t he noticed before?
