Svanhild’s smile widened, her eyes clouding over some more.
At once, Thori’s pained gasp echoed through Njord’s mind. He could feel his anguish through the ribbons ofseiðrconnecting them. Thori’s body seized, writhing in Njord’s sheets. Though Njord could not see it, he could feel it; their connection burning through him like a brand. His breath came faster, fury tightening in his chest.
Not only had Svanhild cut Thori’s hair, but she’d kept a lock for herself. To bind Thori to her will. To feed off his power. And now she was trying to further enhance the ritual with the death of a god, hoping to contribute something of value.
He was only distantly aware that his wrath made the water of the fjord rise, creeping through the smallest fissures in the canvas of the tent and thick hides forming the ground.
Njord shook the priestess so violently that her limbs flailed like a rag doll. She whimpered, her gaze finally focusing on him, but Njord didn’t let her go. Instead, he pulled the dagger from his belt and pressed it to her throat.
“Release him. Now.”
Svanhild laughed. A shrill sound.
“Let me have this ritual, Stormtamer. I’ll pay you back your silver thrice.”
Pressing his blade more firmly against her throat, Njord watched the first drops of blood running over her pale skin. Did she still think he was Norrin? Did her ambition cloud her judgment?
Leaning in close, Njord’s voice dropped to an icy whisper. “Odinsson is mine. If you do not break thisseiðr, I will cut your throat open and let your runes feed on your own blood.”
For the first time, Svanhild faltered. Her gaze flickered to the spilled bowl, the scattered remnants of her failed ritual, bones and runestones spread on the damp floor. Slowly, she raised her hands and whispered another incantation, different this time. One of severance, of release.
As the air in the tent shifted, Njord felt the storm of fury that had clouded his thoughts abate. The weight that had pressed against his chest lifted, and he could sense Thori’s soft sigh of relief. The connection Svanhild had tried to establish snapped with an audible crack.
Njord let go of the priestess, dropping her into a growing puddle of fjord water gathering in the middle of her tent. The smell of salt and seaweed filled the air, and Njord gave her an unfriendly smile.
“If my thrall suffers further because of your actions, I won’t be so merciful again.”
Svanhild glared at him, but she made no move against him. Njord was only too aware that he had made a vengeful enemy,but he couldn’t be mad about it. Without another word, he strode from the tent. He’d get Thori cleaned of the last remnants of Svanhild’s influence and away from Sveinn’s camp. He longed to be back at sea.
sixteen
Soothing Rain
Thori
He walked through the swamp along a treacherous path, his view of the gloomy landscape obscured by thick fog.
It felt like he’d spend an eternity out here.
Wandering.
Lost.
A shudder ran through his body, the cold that crept up from the mire landscape chilling him to the bone.
Where was he headed? He needed to be somewhere, but he had no idea how to find his destination.
A splashing sound made Thori whirl around. But there was nothing but billowing fog.
Taking a few more steps, Thori stumbled.
Sudden pain flared through his chest, and he barely managed to stay upright.
Ow.
Looking down on his chest, he found a festering blotch of seiðr clinging to his skin, not unlike an infected wound.
It hurt.
