“You’re still not well.” Njord took a towel and wrapped it around Thori’s shoulders.
He was right. Thori was so tired. But he wouldn’t show Njord any more weakness than he’d already seen. What was he supposed to tell him?
Njord’s hand curled around Thori’s chin, tilting his face up.
“You look as if you’re about to faint.”
“I’m a god,” Thori said petulantly. “I won’tfaint.”
Although hewasdizzy, feeling weird.
“Njord?” He wasn’t sure what he wanted to ask, but the steaming hut started spinning around him. “I think I’m going to—”
seventeen
The Lord of Storm and Sea
Njord
The salty sea winds carried the scent of home, and after days spent in the oppressive atmosphere of Sveinn’s camp, Njord felt like he could finallybreatheagain. Standing tall at the longship’s helm, he watched storm clouds gather on the horizon. He’d sent ten of his ships straight to Nóatún. The remaining ships were sailing toward the mainland, southeast of the fortress. The longships soared swiftly through the churning gray water, their majestic dragon bows rising and falling with each swell, and their deep blue sails billowing.
His gaze swept over his warriors and the thralls huddled beneath canvas shelters. He’d bought his people back from Sveinn, but it gnawed at him that he hadn’t been able to prevent the raid on his territory in the first place. He hadn’t revealed his true identity to the thralls yet, still posing as Norrin Stormtamer, so they watched him with a mixture of hope and wariness, uncertain whether their new master would prove kinder than the last.
“You look gloomy. Aren’t you glad to be sailing for home?”
Skalmöld stepped to his side, her dark hair flowing in the wind. She had refused to return to her mountain cave, claiming that she needed to accompany him. Reluctantly, Njord had allowed her to come. Perhonen had vouched for her, after all.
“I don’t like that I had to let Svanhild and Sveinn live. I have a feeling that I’ll regret this decision dearly.”
“Still, you were right to do so.” She gently put a hand on his shoulder, her gaze fixed on the storm-swept horizon. “Darker powers are at play here than an over-ambitious priestess and a rogue raider.”
“I know.”
Njord’s gaze was drawn to where Odinsson lay huddled in the captain’s shelter at the helm, wrapped in furs and blankets. He’d been unconscious when Njord carried him aboard, still burning with fever from Svanhild’s poisonedseiðreven after all Njord had done to cure him. Thori had awakened briefly yesterday, long enough to drink some broth and exchange a few barbed words, but the magical backlash had left him weak as a newborn foal. Now he shivered despite the furs, his face pale against the soft wool of Njord’s favorite cloak.
“Svanhild was willing to go to great lengths to get ahold of his power,” Skalmöld said speculatively.
The thought was nagging at Njord, too.
“But whom does she serve if not Odin?”
Skalmöld smiled at him, self-assured and careless.
“That’s what you’re going to find out. You and your pretty thrall.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“There’s a storm brewing,” she stated, conveniently changing the subject.
But she was right. The wind had picked up even more. What had begun as a calm summer morning was turning into a tempest. The first raindrops were already beginning to fall, anda surprising cold bit through Njord’s tunic. The weather was capricious, to say the least.
“Strange weather indeed,” he grumbled.
Taking a quick glance at Thori again, Njord noted with some concern that his captive was still shivering beneath the furs. Of course, Njord was merely checking on him so frequently to protect his investment. There was nothing more to it.
“I can take the helm later if you feel the need to look after him,” Skalmöld said, an amused gleam in her bright eyes.
Was she making fun of him?
