“Don’t worry, Shipbreaker. Your nephew and his husband will return to Saeborg safely, and you’ll find your sister.”
If only he could share her optimism. Still, her words somehow lent him new confidence. He gave her a curt nod.
“I’ll consider your offer. But first I have to bring us through this foul weather.”
The storm was getting stronger by the minute; the pitch-black clouds gathering and increasingly higher waves rising in front of them. Frowning in confusion, Njord reached out to the elements. Storm and sea were his domain. He should be able to turn this squall aside with a thought, or at least take the worst bite from its wind. Instead, the storm increased in strength, indifferent to his will. Something was very wrong.
A violent gust sent a spray across the deck, and several of the thralls cried out in alarm. Adjusting their course, Njord’s jaw tightened as he pushed against the storm’s unnatural resistance to his power. The stormignoredhim! Whatever malicious sorcery had spawned this weather, it was beyond his ability to dispel.
“There is corruption in the very air,” Skalmöld screamed over the howling of the wind. “Ancientseiðr, foul and hungry.”
“Yes. I can feel it too.”
“What are we waiting for then?” She grinned like an excited shieldmaiden on the dawn of battle. “I’ll sing to the waves, and you’ll steer us right through the heart of the storm!”
The hint of a smile tugged at Njord’s lips. The seeress was clearly mad. Unfortunately, she was also right. He nodded.
Swiftly, she moved to stand at the ship’s dragon head. And then she sang. Bold and loud and otherworldly.
And Njord found himself singing along with her, ancient verses of the sea and the waves, of storms and clouds. They cut through deep troughs and climbed up high with the waves, blazingly fast, as Njord navigated their little fleet through the raging storm that would sink lesser vessels. But he only laughed and kept singing, truly careless for a moment.
Lightning split the sky, and thunder rolled like war drums. Njord fought to keep the oar straight, arms burning and rain beating down on him. The whole longship shook under the onslaught of the elements.
Grinning in grim determination, he let his power expand, pushing the malevolentseiðraway. This felt good. Alive.
It took hours before the storm abated. The air was way too cold, and heavy rain was pouring down on them, but Njord knew that they’d made it.
“You can rest for a while.” Skalmöld staggered back to the helm, wet as a drowned rat but still smiling. “Look after your thrall.”
Njord was loath to leave the oar. They’d only just escaped the storm’s wrath, but one look at Thori had him reconsidering. He shook the rain from his cloak and wrung the water out of his hair before slipping under the canvas that formed the captain’s shelter.
He found Thori in poorer condition than he’d left him this morning, his breathing shallow and his skin clammy with sweat. The unnatural cold of the storm had seeped through even thethick furs, and Njord could see the subtle tremors shaking Thori’s body.
Putting a hand on Thori’s brow, Njord tried to gauge his temperature. His thrall stirred with a pained groan. Amber eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glassy with fever.
“It’s cold,” Thori mumbled, the words barely recognizable through chattering teeth.
Heaving a deep sigh, Njord knew what he had to do. There was only one way to provide the warmth Thori needed, and it was a purely practical arrangement, he told himself as he slipped beneath the furs.
Thori tensed at the contact.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re freezing,” Njord said curtly, pulling his thrall more securely against his chest. “Unless you’d prefer to die of cold before we reach shore, I suggest you do not complain.”
For a moment, Thori’s pride seemed to wrestle with his need for warmth. Then another fierce shiver ran through his body, and he melted against Njord with a soft sigh of relief. His head came to rest on Njord’s shoulder, golden hair tickling his neck.
“Better?” Njord asked after a while, trying to ignore how perfectly Thori fit against him.
“Mmm.” Thori’s response was muffled against his collarbone. “I didn’t know you could sing.”
“Huh?”
“The way you sang the storm away, it sounded nice.”
“Of course, I sing to the waves. Don’t you sing to your thunder?”
Thori looked up at him with half-lidded eyes. Feverish. Confused. And somehow adoring.
