As they made their way back toward the village, Njord was acutely aware of Thori’s presence by his side. Though clearly exhausted from their perilous encounter, the prince moved gracefully, masking any sign of weakness.
“You’ll return to the ship now,” Njord ordered Thori as they approached the harbor. “Get back to the captain’s shelter. Wait for me there.”
“What?”
“Did I not make myself clear?”
Thori glared at him, mud-splattered and disheveled but still devastatingly beautiful.
“Do you want me to get naked while I wait for you?”
For a second, Njord was speechless. What did Thori think of him?
“Don’t be flippant now. It doesn’t suit you.”
He’d protected Thori from a nightmare risen from the swamp only minutes ago, and he’d seen Thori’s reluctant admiration. Why were they arguing now?
“Get back to the ship. Rest.”
Thori blinked up at him, surely an insolent retort on the tip of his tongue. Njord leaned down, their noses nearly touching.
“I value that you stayed by my side today.” Njord willed his voice to take on a softer tone. “It was brave of you to face these horrors, weakened and unarmed as you are.”
“I’m not—”
Cupping Thori’s chin in one hand, Njord cut his denial short.
“Yes, you are. That’s why you’ll go to the ship now and rest. I’ll join you later so you won’t freeze tonight.”
An angry flush rose to Thori’s cheeks, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he turned on his heels and stormed off toward the ship, fuming with wrath, and Njord wasn’t sure if he wanted to console him or punish him for his insolence.
Together with Skalmöld, he met Ingibjörg in her modest house to leave instructions for the rebuilding of the village, promising to send a patrol to the marshlands and avalato conduct rituals and cleanse the land properly.
“Are you Andora’s only family left?” he asked, curious despite himself.
“I’ve raised her. My brother and his wife died when she was only a little girl.”
Njord hummed in understanding. Life in these little villages could be harsh and perilous.
“We found old Skeggi,” Ingibjörg said quietly. “Dead by the edge of the bog. His spirits never returned after the raid, but he was…functioning, going about his business as he’d done during the past years.”
Njord gave a grim nod. If Skeggi had been the anchor of the curse plaguing the land, it only made sense that he didn’t survive the destruction of the altar.
“Make sure to burn his corpse. The curse on his house ran deep. I sent the sea to raze it down, but the land will need time to heal. Better wait a decade or two before you bestow his land on another family.”
“I know what it looks like, my lord. But I can’t imagine that it was Skeggi who built that altar and summoned these creatures. He was a peculiar old man. But he wasn’t a bad person.”
Njord wasn’t so sure about that. He’d seen many good people turn to evil means driven by fear or grief.
“Could be just as well that someone used him. He’d be an easy target for a corrupt priestess,” Skalmöld said, and Njord sensed that her words brought Ingibjörg some relief.
“We don’t have much to offer you, my Lord,” the village elder finally said. “But please accept our gratitude. You’re always welcome here. May the sea winds always fill your sails, and may your enemies find only storm and ruin.”
“Thank you,” Njord said. “Rebuild well. I’ll make sure to send ships with supplies before winter comes.”
Before he could leave, Andora slipped into the house.
“My Lord,” she said nervously. “Can I—Can I come with you?”
