“The armory,” Njord said as they passed a large building from which the hammering of steel could be heard. “Andora will work here, and she’ll be educated in the way of the sword.” He glanced at Thori. “She’ll be well cared for, in case you were wondering.”
Thori had been wondering, though he tried to hide his concern for the girl behind a noncommittal grunt.
They continued climbing until they reached what was clearly the residential section of the fortress. The buildings here were more elaborate, with larger windows and private courtyards. But Njord led him even higher to a structure sitting at the highest point.
A castle erected at the very top of the island, like a dragon looking out over the vast sea.
Njord’s dwelling place.
Its entrance was guarded by two warriors, who nodded respectfully to their lord.
“My quarters,” Njord said, pushing open heavy wooden doors carved with intricate knots.
The space beyond took Thori’s breath away. They crossed a courtyard planted with sea thrift and harebells, and accommodating a small well under a wind-bent rowan tree. Njord led him through an archway and up a flight of stairs; the servants of the hall looking after them.
Thori’s legs burned with exertion from climbing the endless stairs, but finally they reached Njord’s living quarters. The main room was vast, with a high vaulted ceiling and windows that looked out over the harbor and the sea far below. Rich tapestries covered the walls, depicting sea battles and storm-tossed ships. A large fireplace dominated one wall, and inside, a merry fire crackled, spreading pleasant warmth. Comfortable furniture was arranged around the room: chairs covered in soft furs, a table laden with scrolls and charts, shelves lined with books and trinkets from all over the Nine Worlds. A cozy place.
Stepping to a window, Thori looked down into the dizzying depth. And despite himself, he couldn’t help but wonder how magnificent a thunderstorm would feel observed from up here. Njord’s seat was marvelous, the perfect fortress and an inescapable prison.
Thori felt lightheaded.
“There’s a bath over there,” Njord said, gesturing to a wooden door leading from the main room. “And my sleeping chambers.”
“And where exactly am I to stay?” Thori asked, voice sharp with unease. Was there a small antechamber somewhere Njord wanted him to sleep in? Or even a cell?
Njord’s eyes flashed.
“You’ll stay here. With me. You’ll share my bed, as you have been.”
“What?”
“Unless you prefer the dungeons?”
Heat flooded Thori’s face, fiery anger coursing through his veins at being treated like a common whore. But there was alsosomething else. Something nervous and excited, bubbling inside his chest that Thori didn’t want to examine too closely.
“I’m not your whore,” Thori ground out between clenched teeth.
“No,” Njord agreed, all composed. “You’re my prisoner. You’re my thrall. You’ll do as I tell you.”
He could feel a small spark—not unlike the one he’d created in the steaming hut in Sveinn’s camp—sizzle at his fingertips, and he wanted nothing more than to hurl it at Njord. But he controlled himself.
Njord gave him an unsettling smile, as if he knew about Thori’s inner struggle, as if he could feel how Thori’s thunder fought against the confines of its prison. But if he indeed felt Thori’s power raging, he was completely unperturbed by it. He opened the door to his sleeping chamber, and Thori grudgingly trailed after him.
The first thing he noticed was the huge bed, carved from driftwood and large enough to accommodate four men. It had a canopy draped with sea-green silk and was carved over and over with waves and ships and sea serpents. But Thori was overwhelmed by the notion of how conveniently one could chain a person to these sturdy pillars, how easily the wrists of a pleasure slave could be tied to the headboard, and how a naked body would contrast against the dark blue sheets.
A shiver ofsomethingran through his body, hot and excited.
Hastily, Thori turned to the balcony. Massive doors of polished glass stood open to reveal a curved terrace that jutted out from the cliff face like the prow of a ship. The view was breathtaking; the entire harbor spread below, dotted with ships. Beyond stretched the endless expanse of the sea, glimmering in the sun. Heavy curtains of midnight-blue wool could be drawn across the glass doors, but now they hung open, allowing thesalt breeze to carry the distant sounds of the harbor into the chamber.
Everything about Njord’s living quarters was beautiful. Serene and breathtaking. And if he’d been in a different position, Thori would’ve loved to just spend some time up here. As it was, he imagined how it would feel to share this space with Njord not as his guest but as his thrall. A possession. A commodity. Would Njord make him sleep on the rug next to his bed like a dog if he failed to behave? It looked soft enough. Certainly better than a drafty dungeon. Thori could endure it.
While he was busy taking in the room, Njord had moved to a large chest next to his bed, pulling out some clothes.
“You’ll attend me when I hold court later. You can wash up here, and then you’ll change.”
Thori still wore the simple tunic and trousers Njord had given him days ago, practical garments that were clean but hardly fine.
“Attend you?” he echoed, wrongfooted and confused.
