Thori shot him a flat look.
“Good. Follow me.”
They made their way through the fortress, but as soon as they stepped out into the streets of the lower town, people started looking at Thori, and Njord put a guiding hand on his shoulder. Many of his people remembered the raid; some still carried scars from Asgardian steel, and they stared at Thori with hostility. Njord had to make it clear that Thori belonged to him.
Fortunately, the market was already bustling with merchants and customers. Vendors were calling out their wares, children were laughing, and the musical chatter of a dozen different languages from across the Nine Realms mingled together. The busy crowd afforded them a certain amount of privacy.
Njord led his captive through the maze of stalls, noting with some satisfaction how Thori’s eyes widened at the variety of impressions.
“Nóatún isn’t the modest fishing village you expected,” Njord observed, stopping as usual at Sindra’s stall.
“I knew theVanirwere wealthy, but—I didn’t know that you were such successful traders.”
“Traders. Raiders. Warriors. Some of them are even farmers,” Sindra said in amusement. “The old gods aren’t so different from the younger ones.”
A faint blush painted Thori’s features as he looked up at theSvartalf. She was a merchant from Nidavellir, selling the finest jewelry.
“The gods of Asgard disagree,” he grumbled. “We’re vastly different from theVanir.”
She grinned at them.
“What can I offer you, Shipbreaker?”
Njord’s gaze swept across the glittering array of jewelry spread before them: rings of silver and gold, necklaces strung with pearls and colorful beads of amber and glass, brooches, and amulets. A lavish golden bracelet, its large polished amber stones gleaming with an inner fire, caught his attention.
“Could you show me that one, Sindra?”
He pointed at the bracelet before he could stop himself.
“Your taste is excellent as always, my lord. This is one of my finest pieces. Gold from the mines of Nidavellir. Amber from your own shores holding the light of summer itself. A unique gift for a cherished warrior.”
She presented the bracelet to him, and Njord imagined how it would glimmer against Thori’s bronzed skin. The gold would complement his hair, and the amber would be a perfect match to the fierce gleam of his eyes. He turned the bracelet over in his hands, testing its weight and quality.
“I’ll take it.”
What was he thinking? His sworn warriors were already gifted with his bracelets, usually made of silver, and engraved with a pattern of waves and longships. But thralls weren’t supposed to wear jewelry. At least not the kind that cost a fortune.
Sindra’s eyebrows rose, and she glanced meaningfully between Njord and Thori.
“A generous gift, my lord. Any warrior receiving a token like this can consider himself lucky.”
Heat crept up Njord’s neck, and he could sense Thori watching the entire exchange intensely.
“Yes, of course.”
“That’ll be ten pounds of silver, my lord.”
Too much, considering the weight of the gold, but it was an exceptional piece of art. Njord paid without haggling, pulling out his coin purse with more force than necessary, which only seemed to amuse Sindra further.
“Shall I wrap it for you?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“A present for Gylfa?” Thori asked, resentment lacing his voice. “A reward for her good work arresting Egil the other day?”
“No,” Njord said flatly. “Give me your wrist.”
“What?”
