Cradling his right wrist to his chest, as if Njord might sever his hand, Thori took half a step back.
“Your hand.”
For a long moment, Thori just stared at him. Then, slowly, as if in a trance, he extended his right arm.
Njord placed the bracelet delicately around his thrall’s wrist. The amber stones caught the morning light, glowing like captured sunbeams against Thori’s skin. The bracelet looked even more beautiful on him than he’d imagined.
And wildly inappropriate.
“There. It suits you.”
Thori stared down at the bracelet, his lips parted in surprise. A pink flush spread across his cheekbones, which made him look younger, softer, and almost vulnerable.
“For me?”
“It matches your eyes,” Njord said, then immediately wished he could take the words back.
The flush deepened, and Thori’s expression shifted from confusion to something that might have been embarrassment. He quickly pulled his sleeve down to cover the bracelet.
“How generous of you, master,” Thori growled, his voice suddenly dripping with sarcasm. “Am I more decorative like this? Suitable for your expensive tastes?”
“Perhaps,” Njord said, not sure what to tell Thori that wouldn’t embarrass them both further.
“Your lover has a sharp tongue. I like him.”
Sindra chuckled.
“Save your mockery,Svartalf. You know very well who he is!”
Her grin widened, exposing her sharp canines.
“Indeed. Greetings, Thori Odinsson. My grandmother once forged a—”
“Enough of the chattering! We have places to be.”
Sindra better not start telling Thori about the hammer. That was a problem Njord didn’t want to deal with yet. But despite everything, a dangerous pride expanded in Njord’s chest as Sindra called Thori his lover.
His.
He grabbed Thori’s arm, steering him away from the stall and Sindra’s knowing looks.
“Goodbye, Sindra.”
“Always nice doing business with you,” she called after them, her laughter following them through the crowd.
They continued through the market, passing stalls with fabulous weapons, exotic spices, and exquisite fabrics. Thori looked around with obvious interest, and Njord had to restrain himself from buying everything he even casually glanced at.
The sweet smell of honey permeated the air, and Thori’s stomach grumbled. Right, it was almost midday, and he hadn’t offered his thrall anything to eat yet. Njord felt a stab of guilt. Thori was his now, just as he’d wanted, but that meant taking care of his basic needs. Getting Thori some food, it was then.
Cut into the black rock, a staircase led up to the level above the market. Here, the fisherfolk and merchants lived in small stone houses nestled against the cliffs. And among these living quarters lay Nóatún’s best taverns. Njord hadn’t let go of Thori’s arm, and he reveled in the fact that Thori didn’t try to pull away,either. He simply followed Njord up the stairs, their shoulders brushing now and then.
“The Sea King,” Njord said, gesturing toward a low building sitting haphazardly on the cliff’s edge. “We’re going to eat something.”
They stepped under the carved whalebone that formed the doorway into the cozy tavern. The main room was warm and inviting; the wooden beams etched with knots and waves, and the walls hung with colorful tapestries.
Njord took his usual seat in the corner, situated near the largest window. The captain’s table gave a commanding view of the vast sea. At this time of the day, the tavern was almost empty. That suited Njord just fine.
The former pirate-chief-turned-tavern-keeper stepped out from the back of the room to greet them. Solrun was as bright and beautiful as many of her kin from Alfheim, but shorter and stockier than most light elves.
