Not a roar of challenge but a dismissal, as one might scold a child too ignorant to understand the converse of elders. Thori felt himself blushing before the eyes of all present.
Lofarr’s eyes gleamed with undisguised interest at the exchange, like a raven on a battlefield spotting an enticing bite between the fallen. Arngrim’s hand had moved to his ax again as if hoping the words might give way to blows, and Thori rose himself, fuming.
“I believe a respite is warranted,” Lofarr intervened, though his tone suggested he would have enjoyed further conflict. “The negotiations shall resume after the evening feast. My halls have been prepared for celebration, if not reconciliation.”
And it seemed that both delegations were eager to take a break from the lengthy talks and alleviate the smothering tension hanging above them. Immediately, servants swarmed the space and began setting the table for the feast.
Perhaps Thori should have taken the opportunity to calm his flaring temper. But Njord was still standing there like a king in his hall, and Thori just couldn’t bring himself to leave first.
“This conversation isn’t over,” he grumbled, loud enough so Njord could hear him.
“Are you trying to threaten me, Odinsson?”
Yes, Thori wanted to reply, anger searing white hot in his chest. It wasn’t the glare of his father but the absolute murder burning in Njord’s eyes that had Thori reconsider his words.
“No—I wasn’t—”
Thori was rendered speechless for a moment, unable to look away from the light of the torches reflecting in Njord’s eyes, making them appear to burn with a cold, bluish flame.
Why was it so hard to talk to this man? Thori had no problem silencing other warriors with a well-dosed threat or a pointed comment. Why didn’t that work with Njord?
But the accursed sea god had already turned to Odin and Lofarr, the set of his shoulders somehow managing to convey dismissal without a single word.
Servants carried in platters of smoked meats and dark breads, while others were already filling drinking horns, and the Great Hall shone brighter than ever, quickly redecorated for a large banquet. Thori only hoped that the food would be acceptable, and he longed for a cup of mead.
It took Thori all his willpower to sit down again, to stop hurling insults at Njord, to see if he could make the sea god’s icy composure crack. The feast was a silent affair. Nobody was singing or reciting poems. Nobody laughed.
How Thori hated this diplomatic mummers’ dance. He tried to ignore Njord, to not even think of him. But they were seated so closely that he could smell the scent of salt and sea that clung to Njord’s skin. Not unpleasant, he noted with irritation. Like the first breath of air when standing at a cliff’s edge overlooking the ocean.
Chewing angrily on an overcooked piece of venison, Thori couldn’t take the silence anymore.
“You drink nothing,” he said as Njord once again waved away a servant with a pitcher of strong ale.
“Helps to keep your wits together in a hall not your own,” Njord replied without looking at him. “That is, if you have any wits to begin with.”
Thori gritted his teeth at the thinly veiled insult. How dare he?
“Or perhaps the mighty Shipbreaker cannot hold his drink?” he shot back. “I’ve heard many tales ofVanirwho turn green-faced at the merest sip of Asgardian mead.”
Now Njord did turn, his expression a perfect blend of disdain and amusement.
“And I’ve seen Asgardian warriors puking and shaking from a bit of rough seas. Restraint, however, is wisdom, not weakness.”
“Your wisdom looks remarkably like an old man’s caution to me.”
“Just pretend to be brave, but you’re nothing but a spoiled prince who lets others pay for his recklessness,” Njord countered smoothly. “Which is why one of us has protected his land and the other had his warriors killed in a fruitless raid.”
“You speak easily of caution from behind your magical wards and dragon guardians. TheVanirare known for fighting like cowards from distance and shadow.”
“Complains the godling who summons lightning from the clouds. Tell me again how you prefer close combat?”
This absolute bastard!
“You!” Thori snarled, not sure what exactly he wanted to retort. Njord had outmaneuvered him using his own words.
“What’s going on here? Am I getting the pleasure of watching you two duel before the night ends?” Arngrim said, leaning across the table with an excited gleam in his eyes.
“Waiting for some bloodshed in your master’s noble hall?” Njord asked dryly.
