The Prince of Asgard (The Nine Worlds #2)

Prologue

Njord

The Well of Fate lay under the third root of Yggdrasil. It was a quiet place illuminated by a full summer moon, and Njord could sense the presence of the Norn of the future and fates. Skuld was here.

He stood still and watched the stars sparkling above, enjoying the peace of the moment as long as it lasted. Until the AEsir would ride with thundering hooves over the Rainbow Bridge to hold court.

Today was a special occasion. Odin—the Allfather, as he called himself nowadays—had invited gods and giants from near and far to celebrate the birth of his son and to cast the runes of destiny for the newborn.

Thori.

Odin and Frigga’s firstborn.

Heir of Asgard and once to be king of the gods.

Of course, Njord would rather be anywhere else than at this pompous blessing ceremony.

He’d spent most of his youth in Asgard, a noble hostage to ensure peace after the first AEsir-Vanir war.

And for some time, he’d considered these gods his friends: Odin and Frigga, Idunn and Heimdall, and many of their valkyries and einherjar.

Only when he claimed his birthright to rule over Nóatún again, and Odin maliciously demanded his little sister Ahti as a pledge, did Njord understand that there had never been any real friendship between them.

Njord had returned to Vanaheim anyway, his refusal to give Ahti away leading to another war.

Only this time, the Vanir hadn’t budged.

They’d lived with a fragile truce ever since, both tribes raiding the others’ shores when they could get away with it.

And although the Vanir were the older lineage of gods, guardians of the wild and givers of fertility, the younger warrior deities of Asgard—and especially Odin—acted as if they were above them.

As if Odin’s cult of death and wisdom acquired by sacrifice were something worthy of imitation.

Fools. The whole lot of them.

If Ahti hadn’t had her eye on the beautiful Queen Vellamo and therefore begged him to help her with her clumsy attempts at courtship, Njord would have sailed east to explore new waterways.

But given Odin’s flexible attitude toward a warrior’s honor, one could never know when he would decide to stab the Vanir in the back.

He had done so before. And as the devoted brother that Njord was, he wouldn’t leave Ahti alone among their foes.

Spending a dull night between dim-witted AEsir and rowdy frost giants, it was, then.

The wind rustled in the leaves of the world tree, and Njord’s gaze was drawn by a shadow creeping through the undergrowth. Who dared to enter this sacred place just prior to the ceremony and by doing so incur Odin’s wrath?

Aside from Njord, of course, who couldn’t care less about Odin’s whims.

Njord stepped closer on silent feet and spotted a shadow kneeling in front of the well.

A priestess, dressed in fine linen embroidered with golden threads that glimmered in the pale light of the moon.

She opened her pouch and pulled out a set of runes carved into white deer bones.

Meticulously, she placed the runes at the edge of the well.

Was she an acolyte preparing the ritual for her mistress?

Judging by the smoothness of her movements, she must be still young, but the pale mask of woven birch bark that covered her face indicated the status of a High Priestess of Asgard.

Frowning, Njord drew closer. This didn’t make any sense.

But before he could investigate further, Bifrost came alive with the roaring sound of storm and wildfire. The colorful arc of the rainbow bridge illuminated the night, coming to rest right next to the well.

In a hurry, the strange priestess gathered her belongings and vanished into the darkness as Odin’s splendid retinue rode out from the Halls of Asgard and across the bridge to their sacred place of assembly.

Where she had knelt, Njord found the imprints of small feet in the damp earth.

The scent of incense lingered in the air, and an intense, foreboding feeling washed over him.

But as odd as the priestess’ behavior may have been, he should leave now if he didn’t want to clash with Odin before the rune ceremony even began.

The Allfather’s volur and their ploys weren’t his concern after all.

He was already turning away when a white glow caught his eye.

No.

He should walk away.

He should leave.

Instead, he crouched down and picked up the discarded rune. As he had assumed, the magical symbol was carved into a piece of deer bone, the rune itself dyed with a golden color.

Nauthiz.

Need.

Hardship.

Fate.

An ominous sign under the best of circumstances, but at this time and place, under the mighty roots of Yggdrasil, on the night of a blessing ritual, it felt loaded with destiny. Touched by the Nornir.

The rune felt heavy in his hand. Was this a sign meant for him, or did it concern Odin’s little spawn?

Just his luck to stumble across this symbol of misfortune.

Odin wouldn’t be happy about a bad omen for his firstborn on this fateful night, and Njord was tempted to present him with the ill-boding rune for exactly that reason.

He cared not for Odin’s touchiness, but Frigga needn’t be troubled with distress when her child was to be blessed.

The Queen of Asgard was one of the few AEsir Njord was able to tolerate, after all.

He slipped the rune into his pouch, deciding to keep the secret for now.

Its true meaning was anyone’s guess either way.

It didn’t take long before the sacred place was swarming with Odin’s guests. The feast in Asgard’s Great Hall had been going on since the forenoon, and by now many a god and giant were drunk on mead.

Njord side-stepped a staggering frost giant, his mood darkening further. What a waste of time.

He spotted Ahti, weaving through the ever-growing crowd, a smug smile on her lips.

She had donned her most impressive leather armor and a coat made from the pelt of a white bear she had hunted and killed herself, contrasting beautifully with her flowing brown hair.

Impressive as it was, the whole get-up seemed a little warm for a balmy summer evening.

But the sweat on her brow didn’t seem to dim Ahti’s high spirits.

“Where have you been lurking the whole time? Vellamo finally noticed me, and I could have used your assistance.”

“You don’t need my assistance,” Njord said dryly.

He spotted Queen Vellamo at some distance, noticing with amusement how her sharp gaze followed his sister.

“She winked at me! She’s so cute, and beautiful, and also powerful, and clever,” Ahti babbled.

“Great.”

“But Bergelmir was slithering after her like the pathetic worm he is and made it impossible to talk to her in private.”

“I have an inkling that you will soon have the opportunity to talk to her.”

“Huh?”

Behind his sister’s back, Vellamo caught Njord’s gaze. When she was sure he saw her, she gave a small nod before slipping away between Yggdrasil’s low-hanging branches.

“You’re awaited.”

Njord motioned with his head where Vellamo had vanished, and Ahti’s eyes lit up.

“Vellamo?” Her tone was breathless.

“Who else?”

“By Hel’s tits!” Ahti was already moving. “See you, brother. And with that, she disappeared into the crowd.

Njord sighed. Young love. He was happy for his sister, but he would’ve liked to talk to her about the strange omen.

Ahti was a powerful vala and could be a masterful seeress if she put her mind to it.

But this particular topic would have to wait.

Maybe it was for the best anyway. Odin had his eyes and ears everywhere, and Njord was determined to keep this secret from him.

He just had to be ready for a long, tedious night.

Shaking his head in annoyance, he watched some Jotunn chieftains already quarreling with a bunch of Asgardian warriors. Odin’s highborn guests were trampling all over this sacred place.

The night could have been perfect for the ritual, silent and sacred, but Odin had to ruin everything by making it a public spectacle just to flaunt his status.

Njord stayed in the background. He wouldn’t want to spoil his sister’s evening by picking a fight, and the rune in his pouch felt like the weight of an anchor dragging him down.

“You don’t seem to enjoy yourself, Shipbreaker.”

He didn’t flinch, but it was a close thing.

Frigga had snuck up on him, which should have been impossible given the fact that she carried a wailing infant in her arms.

“Too many people. And inviting nobles from all over the Nine Worlds might be asking for trouble.”

His grumbled words made the golden Queen of Asgard laugh.

“The occasion calls for a magnificent feast, don’t you think?”

Frigga rocked the baby in her arms, but the boy wouldn’t stop crying. For such a tiny thing, he managed an impressive volume.

“Wouldn’t you have preferred a solemn ceremony? The moon and the wind, and the silence. This could’ve been the perfect night for a blessing.”

“We AEsir prefer the flourish of a proper feast.”

“Your son seems to disagree.”

“Oh, he just wants attention.” Frigga laughed. “Say hello to Thori Odinsson.”

Njord eyed the bawling infant with distaste. The baby was wrapped in a fine white cloth; his face reddened from crying.

“He’s tiny.”

“Yes.” Frigga’s eyes shone with love and excitement. “But he’ll grow into a great man. A worthy warrior.”

“Isn’t it the priestess’ place to foretell your son’s fate?” Njord teased.

“Pah! I’m his mother, and the goddess of clairvoyance and motherhood, among other things. Who could know better than me?”

“Why don’t you conduct the ceremony then?”

“Because my husband is, at times, a fool. As all men are.” She met Njord’s eyes straight on, her gaze assessing and full of ancient wisdom. “Hold him for a moment.”

“What?”

She was already handing him the screaming bundle, and Njord was too surprised to refuse.