Chapter 7 Revenge
seven
Revenge
Njord
The feast was still in full swing, and Sveinn was completely drunk.
The fool hadn’t hesitated even for a second to welcome Njord into his camp, as he seemed to hope for profitable trades.
And of course, he wasn’t able to see through his disguise as Norrin Stormtamer.
Njord had put quite some effort into forging this identity, and he had used the persona of the eastern sea king for decades whenever he needed to gather information among the raiders sailing between the realms or dealing a blow against the AEsir without risking open war.
Sveinn’s priestess, however, was a different matter. While she didn’t know who he really was, she seemed to expect something from him. She lingered in the shadows, always watching him.
A soft sigh drew his focus back to the man kneeling at his feet.
Thori Odinsson.
Njord hadn’t expected that it would be so easy to be allowed into Sveinn’s camp, and even offered Odinsson to serve him. But then the trouble had started.
After seeing him whipped, Njord should have known that Thori was ill.
But when Odinsson had entered the tent, radiant next to Svanhild, Njord had hoped for the best. At first. Because it was easier to hate a man who could fight back, or at least had enough energy left to lift his head from where it was resting on his enemy’s thigh.
When Svanhild had pushed him to kneel between Njord’s legs, Thori had almost seemed fine.
Dressed in pearl-colored silk and a nearly translucent shirt, he’d looked gorgeous.
Like a favored whore. And for the better part of an hour, Thori had kept his back straight and his chin raised, snarking back at Njord as if he knew no fear.
But as the evening went on, Thori’s golden hair had turned dark with sweat, and his amber eyes had dulled. Now he was slumped, his head resting heavily against Njord’s thigh.
He had fallen asleep. By the waves, he’d been wary of Njord, even though the seier that concealed Njord’s true identity had deceived him. That was to be expected; Odinsson wasn’t a vala, after all. But now he was so exhausted that he couldn’t even keep himself awake.
“Consider my offer,” Sveinn slurred. “If we join forces, we can raid larger settlements, Saeborg or Glaesheimur. The spoils will be astronomical.”
Petting Thori’s short hair as one would a well-behaved dog, Njord sent Sveinn a bored look.
“I just returned from the east. Raiding was good, and my warriors are keen to spend their spoils.”
“But think about the opportunities—”
“Saeborg’s citadel is as rich as Odin’s hall in Asgard,” Njord said haltingly. What did Sveinn know that he dared to threaten these powerful and excellently fortified settlements? “But I don’t consider the man wise who strives to battle the rulers of the AEsir on their home soil.”
Sveinn offered him a sly grin, his crooked teeth flashing.
“Rumor has it that Odin and Frigga have vanished.”
He emphasized his words with a flashy gesture, like a mummer entertaining some children, and Thori stirred.
Moving on instinct, Njord shifted so his body was shielding Odinsson from Sveinn’s scornful glare, and his hand cupped Thori’s neck reassuringly.
More kindness than this murderous bastard deserved, but a plan was forming in Njord’s mind upon hearing Sveinn’s words.
Could Skalmold be right? Was this his chance to take revenge and find his sister?
“They say Queen Vellamo has been missing for years, and still Bergelmir got a bloody nose when he tried to attack Saeborg.”
“Oh, I’m certain that she and her ghastly wife are lost. Her son, Talvinen, holds the citadel.”
“Prince Talvinen? I thought Rune was Vellamo’s eldest.”
“Rune is dead.”
Njord snorted. It was good to know that Sveinn was not as well-informed as he made himself out to be.
Wedging herself between Njord and Sveinn, Svanhild leaned against her chieftain’s chair as if she owned the man. A notion probably not too far from the truth.
“Rune went to raid the lands of the AEsir, but his ship never returned. And the heir of Asgard kneels at your feet.”
Svanhild’s voice effortlessly carried over the commotion of the feast, making Thori startle and blink up at Njord in confusion.
He’s cute, don’t you think?
Njord didn’t flinch, but it was a close thing.
That was Jokull’s voice speaking in his head, loud and clear, telling him that she thought the man who’d ended her life looked cute. A cruel ploy by Svanhild? Was she messing with his head by sending him a vision?
Njord sent her a swift glance, but nothing seemed out of the way. Still, it had to be her doing. But that meant she knew who he really was, what Thori had taken from him.
Suddenly unable to stand looking at Odinsson, Njord grabbed a fistful of golden hair and pushed Thori’s head back down. Ignoring the muffled sound of protest, Njord tightened his grip on Thori, keeping him in place. He grinned at Sveinn.
“So, little Prince Talvinen rules over Vanaheim?”
“Better,” Svanhild purred. “He has ridden out on a summer’s journey, meeting his chieftains and inspecting the borders. He travels with a small retinue and his Jotunn husband.”
“His what?”
Njord felt a headache forming behind his temples. What had his nephew done?
“Didn’t you hear?” Svanhild sounded smug. “He married H?kon Bloodaxe.”
“Married?”
Couldn’t a man travel for a few years without his family making unreasonable decisions left and right? Talvi and Perhonen had a lot to explain to him when he got home.
“They say he’s quite fond of the Jotunn,” Svanhild said gleefully.
Well, that at least Njord knew. Talvi had been obsessed with H?kon Bloodaxe ever since he saw him fight at the Ting Tournament.
His nephew had been a boy of barely seven summers back then, and when he’d grown into a man, his fascination with H?kon hadn’t subsided.
Apparently, Talvi had gotten what he wanted so badly.
Njord sighed, stroking Thori’s hair absentmindedly. He had to regain control of this mess.
“He’s close by at the moment,” Sveinn said. “He and his husband might run into a few of Isgrimnur’s berserkers. Talvinen might not see Saeborg again.”
Njord returned Sveinn’s ugly grin impassively. The berserkers were in for a nasty surprise if they thought his nephew easy prey.
“We will see. Until then, I want to buy some of your thralls.”
“Certainly—”
“And I want Odinsson.”
He wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t touched him, but Njord could feel Thori flinch at his words. In response, Njord buried his fingers more firmly in the short hair on his neck.
Odinsson was his, and he would get his revenge.
“I’m not sure if you have the silver to buy—”
“Name your price.” Njord cut Sveinn’s rambling short.
“10,000 pounds of silver is certainly not too much for the heir of Asgard, don’t you think?”
A horrendous sum. Njord would pay it in a heartbeat. But before he could say so much, Svanhild laughed and shook her head.
“Now don’t insult our guest. We wouldn’t want to rob you, Norrin Stormtamer.”
“What do you want instead of silver then?”
She smiled pleasantly.
“I’m only a humble priestess. I want to give my power to the Vanir and bless their crops. I need Odinsson for a ritual.”
Njord hummed in understanding. This was about recognition for Svanhild, about an opportunity to show off her power. And surely spilling the blood of a god in a potent ritual would have the desired effect.
“But what if I want him alive, not butchered as a sacrifice?”
A shudder ran through Thori.
“They say you’re a powerful vala yourself. I’d allow you to conduct the ritual for me. If you kill him or fuck him isn’t my concern. I trust you’re going to compensate Sveinn with a fair amount of silver, too.”
“You’ll both be more than compensated,” Njord growled.
For a moment, he considered killing Sveinn and Svanhild there and then.
He could raze the whole camp to the ground and just take Thori with him.
But that would mean letting his warriors die for Njord’s whims and lose any chance to find out what Svanhild knew about the disappearance of his sister.
Njord took a deep breath. And controlled himself.
“You want me to conduct the ritual?” Njord downed his cup. “Fine with me. When shall it be done?”
“Tomorrow night.” Svanhild’s eyes gleamed greedily. She was more than eager for this trade.
“Good,” Njord said. “And I guess 5,000 pounds of silver are enough for a royal thrall.”
“He’s a god…” Sveinn tried.
“We’d consider that an appropriate payment.”
Interestingly, Svanhild herself didn’t seem too keen on this absurd sum. She was more concerned with making sure Njord stayed. What had her visions shown her that she so desperately wanted to come true?
Rising to his feet, Njord pulled Thori with him.
“Wait!”
Sveinn made a drunken grasp for Thori’s wrist. He would’ve knocked him to the ground again if Njord hadn’t supported his weight with an arm around his waist. Just great. Gruffly, he pulled Thori upright and out of the reach of Sveinn’s grabbing hands.
“You can’t just take him with you,” Sveinn protested meekly.
Surely, he was mourning the lost silver, maybe planning to take his anger about the lost deal out on Thori.
“He’s mine,” Njord simply said.
For Jokull’s sake, he’d have his revenge. Thori Odinsson would die a thrall, disgraced and shunned by the rest of the gods.
“Just make sure to be ready for the ritual tomorrow,” Svanhild said, uninterested in Sveinn’s protest. “I’ll visit you later to bring you another gift.”
Thori’s fingers dug almost painfully into his arm at her words. He didn’t resist as Njord guided him out of the tent.