Chapter 11 Svanhild’s Ritual
eleven
Svanhild’s Ritual
Njord
Skalmold returned to the tent, brushing dust from her hands and wearing a smug smirk. She regarded Njord with amusement as he sat at the edge of the bed next to Thori like a dutiful guard dog.
“You’re certainly smitten with your little thrall.”
“Shut up,” Njord grumbled.
Although he was way too lenient with Thori.
What had possessed him to promise Odinsson protection?
He should have chosen his words more wisely.
However, all Njord could do at the moment was restrain his rage and stop himself from storming after Svanhild to tear her to pieces. How dare she touch what was his?
Thori had been so desperate, had begged him not to drag him to the ritual in his dazed state. And Njord was supposed to revel in his distress, to fuel it, to make him suffer even more. But all he could think about was sparing him the ordeal.
“Could I conduct the ritual on my own? What do you think?”
“You mean you and your hand, or what?”
“Well—look at the state he’s in. I don’t want to—”
Skalmold chuckled. “I understand.”
“You understand nothing. He deserves punishment, but—”
Skalmold’s features softened. “But not like this. I understand. You’re an honorable man. You won’t torment him for the fun of it.”
“Yes.” He readily accepted her explanation, ignoring that what he had in mind for his thrall looked rather like kindness than a lack of cruelty.
But who was there to judge? He could do whatever he wanted.
“What took you so long to return to the camp in the first place? It was your job to keep my thrall safe.”
“I returned exactly when I intended to,” Skalmold said haughtily. “Later, you’ll understand my actions. You’ll even be grateful to me.”
“I doubt it.”
Hel, he had no appetite for dealing with a prideful priestess, a wounded enemy, and his unruly nephew to boot. He was too old for this.
Skalmold’s gaze turned blank.
“Your nephew is near. I’ll make sure that you can talk to him in private.”
“You act as if I chose you to be my very own vala,” Njord groused. “But if Perhonen hadn’t vouched for you, I would never have sought your services. Until now, you’ve been of no use to me.”
“I wouldn’t see things so gloomily, Shipbreaker. Don’t you have Odinsson to do with as you please? Aren’t you reunited with your nephew?”
“Coincidences.”
“We’ll see.”
She spun and vanished from the pavilion, off to her questionable business.
Watching Thori turn restlessly on his stomach, Njord cursed under his breath.
Even in this state, bruised and unconscious, Thori looked radiant.
The glistening oil Svanhild had smeared on him made his bronzed skin glow, matching his dark blond hair beautifully.
Examining the wounds on Thori’s back, Njord tried to fathom what Svanhild had done to him.
It wouldn’t do for his thrall to succumb to an infection after all.
The oil reeked of seier.
Hands placed on Thori’s shoulders, Njord tried to get a feel of the spell Svanhild had used. Maybe something to enhance the enchantment during the fertility ritual? It was impossible to tell, especially with the distracting softness of Thori’s skin under his palms.
Witnessing Thori’s miserable state had fury crashing over him.
Svanhild’s audacity to return to his tent and put her greedy hands on his thrall was downright infuriating.
The way she’d had her hands all over Thori’s body!
The fact that she’d stripped him naked! It made Njord sick.
How dare she touch what was his? Because if anyone punished Odinsson, it was him.
Thori uttered a soft, anguished sound in his sleep, and Njord had had enough.
He stomped to his chest and rummaged around in it until he found what he needed: two sleek golden cuffs matching the collar.
Once returned to the bed, he broke Svanhild’s runes one by one with a whispered verse and a touch of seier. Her binding runes smoldered and died out. The shackles opened with a snap, and Thori drew a hitching breath.
Angrily, Njord stared at the dark bruises the cuffs had left on Thori’s skin.
While Njord had resolved not to waste his healing seier on Thori, he couldn’t bring himself to simply slap his own bonds on the abused skin.
Reluctantly mumbling an incantation, Njord mended the damage as best he could.
Only when the bruises had faded did he close his own shackles around Thori’s wrists.
His seier on Thori’s skin. His enchantment holding the mighty god of thunder captive.
He alone decided what would happen to him.
This arrangement felt much better.
He sensed Talvi’s presence even before his nephew ducked under the tent flap. His broad shoulders touched the hides, and Njord was momentarily struck by how much little Talvinen had grown. H?kon Bloodaxe followed close behind him and let his gaze wander over the inside of the pavilion.
“There you are,” Talvi said.
Njord rose from his crouched position beside the bed, although it felt strange to expose Thori to the gazes of his guests.
Drawing a sharp breath, Talvi regarded the prisoner in surprise. Njord could relate. Chained and collared like he was, Thori looked like a pretty whore, and Talvi probably wondered what had gotten into his uncle to have him in his bed.
“Who’s that?” Talvi asked.
“Thori Odinsson.”
“You made a god of the AEsir your thrall?” H?kon said as if asking himself what kind of mad family he’d married into.
Talvi, however, watched him with pride.
“Not just any warrior,” he said. “The man who killed Jokull.”
Exhaling slowly, Njord felt the weight of those words settle over him. He should have felt triumphant, should have relished the justice in it, but he did not.
“I didn’t capture him,” he admitted. “I bought him from Sveinn.”
“How did that rat get his hands on a warrior like Thori?”
Allowing himself to sit down on the edge of the bed again, Njord’s fingers absently traced down Thori’s flank. Strange as it was, touching Thori helped him gather his thoughts.
“His longship was ambushed as they were scouting for a raid,” Njord recounted what information he and Skalmold had gathered about the incident. “I believe it was Svanhild’s doing that they were caught. And Thori—he made sure his lie could escape at the price of his own freedom.”
Talvi scoffed. “A more selfless deed than I’d expected from this scum.”
Njord only hummed in response. His first impulse was to defend Thori.
He wasn’t merely an honorless brute. Njord had seen for himself how he’d protected Andora from Sveinn.
Thori had little to gain by defending the thrall girl.
She wasn’t in a position to return any favors.
Still, he’d done it. But he wouldn’t bother Talvi with his observations.
“So, what now?” Talvi asked. “Do you plan to keep him?”
Njord’s hand settled on Thori’s neck, fingers tightening in his soft hair.
“Yes. A fitting punishment for Jokull’s death, don’t you agree?”
“Certainly.”
Only Talvi sounded all but certain. He watched Njord intently, perceptive as always.
“What’s bothering you then, Uncle?”
He didn’t want to trouble his nephew with his concerns.
It was already too much that Talvi had to rule the kingdom on his own at such a young age.
He shouldn’t concern himself with Njord’s problems. On the other hand, the information might serve him well, and as the ruler of Vanaheim, he deserved to know.
“Svanhild,” Njord finally said. “She’s pulling the strings here. And she would only let me have Thori if I agreed to participate in her ritual.”
“With him?” Talvi stilled. “In the state he’s in?”
“I don’t fancy it, but the alternative is razing the whole camp to the ground, killing both Sveinn and Svanhild.”
That, or he was taking the burden of the ritual alone. Risky, perhaps, but not impossible. However, he wouldn’t reveal this particular plan to Talvi.
“What kind of ritual?” Bloodaxe regarded him with concerned confusion. Right, the Jotnar left the business of seier to their women, deeming the art unmanly. No wonder H?kon had no idea what they were talking about.
“A fertility ritual to bless our crops,” Njord said.
H?kon frowned. “What does she need you and the blasted Odinsson for then?”
Njord felt a flicker of amusement despite himself. His nephew’s husband was adorably oblivious.
“It’s a carnal ritual,” he pointed out. “She needs someone with a powerful seier. And a conduit.”
“A conduit?”
“A vessel. Someone to channel the power like a burning lens,” Njord explained.
“Someone to get fucked by the vala conducting the ritual,” Talvi said bluntly, clearly not liking that his husband might get caught up in Svanhild’s schemes.
H?kon’s mouth fell open as understanding dawned on his face. He needed a moment to process the information, his gaze jumping between Njord and Thori.
“Why don’t we do it?”
“What?” Talvi’s voice rose with incredulity.
“On the night of our wedding, you said that it would be our duty to bless certain rituals,” H?kon said. “We could do it.”
Excitement ran through Njord’s veins. He was supposed to refuse the idea, but instead he embraced it.
This could be a brilliant solution. H?kon and Talvi were obviously madly in love.
The carnal part of the ritual would be no burden to them.
And Njord knew that Talvi’s powers were more than strong enough to keep both himself and his husband safe.
Still, he could sense Talvi’s reluctance.
“I’d make sure that neither Svanhild nor Sveinn would use the ritual to harm you,” Njord said quickly.
Talvi glared, stepping in front of H?kon.
“That’s what you all want,” he hissed. “H?kon had barely settled in Saeborg, and Perhonen was already pestering me about the rites. And now Svanhild is here to conduct a convenient fertility ritual of her own. I won’t stand for it!”
Well, Njord could understand that his nephew wanted to spare his beloved the hardships of the ritual. But these two could give Vanaheim a powerful blessing, and this way they could even deprive Svanhild of the satisfaction of claiming the ritual as her own. Njord liked the idea.
“What could it possibly be to Svanhild?” H?kon asked. “I’ve never even met her.”
“There’s a mighty spirit trapped in your ink, am I right?” Njord asked, nodding toward the swirling tattoos covering the Jotunn’s collarbones.
No matter how convenient it was for him to hand the ritual over to Talvi and H?kon, he needed them both to know exactly what they were consenting to.
“A white bear I hunted on a quest,” H?kon said, clearly having no idea where Njord was going with this.
“My nephew can touch your tattoos, I assume?”
“Uncle!” For the very first time, Talvi seemed flustered, despite the strained situation. It was endearing.
“Yes,” H?kon answered.
Njord bared his teeth in a wolfish smile.
“If you conduct the ritual together, Talvinen will have to vanquish your bear spirit.”
“What does that mean?”
“He’ll have to defeat the white bear as you did. A deed as dangerous as your quest back then.”
“I won’t do it,” Talvi snarled. “You have no idea, dróttning. These kinds of rituals are arduous, especially for the vessel. And it would give me immense power over you. Your guardian spirit, your fate, it would all be mine.”
Heavy silence fell between them, but Njord couldn’t help but smile to himself at their banter. Gods, Talvi called the fierce Jotunn warrior he insisted on marrying ‘princess,’ and H?kon didn’t even seem to care.
“We can do it then. It won’t change anything,” H?kon whispered, and when Talvi grabbed his husband, kissing him roughly, Njord turned away.
It was bad enough that he was convincing them to perform the ritual for him. He didn’t want to intrude on this intimate moment.
“H?kon, no.” Talvi sounded pleading.
“I’m already yours. My body, my fate, my… heart. It won’t change anything.”
Trying to distract himself by counting the freckles dotting Thori’s shoulders, Njord stroked absentminded circles across his thrall’s back, careful not to touch the healing wounds.
“Stupid Jotunn,” Talvi muttered affectionately. “You can’t just say something like that.”
“It’s the truth,” H?kon said.
His words elicited a resigned sigh from Talvi, and Njord knew they’d won.
“You’re impossible,” Talvi chastised. “Just so we’re absolutely clear about this: you’re not just asking me to fuck you in a ritual. My seier will own you. You’d be completely at my mercy.”
“Nothing new then,” H?kon said.
By the waves, the boys were precious, and Thori’s features had softened too, as if he were resting peacefully after Svanhild’s wretched seier was gone. Good. Maybe he would allow his thrall a bath in the morning to get rid of the oil, too. Then the last traces of Svanhild’s touch would be erased.
“Fine. Have it your way,” Talvi said. “But you have to promise me that you’ll tell me if it gets too much. These rituals can be overwhelming.”
“Deal.”
Looking up from where his hand rested against Thori’s neck, Njord regarded the boys with affection.
“Why don’t you make sure your thrall doesn’t succumb to his injuries and leave it to H?kon and me to deal with Svanhild?” Talvi grumbled, though his voice lacked true malice.
Njord smiled.
“Thank you. Both of you.”