Chapter 19 Nóatún
nineteen
Nóatún
Thori
Their longships were enveloped by cold mist, the surrounding sea shrouded in shapeless clouds and the eerie shimmer of dawn.
Njord had risen from their comfortable nest in the captain’s shelter an hour ago to steer his longship through the treacherous waters near the sea fortress, and Thori hadn’t been able to get back to sleep.
He’d snatched one of Njord’s spare cloaks to wear, dark blue and made of expensive wool trimmed with a cream-colored fur, its softness against his skin like a gentle caress. And it smelled like Njord.
Hiding a yawn behind his hand, Thori stepped up to the helm.
He leaned nonchalantly against the railing, as if he wasn’t worried about what would happen to him when they reached Nóatún.
For the first time since he had seen through Njord’s disguise, he was not delirious with fever or half-frozen.
He was finally well enough to think about the situation he found himself in.
Looked at with a rational mind, Njord’s behavior made no sense.
First, he had saved Thori from a miserable death at Svanhild’s hands, then he had kept him warm during their journey.
Thori hated to admit it, but he was recovering quickly thanks to Njord’s care.
But why? Why would the man who’d sworn to kill him do such a thing?
Did he want to see him heal only to kill him slowly later?
“Look to the north.”
Njord’s voice pulled him out of his gloomy thoughts, and he followed his command without hesitation.
There was only billowing fog in front of them, and Thori had a heartbeat to wonder what in the Nine Worlds Njord was talking about.
Then, with a whispered word, the fog lifted.
Golden beams of sunlight broke through the clouds, and in front of them, like the black shadow of a sea giant, Nóatún rose from the waves.
The fortress perched on an island of black rock, its spires twisting skywards and its walls curving with the natural flow of the elements. High up, Thori could make out arching bridges and colorful glass windows gleaming in the sun.
“Magnificent, isn’t it?”
Thori didn’t answer.
Nóatún was as beautiful as its master. Beautiful as a storm.
Wild, dangerous, and utterly beyond mortal comprehension.
Still, dread coiled in Thori’s belly. When he first saw the sea fortress in the heat of battle, he hadn’t taken the time to look at it carefully.
But now he realized what a perfect prison Nóatún was.
There would be no escape unless he managed to sneak aboard a ship, and the sailors and fisherfolk were known for their loyalty to Njord.
The crew worked smoothly around them while their captain guided the ship through the dangerous rocks surrounding the island with breathtaking ease.
The memory of countless Asgardian longships wrecked on those rocks during the battle of Nóatún churned Thori’s stomach.
How many of his warriors had drowned here because of his stupidity?
Fingers tightening on the rail, he fought down a sudden wave of nausea.
“Regretting past decisions?” Njord asked, ever perceptive.
“Why should I?” Thori snarled, all too well aware that all his failures and miscalculations had led him exactly where he was now. Collared and at the mercy of his worst enemy.
Njord’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits at his challenging tone.
“Watch your tongue, thrall. This is neither the place nor the time for your insolence.”
Gritting his teeth, Thori fought down his anger. How he’d like to haul a fist into Njord’s smug face.
“Nervous about our arrival?”
“Should I be?”
“That depends entirely on how well you can behave yourself.”
“I’ve been the very picture of obedience, haven’t I, master?” Thori asked, his tone laced with just a hint of rebellion.
Njord chuckled as if truly amused.
“You’ve been the very picture of a spoiled prince playing at being a thrall.”
“I’m not.”
“No? Then I’m sure you’ll settle effortlessly into your new home.”
Thori’s jaw clenched. How dare Njord call his imprisonment home?
“This rock will never be my home, and I’m not yours.”
“And yet you wear my collar so beautifully.”
Incensed, he whirled to face Njord, ready to spit back some cutting retort, but the sea god had already lost interest in him, calling orders to his crew as they prepared to dock.
Bastard.
Thori’s fingers went to the collar, tracing the warm metal. It made him feel strange, vulnerable, like some pretty trinket to be admired rather than a warrior to be feared. He hated the feeling. Yet the way Njord looked at him wearing it—
Made Thori hate him even more.
Before he could do something stupid, like tackle Njord to the deck, shouts rang out from the fortress walls.
Horns echoed across the water, and the massive sea gates began to groan open.
Thori’s throat tightened, his anger unexpectedly shifting toward his father.
How had Odin thought they’d conquer this monstrosity?
Had he even cared? Or would it have been all the same to him if Thori had drowned with the rest of his einherjar?
As their longship glided through the gates, the sheer scale of the sea fortress struck Thori.
What had always seemed like nothing more than a fortified rock to him revealed itself to be an entire city carved into the black stone.
Harbors on multiple levels accommodated vessels of every description, from fishing boats to massive longships made for war.
Markets and workshops lined the lower levels, while residential areas climbed the cliff sides in terraced rows.
“Welcome to Nóatún,” Njord said quietly, almost as if talking to himself, and the words sent another chill through Thori.
The docking was fast and efficient. Njord’s warriors certainly knew their trade, and soon the longship was secured in the serene waters of the harbor. After Njord had given orders to his warriors and had talked in hushed tones to his vala, he turned to Thori.
“Come,” Njord said, finally stepping down from the helm. “Time to show you some things.”
“What things?” Thori snapped.
Could he possibly sound any more ominous? Thori hated being kept in the dark, hated being in a position where he couldn’t just demand Njord tell him what was going on.
But it was no good dwelling on his anger. Following Njord, Thori was acutely aware of the stares they drew as they made their way through the crowds, some curious, some suspicious, and more than a few openly hostile when they recognized Thori’s distinctive blond hair and amber eyes.
They climbed winding stone steps carved directly into the cliff face, passing through several levels of the fortress city.
The architecture was unlike anything in Asgard, and Thori could only marvel at the organic curves that seemed to flow like water, with arched doorways and spiral towers that caught and channeled the sea winds.
Everything was built from the same black stone, but colored glass and hanging gardens softened the harsh lines.
“The armory,” Njord said as they passed a large building from which the hammering of steel could be heard. “Andora will work here, and she’ll be educated in the way of the sword.” He glanced at Thori. “She’ll be well cared for, in case you were wondering.”
Thori had been wondering, though he tried to hide his concern for the girl behind a noncommittal grunt.
They continued climbing until they reached what was clearly the residential section of the fortress. The buildings here were more elaborate, with larger windows and private courtyards. But Njord led him even higher to a structure sitting at the highest point.
A castle erected at the very top of the island, like a dragon looking out over the vast sea.
Njord’s dwelling place.
Its entrance was guarded by two warriors, who nodded respectfully to their lord.
“My quarters,” Njord said, pushing open heavy wooden doors carved with intricate knots.
The space beyond took Thori’s breath away. They crossed a courtyard planted with sea thrift and harebells, and accommodating a small well under a wind-bent rowan tree. Njord led him through an archway and up a flight of stairs; the servants of the hall looking after them.
Thori’s legs burned with exertion from climbing the endless stairs, but finally they reached Njord’s living quarters.
The main room was vast, with a high vaulted ceiling and windows that looked out over the harbor and the sea far below.
Rich tapestries covered the walls, depicting sea battles and storm-tossed ships.
A large fireplace dominated one wall, and inside, a merry fire crackled, spreading pleasant warmth.
Comfortable furniture was arranged around the room: chairs covered in soft furs, a table laden with scrolls and charts, shelves lined with books and trinkets from all over the Nine Worlds. A cozy place.
Stepping to a window, Thori looked down into the dizzying depth. And despite himself, he couldn’t help but wonder how magnificent a thunderstorm would feel observed from up here. Njord’s seat was marvelous, the perfect fortress and an inescapable prison.
Thori felt lightheaded.
“There’s a bath over there,” Njord said, gesturing to a wooden door leading from the main room. “And my sleeping chambers.”
“And where exactly am I to stay?” Thori asked, voice sharp with unease. Was there a small antechamber somewhere Njord wanted him to sleep in? Or even a cell?
Njord’s eyes flashed.
“You’ll stay here. With me. You’ll share my bed, as you have been.”
“What?”
“Unless you prefer the dungeons?”
Heat flooded Thori’s face, fiery anger coursing through his veins at being treated like a common whore. But there was also something else. Something nervous and excited, bubbling inside his chest that Thori didn’t want to examine too closely.
“I’m not your whore,” Thori ground out between clenched teeth.