Chapter 21 Market Day
twenty-one
Market Day
Njord
He woke to the whispering of the waves and the pale light of dawn filtering through the gaps in the curtains, painting silvery stripes onto the hewn floor.
Thori’s head was resting on his shoulder, his breath softly tickling against Njord’s beard.
His thrall was finally relaxed. Fast asleep.
He fit perfectly against Njord’s side, as if he were made to curl up in his arms. For a moment, Njord allowed himself to simply savor the delicious feeling of naked, warm skin against his body, wistfully watching a ray of morning sunlight catch in Thori’s golden hair.
After the execution, Njord had known something was wrong. Thori had been shaken, but he’d covered his fear with derision. And his ostentatious bravado had fooled Njord. It was only when Thori had cried out desperately in his sleep that Njord began to understand what was going on.
The darkest hour before dawn. Thori’s raw fear. It had been only because of the strange spell of that night that Njord had promised to keep his little thunder god safe. Again. He’d meant it too, even if it went against every instinct for revenge he’d nursed for years.
You’re getting soft, he told himself, but couldn’t quite bring himself to care when Thori stirred against him, lashes fluttering open to reveal confused amber eyes.
“Morning,” Njord grumbled, not moving away despite the voice in his head warning him he was playing a dangerous game.
Thori’s cheeks flushed pink as awareness returned, and he hastily retreated to the other side of the bed. Njord let him go, though his body mourned the loss of warmth. He sat up straighter and stretched, his joints cracking. He was getting old. Old and soft. Just great.
“How did you sleep?” Njord asked, not quite able to quench his curiosity.
“Better,” Thori mumbled, as if it cost him something to admit that simple fact. “No more, you know—” He gestured vaguely between them, clearly uncomfortable talking about the nightmare that had plagued him.
“Good,” Njord said, gentler than intended. “I’ll make sure it stays that way.”
Why? Why did he keep promising such things to Thori? Why couldn’t he keep his foolish mouth shut?
Irritated by his own thoughts, Njord rose and moved to the window, looking out over his domain.
With the fishing boats back with their morning catch and the merchants ready, the harbor was already busy.
It was going to be a beautiful summer day, as far as Nóatún was concerned.
The air was fresh and already warming in the first rays of sunshine.
A good day for showing Thori more of his new home.
Yes! He’d show Thori the market, make sure he’d get some of the sumptuous food on display at every corner.
He didn’t have any desire to offer his enemy nice things.
No, it was the rational thing to do. He would be seen with Thori at the harbor, and soon everyone in the Nine Realms would know that he had made Odinsson his thrall.
“Get dressed,” Njord ordered, turning back to find Thori watching him with an unreadable expression. “I want to show you something.”
Thori’s eyes widened, and Njord remembered belatedly that he must have said something similar yesterday before dragging Thori along to the drowning.
Hel!
“The market,” he hurried to clarify. “I need to…inspect the market, and you’re supposed to come along.”
“So everyone can see me wearing your collar?” Thori snarled.
The words had excitement rushing through Njord’s veins. Something about Thori’s anger was intoxicating, making him want to—
“Exactly,” Njord said, cutting his inappropriate thoughts short. “My people will want to watch your defeat in daylight.”
Thori glared at him for another second, then he jumped up to gather the clothes he’d worn to court.
“No,” Njord said without thinking. “I’ve got something else for you to wear.”
What was he doing?
But he’d already taken this game too far to back down now.
He walked over to the chest containing his clothes as if he knew exactly what he was doing.
Rummaging through his ceremonial attire, he found a deep blue tunic embroidered with his coat of arms. He had worn the garment at the wedding of Ahti and Vellamo. Perfect.
“Put this on.”
Tossing the tunic at Thori, Njord searched for a matching pair of comfortable leather breeches. Thori caught those too, and Njord couldn’t help watching him wash up and change out of the corner of his eye while he got ready himself.
If he had previously thought that his colors suited Thori, the effect now was breathtaking. Thori looked radiant, and Njord couldn’t help but notice that he seemed almost like a consort if it weren’t for the collar. Utterly gorgeous.
Focus, he told himself sternly. You’re supposed to be humiliating him, not wanting him.
“Ready?”
Thori shot him a flat look.
“Good. Follow me.”
They made their way through the fortress, but as soon as they stepped out into the streets of the lower town, people started looking at Thori, and Njord put a guiding hand on his shoulder.
Many of his people remembered the raid; some still carried scars from Asgardian steel, and they stared at Thori with hostility.
Njord had to make it clear that Thori belonged to him.
Fortunately, the market was already bustling with merchants and customers. Vendors were calling out their wares, children were laughing, and the musical chatter of a dozen different languages from across the Nine Realms mingled together. The busy crowd afforded them a certain amount of privacy.
Njord led his captive through the maze of stalls, noting with some satisfaction how Thori’s eyes widened at the variety of impressions.
“Nóatún isn’t the modest fishing village you expected,” Njord observed, stopping as usual at Sindra’s stall.
“I knew the Vanir were wealthy, but—I didn’t know that you were such successful traders.”
“Traders. Raiders. Warriors. Some of them are even farmers,” Sindra said in amusement. “The old gods aren’t so different from the younger ones.”
A faint blush painted Thori’s features as he looked up at the Svartalf. She was a merchant from Nidavellir, selling the finest jewelry.
“The gods of Asgard disagree,” he grumbled. “We’re vastly different from the Vanir.”
She grinned at them.
“What can I offer you, Shipbreaker?”
Njord’s gaze swept across the glittering array of jewelry spread before them: rings of silver and gold, necklaces strung with pearls and colorful beads of amber and glass, brooches, and amulets.
A lavish golden bracelet, its large polished amber stones gleaming with an inner fire, caught his attention.
“Could you show me that one, Sindra?”
He pointed at the bracelet before he could stop himself.
“Your taste is excellent as always, my lord. This is one of my finest pieces. Gold from the mines of Nidavellir. Amber from your own shores holding the light of summer itself. A unique gift for a cherished warrior.”
She presented the bracelet to him, and Njord imagined how it would glimmer against Thori’s bronzed skin. The gold would complement his hair, and the amber would be a perfect match to the fierce gleam of his eyes. He turned the bracelet over in his hands, testing its weight and quality.
“I’ll take it.”
What was he thinking? His sworn warriors were already gifted with his bracelets, usually made of silver, and engraved with a pattern of waves and longships. But thralls weren’t supposed to wear jewelry. At least not the kind that cost a fortune.
Sindra’s eyebrows rose, and she glanced meaningfully between Njord and Thori.
“A generous gift, my lord. Any warrior receiving a token like this can consider himself lucky.”
Heat crept up Njord’s neck, and he could sense Thori watching the entire exchange intensely.
“Yes, of course.”
“That’ll be ten pounds of silver, my lord.”
Too much, considering the weight of the gold, but it was an exceptional piece of art. Njord paid without haggling, pulling out his coin purse with more force than necessary, which only seemed to amuse Sindra further.
“Shall I wrap it for you?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“A present for Gylfa?” Thori asked, resentment lacing his voice. “A reward for her good work arresting Egil the other day?”
“No,” Njord said flatly. “Give me your wrist.”
“What?”
Cradling his right wrist to his chest, as if Njord might sever his hand, Thori took half a step back.
“Your hand.”
For a long moment, Thori just stared at him. Then, slowly, as if in a trance, he extended his right arm.
Njord placed the bracelet delicately around his thrall’s wrist. The amber stones caught the morning light, glowing like captured sunbeams against Thori’s skin. The bracelet looked even more beautiful on him than he’d imagined.
And wildly inappropriate.
“There. It suits you.”
Thori stared down at the bracelet, his lips parted in surprise. A pink flush spread across his cheekbones, which made him look younger, softer, and almost vulnerable.
“For me?”
“It matches your eyes,” Njord said, then immediately wished he could take the words back.
The flush deepened, and Thori’s expression shifted from confusion to something that might have been embarrassment. He quickly pulled his sleeve down to cover the bracelet.
“How generous of you, master,” Thori growled, his voice suddenly dripping with sarcasm. “Am I more decorative like this? Suitable for your expensive tastes?”
“Perhaps,” Njord said, not sure what to tell Thori that wouldn’t embarrass them both further.
“Your lover has a sharp tongue. I like him.”
Sindra chuckled.
“Save your mockery, Svartalf. You know very well who he is!”
Her grin widened, exposing her sharp canines.
“Indeed. Greetings, Thori Odinsson. My grandmother once forged a—”
“Enough of the chattering! We have places to be.”