Chapter 21 Market Day #2
Sindra better not start telling Thori about the hammer. That was a problem Njord didn’t want to deal with yet. But despite everything, a dangerous pride expanded in Njord’s chest as Sindra called Thori his lover.
His.
He grabbed Thori’s arm, steering him away from the stall and Sindra’s knowing looks.
“Goodbye, Sindra.”
“Always nice doing business with you,” she called after them, her laughter following them through the crowd.
They continued through the market, passing stalls with fabulous weapons, exotic spices, and exquisite fabrics. Thori looked around with obvious interest, and Njord had to restrain himself from buying everything he even casually glanced at.
The sweet smell of honey permeated the air, and Thori’s stomach grumbled.
Right, it was almost midday, and he hadn’t offered his thrall anything to eat yet.
Njord felt a stab of guilt. Thori was his now, just as he’d wanted, but that meant taking care of his basic needs. Getting Thori some food, it was then.
Cut into the black rock, a staircase led up to the level above the market.
Here, the fisherfolk and merchants lived in small stone houses nestled against the cliffs.
And among these living quarters lay Nóatún’s best taverns.
Njord hadn’t let go of Thori’s arm, and he reveled in the fact that Thori didn’t try to pull away, either.
He simply followed Njord up the stairs, their shoulders brushing now and then.
“The Sea King,” Njord said, gesturing toward a low building sitting haphazardly on the cliff’s edge. “We’re going to eat something.”
They stepped under the carved whalebone that formed the doorway into the cozy tavern. The main room was warm and inviting; the wooden beams etched with knots and waves, and the walls hung with colorful tapestries.
Njord took his usual seat in the corner, situated near the largest window. The captain’s table gave a commanding view of the vast sea. At this time of the day, the tavern was almost empty. That suited Njord just fine.
The former pirate-chief-turned-tavern-keeper stepped out from the back of the room to greet them. Solrun was as bright and beautiful as many of her kin from Alfheim, but shorter and stockier than most light elves.
“My Lord Njord. What can I bring you?”
“My usual. For two, please.”
“You’re lucky. My cook just finished the preparations for the day. I’ll bring you the best catch fresh from the baking pit.”
“Thank you.”
During their brief conversation, Thori had stared at the polished wooden table, fiddling absentmindedly with the bracelet. He seemed…lost, and Njord had to fight down the urge to touch him, to comfort him somehow.
As promised, Solrun didn’t take long to bring them their meal: fresh-caught salmon glazed with honey, flatbread still warm from the fire, bowls of creamy soup rich with shellfish, and tankards filled to the brim with mead.
The smell was delicious, and Thori’s stomach grumbled again.
“Eat,” Njord said.
Still, Thori hesitated.
“What are you waiting for?”
Pushing the dishes closer to Thori, Njord made an inviting gesture.
“Eat,” he repeated, more gently this time, and he could practically see Thori’s defiance crumbling.
Delicately, he picked up a piece of salmon and brought it to his mouth. He ate slowly, making an effort to hide how hungry he really was, and probably having no idea that the way he sensually licked the honey glaze from his fingers made Njord’s stomach swoop.
To distract himself, Njord picked up his spoon and tried the soup. It was delicious, but Njord couldn’t stop watching Thori eat. It was surprisingly satisfying, and against his better judgment, he kept offering his thrall the best pieces of Solrun’s excellent food.
“Is the salmon to your taste?”
“It’s edible. You catch it at sea?”
“Yes. Or at the mouths of the rivers. It’s the best quality you can get.”
“The fishers in Asgard catch the salmon further up the streams. It’ll still be a few weeks before the salmon season starts in my homeland,” Thori said, a haughty undertone in his voice.
Why did he have to turn everything into a competition?
“And do you think that your parents have noticed your absence until then?” Njord asked.
Usually, he had no problem just ignoring a simple barb, but with Thori, every fiber of Njord’s being wanted to react, wanted to get under his skin and peel away the carefully crafted layers of the fabulous Prince of Asgard until only his true self remained.
Also, it was true, Njord justified himself.
He expected an emissary from Asgard any day now to negotiate Thori’s release.
Of course, Njord had no intention of giving him back, no matter what the AEsir were willing to pay as ransom for their prince.
But it surprised him that Odin hadn’t located his son already, that he hadn’t found a way to contact him.
From the god of war and wisdom, Njord would have guessed a quicker response.
“Are you hoping for ransom?” Thori snarled.
“You know I won’t give you back.”
The statement filled Njord with calm. Yes, he’d keep Thori, and not even Odin could do anything about it. Maybe this way, the AEsir would finally learn their lesson about raiding Vanaheim.
“Then why do you care?”
“Because it strikes me as odd. Wouldn’t Odin and Frigga do everything in their power to get their firstborn back?”
Indeed, the more they talked about it, the weirder it sounded.
Svanhild may have sailed fast after she captured Thori; she may have been able to disguise his whereabouts for some time.
But Njord had made no such effort. Still, he’d felt neither Odin nor Frigga’s presence in his domain.
Could the rumors about her absence be true?
But that would mean that Asgard was exposed. Vulnerable without their rulers. And now Thori was gone, too. The AEsir couldn’t keep such an immense weakness a secret, could they?
“Maybe—” Thori’s breath hitched. “Maybe the Allfather doesn’t deem me important enough for saving.”
“What was that?”
Thori’s lips curved into a self-deprecating smile.
“Who needs a warrior who doesn’t conquer? Who needs a prince who keeps losing battles?”
“But that isn’t true,” Njord said, surprising himself with the gentleness of his words. “You’re the pride of the AEsir. Their most fabled golden thunder god.”
Thori chuckled a mirthless laugh.
“Am I?”
You are, Njord wanted to assure him. A fabulous warrior. Most precious.
But something was wrong with Thori’s claims. They rang both true and false, as if Thori believed what he was saying and was lying to Njord at the same time. Confused and intrigued, Njord leaned closer.
“Are you trying to tell me that your kin has forsaken you?”
For a long moment, Thori didn’t answer, but simply stared through the window out at the ocean with unseeing eyes.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if they have.”
Njord pressed the cup of mead into Thori’s hand. And if he covered Thori’s fingers with his own, who was to judge?
“Odin is a petty bastard. He might do many things if he deems them clever. But your mother isn’t like that. Frigga wouldn’t just abandon you.”
Hastily, Thori took the offered cup and hid behind his mead, drinking in deep gulps.
“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” he said miserably, and Njord shuffled a little closer to place a reassuring hand on the small of his back.
Did Thori really believe what he was saying? Or was he hoping to lull Njord into thinking that he couldn’t hope for help from Asgard before fleeing at the right moment?
“Why did your father send you to raid Nóatún in the first place?”
Thori sighed, looking anywhere but at Njord.
“I wanted to prove myself. And he delivered an opportunity. I didn’t think of the consequences.”
“You were still young.”
Was he now making excuses for Odinsson? But at some point, he had started rubbing small circles against Thori’s back, and now he couldn’t stop.
“I was a fool.”
“Because you agreed to the raid, or because you weren’t victorious?”
“I—”
“You’re right, you know? The raid was foolish, and many good people died because of it. Did you know that Jokull was my best friend for many years after I returned from Asgard?”
“What do you mean by ‘returned from Asgard’?” Thori’s voice sounded off, strangled somehow, and Njord felt a disbelieving laugh rise in his chest. By the waves, what had Frigga and Odin been thinking?
“They didn’t tell you? Not even your mother?”
“Tell me what?”
“I spent most of my youth there.”
He could see the cogs in Thori’s pretty head turning.
“You were a hostage. After the first war between our people.” Thori’s voice was just above a whisper. Horrified.
Njord nodded. “We agreed to your terms until Odin wanted my sister in my stead.”
“But Ahti never lived in Asgard.”
“No. Let’s say I left the Golden Fortress, and Vanaheim has refused to swear fealty to the AEsir ever since.”
“And that led to the second Vanir-AEsir war.”
“Exactly.”
“So, Father did know about Jokull.” Thori was pale.
“He must’ve known that she could still be around.”
“I see.”
He should revel in Thori’s defeat, in the utter betrayal written all over his face. Instead, Thori’s distress made Njord’s protective instincts go haywire.
Emptying the tankard of mead in one go, Thori’s eyes shone treacherously. His shock was palpable, and although Njord’s chest was constricted with guilt, he had to use it. He couldn’t afford to feel sorry for his enemy.
“So, it’s true that your parents have vanished,” he said.
Eyes widening, Thori looked up at him.
“Of course not!”
Hel, he was such a terrible liar.
“Since when?”
“Didn’t you hear me?”
Njord felt dizzy. Suddenly, it all made sense: why Thori had sailed to Vanaheim with a fleet far too small to undertake serious raids; why the Aesir had failed to send someone to rescue their captured prince or negotiate his release.
“You thought they were here? Captured in Vanaheim?”
Thori didn’t deign him an answer, hurriedly stuffing a piece of flatbread in his mouth.