Chapter 22 Nøkken #2
“You’re right,” she said haltingly. “And that means they must’ve breached our protective runes to set foot on the island.”
“If I were you, I’d ask my vala a few tough questions,” Thori said.
He had a bad feeling about this.
When Thori led the raid on Nóatún, the fortress had seemed impregnable, and now a few lowly sea creatures should have managed what the Asgardian war fleet had failed to achieve?
Gylfa hummed thoughtfully, securing the last of the bandages around Thori’s shoulder and upper arm.
“You did well, fighting for him,” she said, only just loud enough so Njord could hear her too.
The sea lord had overseen the dispatching of the corpses and now turned back to them. His grim expression softened as he took in Thori.
“A warrior of Asgard never backs down from a fight,” Thori hurried to say. “I wasn’t protecting him.”
But a strange, queasy feeling spread in his stomach, because Gylfa was right. He hadn’t thought about letting Njord fight alone, hadn’t wasted even a split second to consider escaping. What was he doing?
“Back to bed with you,” Njord said. “You need to rest.”
“I’m better now,” Thori protested, though the fight had left him drained.
“You’re exhausted.” Njord’s tone brooked no argument. “To bed with you. I have matters to discuss that don’t concern thralls.”
The dismissal stung, but Thori was too tired to argue further. He watched as Njord closed his robe, which was a bit of a shame, and moved toward the door leading to the tactics room.
“Gylfa, leave a few guards with Thori and meet me at the council.”
“Yes, my lord.”
She offered Thori a smile that he didn’t know how to interpret, then followed her chieftain, leaving orders for her warriors to patrol the balcony and guard the doors.
Finally left alone, Thori’s heart was still hammering from the encounter with the n?kken. As soon as he closed his eyes, the creature’s faces appeared in front of his mind, beautiful and terrible, and he couldn’t stop thinking about the way Njord had killed them all.
Outside, chairs scratched across the stone floor, and the low rumble of anxious voices filled the air.
Staring up at the ceiling, Thori tried to get comfortable. As the rush of the fight faded, he felt the throbbing of the scratches more acutely.
He strained to hear what was going on in the tactic room, but only a dull murmur drifted through the solid wooden doors.
Thori turned this way and that, all too aware of the emptiness of the bed. And after what felt like hours, but had probably been mere minutes, he realized he couldn’t sleep without Njord’s calming presence.
He was losing his mind.
Unable to bear the restless energy any longer, he slipped from beneath the furs and padded barefoot to the door. He wrapped one of Njord’s silken robes around his shoulders—noting irritably that the fabric still carried Njord’s scent of salt and sea—and pressed his ear to the wood.
“—a fleet is gathering at Aealvík, but it’s hidden by a fog that hasn’t lifted for days.”
“Sveinn?” Njord asked.
“It seems that way, my lord.”
Thori’s warrior instincts prickled. This was important information. Information he needed to hear. Strategies that could affect not just Nóatún but potentially Asgard. He had to act. Before Thori could second-guess himself, he eased the door open and stepped into the tactics room.
Every head turned toward him. The warriors’ expressions ranged from surprise to poorly concealed hostility. He was still Thori Odinsson, after all, the man who had visited their fortress with a war fleet only a few years ago. But Thori held his head high and caught Njord’s gaze.
“Didn’t I tell you to rest?” Njord asked, though he sounded amused.
Pulling the robe a little tighter around himself, Thori was acutely aware of how he must look, barefoot and wearing Njord’s clothes. But Njord himself had said that he wanted to display him in front of his warriors, and if he wanted a spectacle, Thori would give him one.
“I can’t sleep,” Thori said, giving his voice the faintest hint of a whine.
“Can’t you?”
Thori’s steps faltered. He hadn’t thought this scenario through, and now he had no idea where to go. He couldn’t just take a seat next to Njord’s advisors, after all.
“How did the n?kken get inside?” he asked to cover up his indecisiveness.
“That’s what we’re trying to determine, thrall,” one of Njord’s warriors said. A weathered mountain giant with a steel-gray beard and equally gray eyes.
Thori ignored him, looking at Njord instead.
“Allow me, master?”
He gestured toward the floor next to Njord’s chair, offering to take the position at his feet like a good little thrall. It wouldn’t be comfortable to kneel on the cold stone floor, but attending the war council would be worth it.
Njord’s eyes widened.
“No,” he said. He pushed his chair back from the table, making room for Thori, and patted his thigh. “Here. But keep silent unless you have something useful to contribute.”
Heat rose to Thori’s cheeks, even though this was exactly what he’d wanted. No, it was even better than that. He would sit on Njord’s lap as if he were his favorite pleasure slave and give Njord exactly what he wanted.
So he strolled over to Njord as if he didn’t have a care in the world, and settled carefully on his lap. Njord’s arm slung around his waist, warm and possessive, and Thori allowed himself the comfort of leaning against his chest.
“As Eldur said, we need to figure out how the n?kken infiltrated the fortress,” Gylfa said. “I’ve already sent for my vala to figure out how they breached our protective runes. He’ll report back to me any moment.”
“He will.”
The double doors leading to the corridor swung open, and Skalmold swept in, a tied-up middle-aged man thrown over her shoulder. Andora followed at her heels, clad in the clothes of a young warrior and a short sword girded around her hip. She looked formidable, Thori noted with pleasure.
Andora took in the assembled council, her eyes gleaming with curiosity, and her gaze zeroed in on Thori. Her mouth fell open in surprise. Thori could relate; he must look quite salacious, sparsely dressed as he was, collared and pressed close to Njord.
The room fell silent.
“Hrothgar!” Gylfa’s eyes met Thori’s, and the color drained from her face. “He’s my vala,” she said, the explanation clearly for Thori’s benefit.
Skalmold threw the man roughly onto the table, scattering a few maps in the process.
“What is this, Skalmold?” Njord asked.
Thori could feel his chest moving against his back, not at all unpleasant.
“I felt your protective runes giving out, and Andora and I went to investigate.”
“We found this man in a cave, singing a strange spell to the sea, my lord,” Andora said.
“I guess the creatures he summoned visited you,” Skalmold added, as smug as usual. “N?kken maybe?”
Thori shuddered. This betrayal ran deep, and it was targeting Njord. Also, an attack in the middle of the night, impossibly breaching the dwelling of a god. Were the same dark forces at work here that had taken his parents?
“How could you betray your home like this?” Gylfa asked, her voice breaking.
The captured vala struggled in his bonds, but Skalmold stopped him with a wave of her hand and a hissed spell when he tried to break free.
“My home?” Hrothgar spat, spit flying from his parched lips and landing on the mountain giant’s arm, who wiped it away with an expression of disgust. “This place is a disgrace. The Vanir claim to be old, but they’ve forsaken the old ways.”
“What do you mean by ‘old ways’, Hrothgar?” Njord asked coolly.
“Don’t you remember when sacrifices were let into the bog in your name?”
“These were the ways of those who came before us,” Njord said. “It’s not the way of the Vanir. Wasn’t the drowning of the criminal who called himself Egil to your taste? My sea doesn’t thirst for further sacrifice. It’s dangerous enough as it is.”
Throwing his head back, Hrothgar laughed, and Thori got a glimpse of a pendant hidden underneath his robes.
His blood ran cold.
“Show me your necklace,” Thori said.
Every eye in the room turned to him, and Njord’s hand moved to rest on his hip almost protectively.
“What are you talking about, thrall?” Hrothgar snarled.
“Your pendant,” Thori pressed, ignoring the confused looks from the council. “The red stone. Show it to me.”
“You’re not giving orders here, Asgardian bastard!”
“Hold your tongue,” Njord cut him off, voice deadly calm. “Do as he says.”
Hrothgar hesitated, but Skalmold was done being patient.
She grabbed the necklace and yanked it free from his neck.
The chain snapped, sending the trinkets scattering across the table.
A red gemstone sitting in a bronze plate covered in runes, and a small figurine, depicting a woman with flowing hair and outstretched arms. It looked like it was carved from bone, and its eyes were made from equally red stones.
“These runes resemble those in Njareby,” Thori said. “And I’ve seen a similar figurine before.”
“Where?” Gylfa asked.
“In Svanhild’s tent.”
“What does he know about seier?” the giant growled. “We shouldn’t trust a son of Odin.”
“But he’s right.” Skalmold inspected the amulet, touching it with pointed fingers. “I recognize the runes, too.”
“This reeks of Asgard’s foul influence!” The giant’s gaze fixed on Thori. “Maybe we should make Odinsson tell us what’s going on here! Maybe he even put an enchantment on poor Hrothgar!”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Eldur,” Gylfa said.
But the giant’s words had already sparked Thori’s anger. He ignored Njord’s protective arm slung around his waist and leaned forward.
“Are you implying that Svanhild and Sveinn are allies of Asgard?”
Eldur’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but Thori could sense his insecurity. For, whether he was Njord’s thrall or not, he was still Thori of the thunder, and the mountain giants feared him.
“Svanhild learned her trade in the Golden Fortress, didn’t she?”
How dare he?!