TOSKA | Sihtric Kjartansson

𝐗.

BEAMFLEOT, EAST ANGLIA ( 886 )
— modern day Benfleet, England

TWO DAYS HAD PASSED SINCE THE BROTHERS AND THORE HAD CAPTURED ÆTHELFLÆD of Wessex and not once Aethelwynn had stopped complaining and cursing. Zvora was reaching a point where hitting her own head against a wall was beginning to sound more appealing than to actually go on with her day.

"Heathens, all of them," Aethelwynn mumbled to herself while she was tidying the room, "Capturing god-fearing women and turning them into whores — drinking and enjoying their life of gluttony..." Aethelwynn spoke another curse. "Poor princess — better to die than to fall into the hands of those danes, I would've rather slit my throat than to-"

"But yet here you are," Zvora sighed loudly, furrowing her eyebrows.

Aethelwynn narrowed her eyes, gripping the broom harder until her knuckles turned white. "Do you need anything else?" She asked instead of saying anything to her defence but Zvora could see the anger in Aethelwynn's eyes.

Since they had arrived in Mercia there had been a new fight of life being lit inside of her, as if the closeness to her home was driving her to be stronger.

Zvora admired Aethelwynn for that but also thought her to be foolish.

There was no escape.

"I'm good, thank you." Zvora waved her hand in dismissal.

"Then I will leave." Aethelwynn tried to sound respectful but it came out rather pressed and with her glaring eyes it looked as if she was praying for Zvora's near death.

"Just one thing." Aethelwynn stopped, turning her head back and waiting for whatever she was ordered to halt.

"Any news from the cells?" Zvora tilted her head. Aethelwynn was also ordered to tend to Æthelflæd every now and then, bringing food and emptying the buckets but she hadn't told anybody what the princess said or if she said anything at all.

"The princess is alive," Aethelwynn answered reluctantly. "But she won't eat."

Zvora was sure that the last time the girl had eaten was before she had been taken.

"Did the men say something?"

"They say if she doesn't eat when the sun has gone down they will stuff her throat with bread."

Zvora nodded, turning her attention back to the window from which she could see into the courtyard of the fortress.

"Then this is all. Thank you." Zvora listened how Aethelwynn closed the door behind her and how her footsteps fade away in the distance.

She couldn't name it but something was bothering Zvora, something burned under her fingernails and made her frenzy, almost restless at times. She had nothing to do — nothing but spy for Thore and to follow him around when he was visiting the warriors that were arriving and putting their tents outside of the fortress.

When Zvora had thought that her life at Jelling had been tiring and repetitive at times, this was definitely worse. In Jelling the people had known her for years, had shown her respect or treated her at least with the indifference that belonged to people that someone didn't want to know better.

She had known her way around, had been able to go to the market and to converse with others — now Zvora was stuck inside these wooden walls and only allowed to leave if Thore was present.

Arne and Ulf were always there, watching her or drinking ale (or both at the same time) and with the wet-nurse tending to Dagný, there wasn't much that Zvora could do to feel productive.