Being in the wrong place at the wrong time was all it took for Adelasia's whole life to turn upside down. After being captured by the heathens raiding her city and taken all the way to the cold North, the youngest Ragnarsson takes an interest in her...
Alasia had lost all sense and feeling of time and being. She was sure that she had at least seen daylight followed by darkness nine times, but after that everything became a blur. In those at least nine days, food had been a scarcity and consisted of stale slices of bread every other day. Drinking was even worse, because they only gave her mead in a crafty bowl that they placed at her feet like she was a stray dog, wild and not to be trusted. In all those days, she had only been once given a bucket with water and a rag, but when she still kept her lips pressed together, Hilde had thrown the contents of the bucket over her head.
With every passing day, she was becoming more and more certain that it wouldn't be long before her body gave out. Besides the bad food and drinks she got, there was also the matter of torture. Her back was mutilated, full of crosses. There were big crosses and small crosses. Deep ones, which would probably take months to heal with proper care, and shallow ones that would scab over and disappear over time. She did not have to see it in a polished plate to imagine how it looked. Still, despite everything, Alasia had hope. Any day now, she was certain, Ivar would come and save her.
When she heard the door to the room being unlocked, she dragged herself to the nearest wall and leaned against it, using all of her energy to straighten her spine. After a week they hadn't bothered again with locking her up, for she was too weak to escape. Alasia did not think she had the strength to talk even if she wanted to, for she was trembling from exhaustion by simply keeping her head up. Time had started to pass more slowly too, with periods of fitful naps followed by restless moments of staring at the dark ceiling. She could no longer cite a proper prayer, not even those she had memorised since the age of three, without getting the words messed up.
Queen Lagertha strode in, flanked by Frode and Hilde. Alasia found the combination of those two lapdogs the worst, for they both had cruel tendencies and the perfect ability to turn whatever punishment Lagertha ordered just slightly worse. In her hands, she was carrying a stomp of bread, undoubtedly made three days ago, and she threw it just far enough that Alasia had to reach for it. The latter refused and stared at the queen with blank eyes.
"Ivar has left for Wessex again," Lagertha said. She was staring down at the girl in front of her, who looked more like a rat now than the woman she had once been. Her brown hair fell in greasy and dirty strands over her cheeks, her back was a mess of infected and festering wounds, her cheeks had hollowed out and the dress she had worn when she was captured appeared to be swallowing her whole. Never before had Lagertha seen a prisoner endure the torture for so long without snapping, but she had no doubt that it wouldn't be long until the spark that still resided in that girl's blue eyes would disappear. Then her will would break, like her body was already doing, and Lagertha would have her information. "He has left you here to rot."
