THORVID'S QUARTERS WERE SMALL. The room was big enough for a bench bed that ran the length of the wall and a table by a shuttered window. The room smelled musty. The sick, heavy scent of animal fat lingered in the stale air. Ella crossed the room and fiddled with the latch on the window. It creaked open, allowing fresh sunlight to fill the space, highlighting dust motes.

The view outside faced the blank wall of the fortifications and a space of muddy ground, the vegetation uprooted from construction. Ella squinted up towards the top of the rough cut boards, but saw only blue sky.

On the table, she found the reason for the stench of animal fat. Several thick candles were melted hard to iron plates. They surrounded a pile of parchment. Ella ran her fingers over the vellum.

The museum tour said that the Vikings were an oral based society, giving information and histories by word of mouth. These papers were richly decorated with flora and fauna around the edges. A few of the words were familiar to her. She hadn't totally failed Latin in high school. She was surprised to see that some of it had stuck with her as she recognized the Latin words for farmer and king.

What was a Danish warrior like Thorvid doing with Latinized paperwork?

The heavy pounding of hooves interrupted her thoughts as the company of riders returned. There was no telling if Gudrik or Thorvid were among them. She didn't care if Sigurd had survived the onslaught. Oddly enough, she found that she did hope that the other two had lived.

Ella paced from the window to the door, wringing her hands as she worked out her next move. She had studied acting long enough to know that she needed to understand the character she was playing. She needed to realize the character's backstory and motivations, her quirks and vices. Some of these things could be her own habits. There wasn't an audience of critics here to give a bad review. And yet, if she wasn't convincing enough, this ruse could cost her life.

Ella swallowed with a dry mouth and took a steadying breath. She closed her eyes. She was Aethylthyrth, a Saxon princess of the Dark Ages. She had a sister and a dead father who had been brutally killed. However, Thorvid believed that she didn't care for her father. She had to keep that story straight.

Perhaps she could say that he had favored her sister. Though her own parents loved both their girls dearly, she could imagine how years of being passed over would hurt. That was a simple enough explanation.

Boots thudded down the corridor outside. Ella smoothed her plaits and folded her hands in front of her, straightening her shoulders to appear regal. If she was playing a snooty princess, she was going to pull out all the stops.

The door slammed open, bouncing off the wall. She retreated a step, jumping a little at Thorvid's abrupt entrance.

"So this is where they put you. Good," he grumbled.

Thorvid trudged into the room towards a wash stand in the corner. He splashed water on his face. Blood, dirt, and sweat dripped from his cheeks and down his beard. He vigorously splashed again and again till the blood was gone. He didn't appear wounded.

"What happened?"

Drying himself with a clean cloth folded beside the basin, he stripped off the padded armor shirt, leaving on the woolen tunic.

"Guthrum's men retreated, though I can only imagine the tongue lashing that they will receive for venturing onto our lands. Guthrum is smarter than the warriors that follow him."

Ella wrung her hands as he crossed to the bed and sank down onto it, unbuttoning his boots. He wasn't looking at her.

"... and Gudrik?"

"Wounded. Alive, but wounded."

Ella bit her lip. "How badly?"

"Why do you care?" He shot her a glare, perching his elbows on his knees. "You couldn't even shed tears for your own father, regardless of the tyrant that he was."

So Ælla had a reputation for being cruel. That was something else she could use.

Ella cut her eyes to the open window. "Gudrik wasn't unkind to me. And he did fall back to allow us escape. I owe him my life. And, in a way, I guess I owe you as well."

Silence followed. Ella met the Dane's eyes again. Thorvid rose and strode towards her. Even in bare feet, he towered over her. She didn't look away, not like she used to do when Ryan criticized her. She was Princess Aethylthryth. She bent her head to no one.

"I should explain your position here, so you understand from the start. You are a hostage, but I must argue to my brothers that you are my hostage. My quarry. You belong to me till Aelfred hands me the gold and silver in exchange for you."

Ella's spine stiffened. "What are you implying?"

He sneered at her tone. "I already told you that no one will touch you. I will make that clear to the others. That includes me."

"So I am nothing, but an object."

"For all intents and purposes. And so, you owe neither Gudrik or me anything. Except good behavior."

He picked a piece of dry grass from one of her plaits, wrinkling his nose.

"You must give my brothers the impression of a Saxon princess worth the ransom. I'll have Hilde fill a bath in here for you. Don't worry, I will bathe down at the river. When I return, I expect you to be ready to meet Ivar. And I expect you to be on your best behavior."

Ella crooked an eyebrow. "When haven't I been?"

There was that mocking grin again. "Sigurd's hand."

"He deserved it," she replied, flippantly. "Did he survive the skirmish by the way?"

"Yes, unscathed."

"Hmm... shame."

Shaking his head and retreating a step, Thorvid nodded at her. "Best behavior, princess."

***

"The girl is ready," Hilde informed Thorvid as he entered the longhouse.

"Then I will present her to Ivar before he eats. Halfdan is gone?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Very good."

Hilde paused by the hearth. The middle aged slave neatened the necklace over his dark blue, wool tunic. He felt better after bathing and changing into a fresh set of clothes. He had a feeling Ivar would turn the matter of the ransom over to him, to arrange and collect it. But he wanted to make sure there would be no snags.

"I am glad to see you return in one piece," Hilde admitted, lifting her chin with a sniff.

Thorvid smiled sincerely at the woman who had taken his mother's place. Hilde and Aldis, his mother, had been sold together to Ragnar from Norway. His mother was the one who had caught the King's eye, thus winning her freedom. If he ever was in a position to do so, Thorvid swore he would set Hilde free. He had to gain his fortune first. This business with the princess would be a first step.

"You know I am too crafty to be caught. What was it father used to call me? His fox of a son?"

"Just keep your wits about you. Halfdan is the only one with his ear these days. Ivar is suspicious ever since Guthrum left his side. Even of you, his own brother."

Thorvid shrugged. "Half-brother. A bastard birthed by a slave girl."

Hilde gripped the side of his neck. "A prince. That is what you have been since your birth. Don't let any demean you otherwise."

"I'll do my best," Thorvid replied, laughing in a self deprecating manner. He turned to leave.

"The girl..."

He looked back to find Hilde's expression quizzical. "Yes? What of her?"

"She is... odd."

"She's a Saxon."

"Yes, I know. But she is nothing like her sister. She is cold-"

"That's for certain."

"And yet very curious about matters that she should already know. She asks questions."

The kitchens were starting to bring out their fare for the Jarl. Thorvid felt the press of time. He didn't want to keep Ivar waiting.

"Don't worry about the princess, Hilde. She'll be out of our hair in no time with a chest of gold left in her place. This will play out differently than her sister's fate. I promise."

As he made his way down the shadowy corridor, he rehearsed the speech for his brother in his mind. Ivar was smart, but so was Thorvid. And Ivar knew it. Thorvid needed to make certain that Ivar knew of his loyalty in order to win the day.

"It's time," he announced, pushing open the door to his chambers.

The princess rose from the table, a paper from a raided monastery falling from her fingers. Hilde had dressed her in a forest green apron dress inlaid with gold stitching. Her dark hair, wavy from her bath, was pulled into two plaits then loosely wrapped in linen ribbons. Clean of the grit from the road, with her head held high and that arrogant twist of her chin, she looked her part. There was no doubt in his mind that this was the long lost Princess Aethylthryth.

"Perfect," he stated simply at the sight of her. "Ivar will not be able to argue with this."

"Why are you reading these?"

Thorvid blinked out of his train of thought. "What?"

"Are you trying to learn Latin?"

He glanced down at the table where the papers were scattered. "Can you?"

"... a little."

He walked towards her, sliding his fingers over the parchment. "I would like to understand this practice. The words, writing things down, what it says. Everything."

Aethylthryth folded her hands in front of her and peered up at him in direct fashion. "Why do you want that?"

"If we are to remain in this country, I would like to understand it and the people a little better."

"The Saxons, you mean."

"Yes... your people."

"Of course," she clipped. "Do you want to settle here? Have a kingdom of your own?"

This was drawing into uncomfortable territory. It was true that he longed for his own Jarldom. But if anyone told Ivar of his ambitions, he might lose his brother's trust. Halfdan was already jealous of how Ivar trusted his judgement more than any of their other brothers. His position had become too shaky to discuss his own thoughts openly.

"Why would you want to know that?"

A true smile broke across her face, even reaching her eyes. He hadn't seen her smile before and it caught him off guard, like when he had found her crying by the river. She became human to him, not just a pawn.

"Why are you smiling?" He shifted uncomfortably, looking past her shoulder towards the open window and sunset sky beyond.

"Because I can't mean so little in the scheme of things if you are hesitant to tell me your plots. Whatever those are." 

She moved past him towards the door and Thorvid found himself watching her intently. Not like in the beginning when he was concerned whether she would run away, but because Hilde was right. Something was odd about the princess, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.       

Turning in the door frame, Aethylthryth arched a dark eyebrow. "Shall we?"