Ivara smiled warmly again, her
earlier irritation seemingly forgotten. “Now, you will introduce yourselves to
me and to your other trainers. When we have finished, I will then tell you more
about what will be expected of you in New Norway.”
New Norway, Peggy thought as she nibbled on
her lower lip. So she had been right—this society was some offshoot of the
ancient Viking lineage. If she’d been studying this culture as an
anthropologist, she would have been fascinated. As a captive, however, all she
felt was unadulterated fear.
Peggy listened with half an ear as the
captives introduced themselves one by one. When it was her turn to speak, she
muttered out a half-hearted “my name is Peggy,” then spoke no more. Apparently
she’d said enough, for the whip-wielding giant didn’t make any moves to hit
her.
Before long Ivara was speaking again.
“Every female in this area has been claimed as a Valkraad bride.” Her smile was
proud. “Of this, you should feel fortunate—”
“Fortunate!” an English-speaking captive
spat out, interrupting the trainer. A beautiful caramel-colored woman of what
looked to be mixed Afro-European lineage, her light brown eyes were as frantic
as her speech. “Well, I don’t! And I want to go home!”
Ivara’s eyes narrowed at the recalcitrant
captive. The whip-wielding giant took a step forward, but Ivara held up a palm
and shook her head. She muttered something in her tongue to the giant, who
apparently grumbled his agreement. “Michelle, is it?”
But Michelle didn’t answer. She was too
busy crying. Peggy reached out and took the young woman’s hand, noting that she
couldn’t be more than nineteen. “It’ll be okay,” she whispered. “Just stand by
me and relax. We’ll figure something out.”
Ivara’s eyebrows rose. Peggy could tell the
trainer was wondering what she had said to Michelle to calm her. Michelle was
now standing close to Peggy, quiet and semi-collected, though still sniffling.
“Well,” Ivara said to Peggy, her gaze a bit
suspicious. “I see you are a quick study.” She shared a look Peggy didn’t know
the meaning of with the whip-wielder behind her, then turned back to the crying
captive. “Michelle,” she said softly, “I realize this is difficult for you. At
least right now. But things will look up.”
Michelle said nothing. She huddled her nude
body closer to Peggy’s and continued sniffling. Peggy put her arm around her,
offering silent comfort.
“It’s best,” Ivara continued, “for you to
accept your fate and adjust to the new life waiting here for you in New
Norway.” Her gaze remained fixed on Michelle, though Peggy realized the trainer
was speaking to all of the female captives.
Ivara was silent for a moment, but finally
smiled warmly to the captives and continued her speech. “I had thought to begin
by telling you of what your future mates will expect in their wives, yet I see
now that topic must wait.” She sighed, and oddly enough, Peggy was fairly
certain the action was genuine. Whatever it was Ivara was about to tell them,
it appeared that she held no desire to do so. Peggy gulped.
“A happy fate awaits every woman here in
the breeding stalls,” Ivara began. She stopped when the English-speaking
captives, Peggy included, gasped at her words.
“Breeding stalls?” Michelle murmured to
Peggy, her gaze unblinking. “Oh my god.”
Peggy swallowed against the lump in her
throat. Her thoughts exactly.
“Unless,” Ivara said firmly, “you refuse to
accept your fate.” She whispered something to the giant behind her, then turned
back to the captives. “I want everyone to form a single file line. We will
begin this morn’s instruction by visiting first the Commons and then the
Dungeon of Shame.” She turned around, then cocked her head to look at the
captives from over her shoulder. “I think it’s best,” she said softly, “if you
see what becomes of recalcitrant brides.”
Peggy and Michelle glanced at
earlier irritation seemingly forgotten. “Now, you will introduce yourselves to
me and to your other trainers. When we have finished, I will then tell you more
about what will be expected of you in New Norway.”
New Norway, Peggy thought as she nibbled on
her lower lip. So she had been right—this society was some offshoot of the
ancient Viking lineage. If she’d been studying this culture as an
anthropologist, she would have been fascinated. As a captive, however, all she
felt was unadulterated fear.
Peggy listened with half an ear as the
captives introduced themselves one by one. When it was her turn to speak, she
muttered out a half-hearted “my name is Peggy,” then spoke no more. Apparently
she’d said enough, for the whip-wielding giant didn’t make any moves to hit
her.
Before long Ivara was speaking again.
“Every female in this area has been claimed as a Valkraad bride.” Her smile was
proud. “Of this, you should feel fortunate—”
“Fortunate!” an English-speaking captive
spat out, interrupting the trainer. A beautiful caramel-colored woman of what
looked to be mixed Afro-European lineage, her light brown eyes were as frantic
as her speech. “Well, I don’t! And I want to go home!”
Ivara’s eyes narrowed at the recalcitrant
captive. The whip-wielding giant took a step forward, but Ivara held up a palm
and shook her head. She muttered something in her tongue to the giant, who
apparently grumbled his agreement. “Michelle, is it?”
But Michelle didn’t answer. She was too
busy crying. Peggy reached out and took the young woman’s hand, noting that she
couldn’t be more than nineteen. “It’ll be okay,” she whispered. “Just stand by
me and relax. We’ll figure something out.”
Ivara’s eyebrows rose. Peggy could tell the
trainer was wondering what she had said to Michelle to calm her. Michelle was
now standing close to Peggy, quiet and semi-collected, though still sniffling.
“Well,” Ivara said to Peggy, her gaze a bit
suspicious. “I see you are a quick study.” She shared a look Peggy didn’t know
the meaning of with the whip-wielder behind her, then turned back to the crying
captive. “Michelle,” she said softly, “I realize this is difficult for you. At
least right now. But things will look up.”
Michelle said nothing. She huddled her nude
body closer to Peggy’s and continued sniffling. Peggy put her arm around her,
offering silent comfort.
“It’s best,” Ivara continued, “for you to
accept your fate and adjust to the new life waiting here for you in New
Norway.” Her gaze remained fixed on Michelle, though Peggy realized the trainer
was speaking to all of the female captives.
Ivara was silent for a moment, but finally
smiled warmly to the captives and continued her speech. “I had thought to begin
by telling you of what your future mates will expect in their wives, yet I see
now that topic must wait.” She sighed, and oddly enough, Peggy was fairly
certain the action was genuine. Whatever it was Ivara was about to tell them,
it appeared that she held no desire to do so. Peggy gulped.
“A happy fate awaits every woman here in
the breeding stalls,” Ivara began. She stopped when the English-speaking
captives, Peggy included, gasped at her words.
“Breeding stalls?” Michelle murmured to
Peggy, her gaze unblinking. “Oh my god.”
Peggy swallowed against the lump in her
throat. Her thoughts exactly.
“Unless,” Ivara said firmly, “you refuse to
accept your fate.” She whispered something to the giant behind her, then turned
back to the captives. “I want everyone to form a single file line. We will
begin this morn’s instruction by visiting first the Commons and then the
Dungeon of Shame.” She turned around, then cocked her head to look at the
captives from over her shoulder. “I think it’s best,” she said softly, “if you
see what becomes of recalcitrant brides.”
Peggy and Michelle glanced at
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