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Fenrick approaches on one side, Ulof on the other.
“The woman smells strongly,” Fenrick says. “Is that normal?”
“I’ve only glimpsed the others from a distance, but I believe so. Perhaps it’s because they are more fertile than our own women and able to produce more female children.”
Fenrick nods, seemingly pleased with my answer.
“And their sex?” Ulof asks. “Is it the same?”
“Same, but different. It’s…pillowy, with a smaller nub that’s more sensitive than I’ve ever seen. Her flavor is addictive. I still think of it now.”
Behind his eyes is a storm of chaos. Desire met with conflict. I want to tell him I was much the same, but it’s best that he learns this himself.
When we get close to the shore, I call for Elena to be brought to the head and give her baskets full of food and a waterskin.
“We will wait at the tree line as you tell your people our arrangement.”
Her eyes tell me everything, that she’s afraid they will resist her leadership, but I have faith in her. Seeing her stand before my men as she had, fighting for her survival, showed me I’d misjudged her.
We walk out just beyond the trees, my men forming a line, Elena by my side.
One by one, the women’s heads turn in our direction, their faces pale and shocked. A few run back into the broken ship, while others faint. Some are too weak to be aware of our presence, which won’t bode well for them in the eyes of my people.
Elena walks forward, baskets in hand, going around to each of the women to give them fruit and water.
Ramsey chuckles. “You call these people strong.”
“In their own way.”
12
ELENA
The shore is a sea of startled faces, which I know I must rectify if we’re to stand a chance of survival. I look for Meg, Fiona, and Nori, as they’re key in making my plan work.
Luckily, I don’t have to search too hard. Meg finds me straightaway, her face a mask of pale horror.
“Tell me these men aren’t slavers!” she pleads, her eyes frantic with worry. “Tell me you didn’t just lead a bunch of brutal savages to the shore.”
“It’s going to be fine,” I say calmly. “I have food and water, and after we’ve talked, the men will release the shackles from your wrists and treat your wounds.”
Fiona jogs over, knife in hand.
“Gather the women,” I command. “We’ll meet in the broken hull to discuss what happens next.”
“The broken hull?” Fiona says. “It smells like death.”
“We need privacy,” I reply, not wanting to say that if the women freak out, the men will see them as weak and leave our asses behind.
I scan the shore. “Where’s Nori?”
“She’s inside the hull,” Meg says. “There’s a broken bracket that’s helped us peel fruit.”
“I’ll talk to her while you gather the other women.”
Meg nods.
The inside of the hull smells like filth and death. Worse than any privy, but thinking on it, I realize it’s the best place to meet because it will make the highborn women long for better. Which the men can provide.
