I Love You

“Almost there, Captain Ephraim,” Thess called down from the crow's nest.

She could see land approaching through the spyglass: green, verdant land settled with whitewashed buildings and thatch-roofed houses. She didn't call very loudly, because she knew he was right beneath her. He was always beneath the crow's nest at midday. It wasn't an odd observation. In fact, any of the crew could probably tell you that, if they'd thought about it, which they didn't. That was the difference with Thess. She thought about things. Thinking about things had kept her alive thus far, so she'd decided to make a habit of thinking.

“Alright, Thess,” the Captain said, just loud enough for her to hear.

She smiled at the praise in his tone and slid down from the crow's nest, almost giving herself rope burn.

“Everything in the hold is catalogued and ready for sale, sir,” Thess said, saluting the Captain crisply where he stood in the shade, his broad brimmed hat ready to cast a shadow in case the light shifted.

“As always,” he said simply, and retreated belowdecks.

Thess walked over to the railing and put the spyglass away in its leather bag tied to the wall. She then put her hands on the rail and leaned out over the aquamarine surf, looking down for fathoms before the bottom was lost in darkness. She loved the crystal blue waters of the southeastern sea, though they rarely traveled there, for the Ellespethians and their neighbors had so much trouble keeping their own citizens in line that they'd taken to confiscating ships and rooting out pirates. The Captain thought it best to not take chances. However, on their last raid, they'd taken something that he knew to be valued highly in Vell, so they'd risked the Ellespethian patrols and were about to land in the main port of Vell – Tyran.

Thess could remember when she first joined the ship, four years ago. It had been thinking alone that had saved her the same grisly death that her captors – slave traders – had faced.

“Why should I spare you, girl?” the tall man asked, mouth dripping with blood as he nudged her leg with the worn toe of his leather boot.

“I – I can help you,” she stuttered, not looking at him. “I can help you communicate with others in the port cities. I know what you are. You can't suffer the daylight. I can run the errands for you. My hair is already cut short. I'll—keep it short, and pass for a boy.”

“No begging for your life?”

“No, sir,” she said, eyes downcast. “I don't take you as the sort of man that would spare me for that.”

She had been right. The Captain was not compassionate. He was a businessman, and what she'd said made sense. On some nights, while she tossed and turned, alone in the locked room next to the Captain's, she imagined that it might have been something more – some deeper reason that caused him to accept her as a companion. She knew that was stupid, though, and tried to dismiss the thought.

That thought might be banished, but others often came up to replace it. Why did he stand under the mast at midday, the same time she always came above the decks from feeding the Givers? He always lingered long enough for a conversation before he drifted away. And often, at night, when she couldn't sleep, he would unlock her door and stand by the porthole to frighten all her bad thoughts away.

She didn't want to admit to him that she slept better knowing he was there.

Other nights, he would stand by the porthole and she would join him, standing closer than she ever dared to in the daylight, and they would have longer conversations. They would speak of life, of magic, of other creatures like him, of anything dark and beautiful, anything deep and mystical. Never did they speak of those conversations above decks, where he was silent and removed. He was cruel and cold, and she knew that every time she saw his face. In the dark, with just the silver light of the moon, his face was less sharp, less brutal.

Thess could count every time he'd made physical contact with her on one hand. He was always careful, more careful than the others, who often slid a hand down her arm to feel the lively pulse beneath their fingers, though they knew they would get a tongue lashing from the Captain for it.

The first time he touched her, she'd been knocked off the boat when a cannonball hit it, making her lose her balance. She saw the blue sky, the green water, and the brown boat as she flipped over, and instantly wondered if she would break her neck when she hit the water. Then, he had her arm in his cold, hard grip, and before she could register that she was no longer falling, he yanked her onto the deck and let go, rubbing his hand on his cloak and drawing his sword to fight the enemies, not giving her a backward glance.

The second time, the First Mate had tried to bite her. He'd gotten as far as pulling down her shirt collar to expose the hyperactive artery on her neck, and she'd all but given up hope on living much longer, unless he got full before he finished and she continued life as a vampire too. She thought that that might not be so bad, and was just reconciling herself to that possibility when the Captain barreled into the room and pulled the First Mate back so hard that he almost went through the wall. He put two fingers on her neck, and she wondered why, until he pulled them back and she saw them dripping with blood. Immediately, her hands flew to her neck to find the wound, but it was gone.

The third time, she actually touched him. He'd been wounded badly on a raid, and the other vampires' magic wouldn't heal him. She felt for a pulse, fumblingly, on his neck, and his eyes snapped open, dark and wicked.

“Don't touch me,” he snapped, knocking her hand away with his swathed arm. “I need blood, that's all. Young blood.”

“She'll do,” a vampire grunted, nudging Thess. “She's the youngest and freshest.”

Ephraim leveled his gaze at her disconcertingly and she swallowed.

“If those are your orders, Captain,” she said.

He stared into her eyes, and she almost felt like she was falling into the black depths before he spoke again.

“No, that will not be necessary. Take from the youngest, strongest Giver.”

The fourth time he had been wildly, madly excited. They'd captured three strong Givers and escaped the Ellespethian patrols, which were carrying four sorcerers and two fairies – someone had warned the patrol of their arrival – and were setting sail for Berensia. Thess had thought that they were done for several times, and so, it seemed, had Ephraim, who was beaming so widely that his frightening, cruel face was all but eradicated, replaced with a buoyant spirit. He grabbed her for a reel and swung her around the deck crazily, though she knew he could dance properly – she'd seen him dance with some of the other female vampires before. He didn't even seem to notice her flailing pulse racing under his fingertips.

Four times. Thess knew she was crazy for thinking like this. She felt it was a betrayal of her survival skills to use her most important tool in such a useless way. Thinking about Ephraim was one of the least productive things she could do.

But everything she did was for Ephraim. Everything. Truthfully, she knew she could have sneaked away at any port they'd landed at. He knew it too. She could see it in his eyes. But, neither of them mentioned anything. She stayed because she wanted to: because she hoped Ephraim wanted her to. Thinking that in such plain terms pulled her up short. Was she really only staying for Ephraim? She thought about it, carefully, as she always did.

Yes. Yes, she was.

Well, if she were staying only for Ephraim, she was going to make sure that he wanted her. If he didn't care about her one way or the other, she would leave next time they made port, and she could do more productive things. Maybe she could even become a sorceress. She knew she had the brain for it, and she knew a lot about magic. Watching the vampires and hearing things from Ephraim had built a picture in her head of the limits and capabilities, and she found it most intriguing.

Now that she had a back up plan, she was less worried about talking to Ephraim. She just had a very simple question to ask him. If yes, she would stay. If no, she would leave. If he lied, either way, she would leave. She would be able to tell if he was lying. She had a knack for doing that, like she had a knack for thinking of clever plans just when she needed them.

“Captain?” she asked, resting a finger on the port hole glass and observing the moonlight on the brass.

“Yes?” the Captain asked, and she could feel his eyes on her.

She couldn't bring herself to ask the question straight out. She wanted him to say it. So, she moseyed around the topic.

“I was thinking of leaving the ship in Tyran,” she said. “I think I'd like to be a sorceress.”

“And have you spreading our tale, spreading our weaknesses abroad, so we would be so easily caught?” the Captain said, his voice a menacing growl. “I would chain you up with the Givers myself before I let you free.”

“No, you wouldn't,” Thess said confidently. And, he wouldn't. She knew that. She didn't know why, but she knew he wouldn't do it. “We both know that.”

“Why do you want to leave?” he asked abruptly, and she could feel his eyes moving to gaze out the porthole.

“There are so many opportunities out there for someone like me – someone with a head on her shoulders and a shield over her soft spot.”

“Has our treatment been not to your liking?”

“You know I've always appreciated your hospitality.”

“Are you bored with your tasks?”

“They are a bit monotonous.”

“Such is life at sea,” he sighed. “You're either knee deep in adventure or bored stiff.”

“You'd have to have a good reason to stay,” she said.

“And I have.”

“But, have I?” she asked, looking up at him.

He didn't look at her.

“I suppose not,” he said, “as you seem so eager to leave.”

She wanted to scream that she was not eager; that, in fact, leaving this boat would be the hardest, most painful thing she had ever done, besides watching her family burn with the house. She wanted to shriek that she wanted to stay forever, if he wanted her to. Her brow furrowed in anger and her next words were clipped.

“Four years of service to you, when we both know I could have slipped away at any time. Four years of devotion to you, of fighting beside you in battle, of keeping everything in order, of dealing with the Givers when the time was hard for you and your crew, of making deals that only a human could make, of warning you of lies, of always executing your plans without the slightest deviation – four years, Ephraim. Have I earned nothing from you?”

“Thessalee,” he said roughly, but somehow the name still sounded beautiful on his lips. “You know I hold you in the highest respect. You've done more than I thought a human capable of. I thought you were happy here.”

He pressed his palm flat against the glass.

“I was happy,” she whispered.

“What happened?” Ephraim's tone changed in a heartbeat. “Is someone bothering you?”

“No,” she said. “I just realized that I – I can't think of a valid reason to stay.”

The anger on his brow lessened until it left his usual frown.

“Then, leave.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, saluting. “I'll leave in the morning.”

She should have known. Should have known. But still, she had to get it out, or it would always occupy her mind and distract her from more important things.

“Captain?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

She turned around and slipped back into her bed, the rough covers cool against her fevered skin.

“Is that not reason enough to stay?” Ephraim asked.

“No,” she said to the wall.

There was such a long pause that she began to drift off to sleep with the peaceful image of Ephraim at the porthole blazed into her brain.

“I love you, Thess.”

She rolled over and examined his face. It was pained and angry, practically smoldering, but it was truthful. She nodded once and rolled back over. She fell asleep with Ephraim at her porthole, scaring the bad thoughts away.

Inspiration: All kudos to Mazzie for this one. She implanted vampirates in my head, and I haven't been able to get them out!