Edited by the awesome NaokoSmith, to whom I am massively grateful.
Chapter 2 – An exchange [of power]
"I can't believe you took on a Templar with that toothpick of a fucking sword and then got your other toothpick sucked. The gods smile on you, you lucky bastard." Beren was laughing, although he disagreed with almost everything his Captain had done since boarding the Imperial vessel.
They had fought a tough battle, surprised that the ship had a handful of the Empire's Templars on board, they had lost some good, and bad, men. Thanks to the sailors' Goddess, Nehalennia - the Templars had been few in number.
Francis smiled and shook his head, while keeping a sharp eye on the activity on deck. There were some walking wounded receiving treatment from the apothecary and the rest of the crew busy carrying anything they could find from the captured vessel along with food, barrels of water and materials to repair their own ship, little of any true worth – except for the elf woman they had rescued.
"If I'd known those steel-clad monsters would be on board I'd have had the men break out the culverins before we boarded," he said. They were ungainly things and the men had distrusted the hand-held cannons ever since one exploded, killing the man holding it and injuring two more.
His first officer shrugged. "Nobody expects to find those bastards at sea, or this far from the border with the wild east. Which brings us back to our guest," he said, lowering his voice as he continued. "You know the lads won't be happy she's on board. They definitely won't be happy with rescuing her and taking her home. Shit boss, I'm not happy about it," he admitted.
"She's valuable and she's not a danger to us," replied the privateer captain. "Trust me. Before we do anything we need to put into a friendly port. We can decide what to do then."
Francis spoke as if the elf's capture was a minor detail, but all he could think about was going back to his cabin to check on her. Even though the crew glared as he brought her on board, even though all the tales that came out of the Empire said that they were abominations, his thoughts kept drifting back to her. Those eyes: beautiful, golden and unlike any human eyes he had ever seen. He felt he could lose himself in them. Not just her eyes. Her skin, hair, even her scent when she stood close... Beren gave him a sceptical look but didn't argue. Francis was certain he could handle her. And she was the key to a fortune – one way or another.
...
Melisan of House Dorieth sat on the cot-bed in the cramped cabin and adjusted the meagre cotton tunic her former captors had forced her to wear. Her situation was much improved but still precarious. The oath she had sworn to secure the trust of the human called 'Francis' was real. She would not harm him, she would not use her magic on him and should they make it to a stronghold of her kin, she would use her influence as one of the Queen's inner circle to try to keep him safe. Her beloved Queen Lathiende, to whom she owed her unquestioning fealty, might not agree, though Melisan wasn't going to mention that risk to the human.
She had never interacted peacefully with humans before. She knew that her kin had a curious effect on them, even those without the gift of magic could sometimes cause humans to become confused, to lose control, which was why the Empire used their soulless Templars to fight elves. Still, she hadn't expected to wield such influence on her rescuer. She couldn't rely on it, her life was still in his hands, but she reveled in the effect she had: the way his pupils dilated when she was close, the way he had to stop himself from touching her when she brushed against him, how his breath quickened, how his eyes lingered on her bare skin...
She was used to others obeying her because, to her kin, her orders were an extension of the Queen's will. Here, she was alone, cut off from the influence of Lathiende. This power was all hers and it was exhilarating!
Melisan started as the lock turned and the door opened. She didn't stand, merely looked up to watch the Captain enter. She raised a delicate eyebrow as he closed the door behind him and pulled a wooden stool over so that he could sit down beside her. He looked serious.
"The crew don't like you," he shook his head and let out a frustrated sigh. "You're probably a witch and you'll lead us all to our deaths. Your people have a fabulous reputation don't they?" he said. There was a note of challenge in his voice that made Melisan feel less comfortable.
"I swore an oath," she protested, eyes wide. She moved down the cot towards the stool he was sitting on. "I have the gift, but I cannot use it on you, I swore an oath. You should tell your crew."
He raised a hand.
"I've told them. I've also told them that you are a valuable hostage. Telling them I've agreed to help you would get us both lynched. We need to be careful. You will have to stay in here for now. For your own safety," he said, eyes straying to her long, smooth legs. They were athletic, flawless from her firm thighs right down to her pretty dainty feet. How could she be so perfect? It wasn't possible.
Melisan nodded her agreement, while noticing his distraction. His speech slowed as his eyes wandered. She turned towards him, feeling the rough cotton material of her tunic ride up, exposing yet more of her thigh. She fixed him with her big golden eyes.
