Uhm. I haven't updated this in almost a year... Oops?

Chapter Eighteen: Sabina Blair

7, June, 1789

The Pirate Ship, Fylgja: The Prison Quarters

Though I've only been away from England for a little over a month, my memories of my manor home are fading rapidly. Each day I spend on this ship is one more day the stone walls of my childhood home crumble and blur. I am even beginning to forget what solid land feels like. All the spare time I spend in my cell is used to try and prevent the images from disappearing completely. It seems like a cruel punishment that the only thing I want to forget is also the only thing that stays firmly inside my mind.

His name was Thomas Edwards and my mother thought he was a leech. He came from a nice enough family: his father was a wealthy merchant and his mother came from a long line of loggers, but mother never thought he was good enough for me. Even so, I found myself attracted to him almost instantly. He was handsome and good natured, with classic features and a constant smile. He was the type of person who was able to see the bright side of every situation. He began courting me fall of my sixteenth year and by winter of my sixteenth year, I had convinced myself I was in love with him. We spent countless days running around my estate and laying underneath the shade of the apple tree that sat atop a hill overlooking my house. We shared our first kiss under that tree. His mouth was sticky with apple juice. The relationship was kept secret for as long as we were able, but my servants began to gossip as servants do and my mother soon found out.

She told me I was wasting my time, that Thomas' affection came from my money and innocence. She forced me to break off connection with him, and I felt I had no other choice but to comply. Thomas became angry when I explained my mother's thoughts to him. He said that I needed to find a way around my mother's influence and start doing what I wanted with my life. He promised to write, but he never did. It was a few weeks after I last saw Thomas when I noticed one of my servants had come down with the sweating sickness, and I decided to start taking matters into my own hands.

I wake slowly with the images of a summer breeze. My arm burns something fierce, and when I am awake enough to sit up, I am overcome by a bout of dizziness and am forced to lie back down.

"Be careful not to make any sudden movements," says a voice from the depths of the prison hold.

I turn my head to see Harry come into focus. His presence used to be frightening, but now I look on him as a comfort. "What happened?" I ask.

He frowns, his white eyebrows crinkling in confusion. "I suppose it makes sense that you don't remember."

"Remember what?"

"Last night. During the attack, you were taken captive by one of the other ship's crew members," he says.

I sit up and rub a sore spot on the back of my head. "That seems to happen to me a lot."

Harry flashes a small smile. "Your arm was cut and you received a nasty blow to your head before Zander rescued you."

"Zander? Why would he…" I trail off. In my mind, I can see a man stinking of rotten fish trapping me with his arm. He is cutting off my breath when I catch Zander's eye from across the ship. I yell to him, and he breaks off from his battle to run to me, but I black out before he can reach me. "He saved me," I murmur.

Harry nods. "He carried you back to this ship and wouldn't let anyone touch you. He also stole a bed from the captain's quarters and put it in your cell," he says, then noticing my confusion, he adds, "Zander has a good soul, he just needs some time to get over his insane notion that revenge will make his grief go away."

My head begins to throb; this is too much information to take in at one time. Zander isn't compassionate. He doesn't care about my safety. He impulsively kills men! If anything, he only saved me so that my father would keep following him.

"Where is Zander?" I ask.

Harry's eyes travel to the floor. "He is busy. He made it clear that he didn't want to see you for some time."

I immediately feel relief. Rude and offensive Zander, I can handle. Kind and caring Zander is another issue entirely.

"But there is someone else who has been dying to talk to you," Harry says.

"Bring him in," I say, needing no clarification as to who has wanted to see me.

Harry nods and leaves the room. After a short moment, my door reopens and I can see the moonlight reflecting off Tristan's blond hair. When Tristan meets me eyes, he runs to me with a smile on his face. The sudden movement makes my head swim. "No running please. I'm dizzy."

"Sorry." Tristan's face falls. "I'm just so happy you're okay."

"Why wouldn't I be?" I ask.

Tristan narrows his eyes. "Well, the last time I saw you, you were unconscious and in Zander's arms. He isn't exactly the most trustworthy person." He creates a tight ball with his fist, the force great enough to make the skin around his knuckles white.

"Why do you hate him so much?" I ask, taking his fist in my hand and lowering it to his side. "He saved me back on that ship. If he hadn't done anything, I don't know what would have happened to me."

"I would have saved you. I wouldn't have let anything happen to you in the first place," he spat.

"I know. If you had been there, I'm sure you could have helped greatly," I lie, trying to make Tristan feel more secure. Nothing is worse than a man with wounded pride.

"I was there." His blue eyes turn to ice.

"What?" I sputter. "But you…I didn't see you."

"You wouldn't have with Zander standing next to me." He takes his fist and slams it into the wall next to my cell, making me jump. "God! I'm so sick of this! My whole life I have had to deal with being overshadowed by Zander. I almost wish the former Captain Alexander hadn't taken me under his care."

"You don't mean that," I say. "He saved you from a life of roaming the streets."

Tristan scoffs. "Yes he did, only to sentence me to a life of never thinking I'm good enough."

I attempt to lay a hand on Tristan's shoulder, but he turns away from me before I have the chance. "You wouldn't understand. I've grown up surrounded by sibling rivalry at its worst. Zander and I were raised as brothers, and as such, I began to think of Zander and his father as my own family. We were constantly compared to each other, and Zander always came out on top. As we grew older, Zander was always the one with hundreds of girls willing to do anything he said while I remained alone and bitter. Even now, after his face and spirit have been destroyed, he still wins."

"That's not true," I say.

Tristan lets out a malicious laugh. "Right. So tell me, what exactly was it about Zander that made you completely overlook the fact that I was standing right next to him?"

"We're going back to this again?" I frown. "Tristan, nothing made me call out to him. I was being held against my will with a sword to my throat, I didn't have time to think about what I was doing."

"Exactly my point! Zander took you away from your father and forced you to live in a damp cell, with barely enough food and water to survive. He is using you as bait! He thinks you're pathetic and weak and useful for nothing more than helping him get his revenge, yet you're starting to fall for him like every girl always does!"

I am so surprised by his words that I can't think straight for a few minutes. Once my thoughts are gathered, I sputter, "Oh, stop saying silly things like that. You're upset so you're blurting everything that comes to your mind, you don't mean any of it."

"But I do. I mean all of it. Zander has a habit of taking the things I love away from me, and he has succeeded again. With him around, I can be nothing more than a ghost."

"Tristan," I say quietly, but he walks out of the room without another word.

After Tristan leaves, I lie down on my new bed, close my eyes, and think about everything he said. Mother would be proud now, knowing there was an orphan boy fighting for my attention. She always said the only thing I was good at attracting was trash, and I guess she was right. It's almost laughable how my main concern is no longer how to get home, it's how to keep a lovesick boy from making any stupid decisions. All of the information thrown upon me has made me uncomfortable. I long for something familiar, like the boom of my father's laugh or the feel of his arm draped protectively over my shoulder. I'm tired of this nightmare. I wish more than anything to wake up in my bed in England to the sounds of the servants shuffling around the house. Yearning for a bit of solitude, I get up, ignoring the dizziness that washes over me, and go out on the deck.

The night the air is warm and inviting, and I find myself at peace watching the waves roll in the moonlight. There are a few crew members on the deck, laughing and playing cards, but they pay me no mind. I've been here long enough to start blending into the background.

I contemplate going to talk to Tristan, though at the last second I find myself walking to Zander's quarters instead. The society girl in me knows I must thank him, even if he instructed me not to be a bother.

I get no response when I knock on the door, so I walk in uninvited. Zander is sitting in a chair with his head in his hands, open journals and torn pieces of paper surrounding him. I can't help but thinking his room could use a good clean. When his eyes flash to mine, the pure fury behind the gold takes me by surprise.

"Get out," he says.

"Uh I know Harry told me not to disturb you, but I felt like I needed to say thank you," I say, trying to ignore Zander's hateful gaze.

"Did it ever occur to you that I wanted to be left alone for a reason?" he asks, then laughs. "Of course it didn't. You have neither the intelligence nor the sense to think about anyone but yourself."

I look around the room. I see no maps or anything resembling a plan. Nothing is visible except those journals and scraps of paper. "You were busy reading."

"Reading. Yes. You could say that."

I shrug. "Well it doesn't look too important to me."

"Not important? This reading has reminded me of what I need to do to set my life right. You see, I have been confused recently, but not anymore."

The manic excitement in Zander's eyes is beginning to scare me. "Well good. I came to say thank you, and now I did, so I'll be leaving."

I turn to leave, but before I can take a step, Zander takes a knife from his belt and flings it in my direction. It flips through the air before planting itself in the wood, centimeters from my face, with a sickening thud. I stand frozen, feeling the air escape from my lungs.

"Why did you think you had to give me your thanks?" His smile is sinister.

I glance over to the knife and swallow. "You saved my life on the other ship and-"

Zander stands and walks to me. His body is so close I can feel its heat. He smells like sunshine, earth, and something indefinably sweet. I am used to men smelling of liquor, expensive fabrics, or fine cologne. Zander is different. He smells like life; like energy. It catches me off guard.

"And what?" he says. "You think I saved you because I couldn't stand the thought of losing you? Because I value your life more than I value mine? Wake up, sweetheart. You're not in your father's perfect little world anymore."

"No. I don't know why you saved me," I say. I can feel my lips quivering. "You don't have to be so mean."

"If you must know, I saved you because it would be a big inconvenience for me if you were to die right now. I have to keep you alive until your dad finds my ship and demands I give you back. It would defeat the purpose if I had no way of making him feel the same pain I have felt every second since the admiral killed my family," Zander says. He yanks the knife out of the wood with a grunt and holds the cool metal to my throat. "Yes, there is nothing keeping me from killing you right now. Except of course, the admiral isn't here to witness it."

I can feel a bead of sweat sliding down the back of my neck. Zander has never been kind, but he has also never openly threatened my life like this before. I want to be surrounded by something familiar so much it hurts. "So that's your plan then. Kill me in front of my father so he can know what it feels like."

Zander laughs under his breath. "That's the first time you've shone any sign of intelligence." I am used to the unusual tone of his voice, but the poison lining the harsh whisper is new.

"You're wicked," I say.

"I wouldn't insult the guy with the knife if I were you," he responds. "Now leave before I do something you won't like."

He shoves me out of the room and slams the door in my face. Tristan doesn't know how wrong he is. There is nothing that could make me develop feelings for that monster.