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pärlē, noun; A discussion, especially between enemies, under a truce to decide terms of surrender.
Isla de Blanc.
Named aptly for its white sand and not known for much else, it only has a tiny village, the main source of income being fishing. It wasn't in any strategic positions, no mineral resources, had no caves or lakes or any other landmark to make it special.
Which was why Lesley was so confused when she woke up, sheets tangled around her, as she looked out the thatched window and saw the pale sand, and beyond that, the turquoise waters.
Why was she here again? Was she on a mission? Why did her head hurt so much? And her back? And her—
Oh.
That's right.
She fell back onto the bed, determined to make the moment stretch. To turn the seconds into frozen hours she can replay again and again in the recesses of her mind. Where she was the only one allowed.
She didn't want to leave.
She shouldn't have to leave.
The red jacket that hung by the door mocked her, so she turned around to face the person sleeping beside her instead.Stray strands of silver fell onto Claude's face as he slept, making it look like moonlight was strewn on his face. His one arm was stretched towards her, almost grazing her skin. Almost together. Never really getting there.
Story of their lives.
Lesley allowed herself a few more minutes to stare at the pirate's face before slipping out of bed, getting the chronometer from the pocket of her jacket. Almost noon. Time to go.
"Are you leaving?"
The musketeer turned to see Claude sitting up on the bed, eyes heavy with sleep but struggling to see her clearly. She could almost laugh. He was never a morning person, so getting up even at this time must be torture for him. Oftentimes he was still asleep when she left.
"You know I have to." She will leave on a small boat, and he only has to wait for sundown, when his ship will pick him up. A pirate captain cannot leave his crew alone for too long, after all.
"I don't care."
"You never do." Lesley rolled her eyes, as she slowly got dressed again. Once her breeches and shirt were on, she sat down on the bed and started untangling her blond hair. Another pair of hands gently pried the locks out of her fingers and started braiding them gently.
"Your hair is like spun gold," Claude murmurs against her scalp.
"And yours is like molten steel," she replied amiably.
A comfortable silence fell. Lesley allowed herself to bask in it, the methodical movements of Claude’s hands soothed her.
"Lesley... If I... If I asked you to run away with me... Would you?"
The blond was stunned. She turned to look at Claude, mindless of the unfinished braid in his hands. She expected to see his impish expression, the one that told her that he was merely joking, but his face was completely serious. She could see the anxiety in his eyes.
"We know that I can step back from my job whenever I want, and that my little brother is old enough that I don't have to watch over him anymore...
But you know I can't ever join a pirate crew. " And that was true. She might have fallen for him, whatever his faults were, but she could never place herself in his shoes.
"Yes, but..." The pirate's eyes dropped, and he worked on Lesley's braid again. "What if I wasn't a pirate anymore? What if I gave the title of captain to someone else?"
Not a pirate. Lesley found it hard to imagine. Claude was the ideal image of one—dashing, daring, swashbuckling. Why would he give up his position so easily? Why would he step back for a lowly musketeer like her?
Her face must've asked as much. The pirate finished braiding her hair and cupped Lesley's cheek gently.
"I don't want to be in a world where we can't be together anymore," he confessed. "I want to be with you Lesley. Day and night. I don't care where we end up. I don't care how we survive. As long as I do it with you."
"Claude, I—“
"Lesley, I love you."
The words made Lesley's breath catch. Claude has always said them, in the small hours of the night, when their bodies were less than a breath apart, mist and sweat shrouding their limbs. It was one thing to say it in the cover of darkness when no one else could hear. It was another to admit it in broad daylight, where it added to the pile of truths that kept them both connected and apart.
"I love you, and if this is the price I have to pay, then consider it done." She had never seen him so resolute. So sure of himself. Not even when he was playing the role of a captain. "Tonight, I am relinquishing my title and giving it to Karina. She's smart enough to handle it, I am sure."
"... Alright." She smiled softly at him, leaning against his palm. All this seemed too good to be true, but she allowed herself to hope anyway. Hope for a world that Claude wanted for them, one where they could live in peace.
"The Vometis Lighthouse. You know that place, right? Meet me there, the same time always do." Claude smoothed a stray strand away from her face. He leaned in closer and kissed her hairline, the touch softer than silk. "We'll be together soon, I promise."
"We both know what a pirate's promise is worth," Lesley laughed lightly despite of herself.
"Don't ruin the moment," Claude snarled lightly against her. "Besides, we do have a Code, you know."
"Aren't they more like guidelines than rules?"
"Fine. You win." Another kiss. Then a couple more, his lips tracing a path down the side of Lesley's face, resting just on the corner of her mouth. "You always do, my sweet musketeer."
"Only because you let me, my conniving pirate," Lesley smirked, and their lips came together again, like the reunion of the waters of river and sea.
Essentially different, but fate will always find a way for them to meet.
Vometis Lighthouse.
Unlike Isla de Blanc, Vometis Islands were strategically positioned in the straits between Nost Gal and Moniyan, making it a center for trade and a resting stop for merchant and royal ships alike. That alone made it a prime spot for pirates and pillagers.
And that alone made it a prime spot for pirate hangings, guillotines, and other unspeakable punishments.
Lesley reached the tower's top floor. She pulled out her chronometer. Midnight on the dot, like Claude told her.
But she was too late.
Two days too late.
Beside the mud bricks of the lighthouse, a gruesome set of posts have been erected. Between the posts hung thick twines of jute, sturdy enough to hang barrels from.
But barrels did not hang from these ropes.
“That plunderous pirate has finally been apprehended.”
“W...what?”
“Don't play dumb with me, Vance. Claude! That dastardly pillager and his stupid ship. They were caught by the royal navy en route to Vometis from Blanc. Bloody fight, it was. Their ship sank into the deep. But we managed to keep some of the crew... And we plan to give the rest of those sea slugs out there a warning they won't ever forget. Now isn't that riveting?”
“Yes...” The hope that Lesley allowed herself to feel drowned along with Claude's ship. “Yes, I suppose it is.”
Limp headless bodies were strung between the posts, the heads themselves stuck on the posts like stakes. On the middle post, a sign had been erected instead, proclaiming PIRATES BEWARE. It looked disturbingly painted with blood.
Lesley hates that she can recognize him, but she does. The white shirt, the red vest. Never mind the ugly sword slashes that gut his torso. His head, his face, his beautiful face, stuck on a post like some voodoo trinket. Others would find it disturbing, but she hates this feeling, oh how she hates it, how her heart can stab itself again and again in pain and still think of how dashing he looked.
His silver hair still gleamed in the moonlight.
She can't even touch him. She can't even pretend to mourn for him.
Lesley dropped her rifle to the ground. Instead she drew a pistol from her coat. It was old and barely usable, the wood of the handle was splintery and the steel half-covered with rust.
Claude had given it to him after the third night they slept together.
She reloaded the pistol with unbelievable calm, the packet of gunpowder fitting into the gun with ease despite the rustiness. It was enough for only one shot. She’d have to make it count.
"Isn't that your catchphrase, Royal Musketeer? One shot, one kill?" Claude had joked once. Why did you fail to kill me?"
Stop. Stop. Stop hurting, please, I beg you.
She stepped to the edge of the lighthouse. Beneath her, the turbulent waves were inky, tipped with froth reminiscent of poisonous foam. Claude would tease her even more about that, about being afraid of the water, the element she grew up next to all these years.
No. Stop. Please. If you love me—stop reminding me, stop reminding me that you’re gone and I’ll never see you again—
The muzzle of the pistol was cold against the beating temple of her forehead.
We'll be together soon, I promise.
A solitary tear fell from Lesley's eye.
We both know what a pirate's promise is worth.
"If you can't fulfill your end of the bargain, then I have to make the ends meet myself." Lesley screamed into the black void.
I love you, Claude. I'm coming.
One shot. One kill.