Chapter Three: A Captain's Reward
453 Words
The docks of La Rochelle buzzed with the news before Ermic Valois even set foot on land.
"The boy from the slums faced down Renard’s men!"
"They say he didn’t even flinch when the muskets fired!"
Whispers followed him like seagulls chasing a ship’s wake. By the time he reached the offices of Montclair & Fils, the rumors had grown teeth—Ermic had single-handedly disarmed a garrison, outwitted a traitor, and saved the Hirondelle from certain doom.
Henri de Montclair, seated behind his mahogany desk, studied Ermic with an unreadable expression. "You kept my son alive," he said at last.
Ermic straightened. "He’s my friend."
A pause. Then Henri slid a heavy iron key across the desk. "The Hirondelle is yours. You’ll captain her on the next run to Martinique."
For the first time in his life, Ermic Valois was speechless.
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A Proposal at Dusk
Sophie was waiting where she always did—by the old oak at the end of the pier, her auburn hair loose in the salt breeze. When she saw Ermic’s face, she knew.
"You’re leaving again,"she said, but her voice lacked its usual bite.
Ermic took her hands. Calloused fingers met soft ones. "Not as a deckhand. As captain." He swallowed. "I can provide now. Marry me."
Sophie’s breath caught. Then she laughed—bright, surprised, joyous—and kissed him with the desperation of a woman who’d waited too long.
Neither noticed Lucien watching from the shadows of a fishmonger’s stall.
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The Toast That Choked
The Trois Chats tavern erupted in cheers when Ermic and Sophie entered arm-in-arm. Sailors pounded the tables; barmaids brought extra wine.
Lucien, seated in the corner, forced a smile as Ermic clapped him on the shoulder. "We owe you the celebration," Ermic said, grinning. "If you hadn’t convinced your father to let us take the Hirondelle—"
"To the happy couple!" Lucien interrupted, raising his glass too high. The wine sloshed, red as blood.
As the night wore on, Lucien watched Sophie’s fingers lace with Ermic’s. Watched how she leaned into him, how his thumb brushed her wrist. Each touch was a knife.
When the lanterns burned low and the crowd dispersed, Lucien made his move.
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The Poisoned Gift
In the predawn gloom of the Hirondelle’s cabin, Lucien hesitated only a moment before slipping the treasonous letter into Ermic’s sea chest.
"Forgive me," he whispered—not to Ermic, but to Sophie’s ghostly image in his mind.
The phoenix seal glinted in the candlelight as he buried it beneath stockings and charts. By the time it was found, he’d be ashore. Safe.
And Ermic?
Ermic would learn what it meant to have everything—and lose it.
- Writer
