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A Letter from Edward Teach to Bartholomew Roberts.
Suddenly, the atmosphere grew somber.
“Regardless,” Amber added. “May their souls rest in peace.”
Perhaps it was rural naivety, but Francis always assumed that most believed in the orthodox faith. And so, seeing Amber supporting the pagan church felt… strange.
Come to think of it. Most avoid discussing religion.
Then again, who could blame them? The apocalypse left little to the imagination, making the topic less of an abstract and more of a reality the poor souls that survived lived through.
During every waking moment.
“Not fond of old ways of thinking, I take it?” Francis said at last.
“Please,” Amber snorted. “Why should I be?”
Francis didn’t want to debate theology with her, and so he refrained from elaborating.
She didn’t, however. “Actually, it ties to why I wanted to apologize.”
“Do tell.”
“The monks I was referring to are a remnant of the orthodox faith,” Amber explained. “A remnant that wants me dead.”
The woman then appeared to focus, and her appearance suddenly shifted.
Blonde hair gave way to grey, while pale skin took on a light purple shade. Even her vibrant blue eyes turned red.
What on earth?
His heart might have skipped a beat, had he not faced much worse not too long ago.
“Is that a Shanty?” Francis asked, perplexed by the sudden shift.
“Shanty of Metamorphosis, to be precise,” Amber confirmed. “Though I’m a mere Supplicant, so I’m not much different from a human.”
“Is that why the monks are after you?” Francis asked as he sat next to her.
“Not just me,” Amber replied. “But every single Submerged.”
Oh.
“They think it a heresy?”
“More or less,” Amber said. “Though I suspect it’s a reaction more than anything.”
Francis was evidently far from the most learned regarding church history. But he figured that a pagan sect annexing someone’s institution wouldn’t sit well with many. Especially if said pagans had sorcery that backed their claim.
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“But why tell me this?” Francis wondered.
Amber turned to him, appearance still otherworldly. “You’re just like me, are you not?”
“A Submerged?”
“A fugitive,” she corrected. “Come on, Edmond. Havana is the perfect place to hide, isn’t it?”
Francis lamented not seeing the woman’s sharpness sooner. But to his credit, his first impression of her was far from the best.
Still, the fact that she disclosed so much only meant one thing.
She wanted something.
Issue is, what can I get from her?
“You have no idea,” Francis replied, eyes locked with hers. And in that moment, he couldn’t deny that the transformation was… ethereal.
“Try me,” Amber replied, eyes not moving from his.
What came next was probably moronic, but he had to test her limits.
Havana was never meant to be a fresh start. It was but a prison. A prison he had to crawl out of at all costs.
Considering the urgency, keeping anonymity around everyone was but a juvenile fantasy. A fantasy that only brought him more harm than good.
Worst-case scenario, I find a new room.
“My name is not Edmond.”
“Figured as much,” Amber replied, face now inches from his. “So who are you, really?”
Francis braced for impact. “Yves Saint Agnes.”
Amber chuckled at that. “What’s next? You killed Warlord Read?”
“I did,” Francis replied, face humorless.
“You’re going to need a lot more than a poker face to convince me, Edmond,” Amber replied, still amused.
“It matters not,” Francis said. “I just wanted to open up.”
His firmness changed something in the woman, as she recoiled slightly.
“Sacred Abyss. You’re him.”
That’s what I’ve been trying to say.
“Indeed,” Francis simply replied.
Amber’s daze appeared to only grow. “How? Why? What would even bring you here?”
Truth be told, her shock was amusing, but that wasn’t a detail worth sharing. “Long story.”
“Whatever that story of yours is,” Amber said, regaining some of her composure, “it better explain why your face looks different, Yves.”
Francis, in turn, smirked. “I’m afraid you can’t afford to hear the explanation for that one.”
“What do I have to give to hear it?”
“Your life.”
Seeing Amber’s face darken made Francis elaborate. “Not by my hands.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if it were,” Amber replied, closing in once more. “Not with that bounty of yours.”
Strange woman.
The fact that his bounty suddenly elevated him in appeal was rather uncomfortable. But such was their world.
Besides, I’m sure many are obsessed with Valeria simply because she’s a successful pirate.
“Someone is looking to make a fortune,” Francis tested.
Amber, in turn, snorted. “Please. You really think I can take you down?”
Perhaps it was the unique appearance, but in that moment, Francis was enamored by the woman.
No, moron. Focus. She’s onto something.
“I’d appreciate keeping it between us regardless,” Francis replied.
Amber smiled at that. “You’ll have to earn my silence, I’m afraid.”
Good grief. Could she not flirt for five minutes?
“So, what’s your job here?” Francis asked, desperate to change the topic.
“A dancer of sorts.”
“Of sorts,” Francis repeated flatly.
“Mhm,” Amber replied, smiling mischievously. “Want a demonstration?”
A part of him wanted to object. But it ultimately remained quiet.
“I was under the impression that you guys mostly provided… you know.”
His awkwardness must have amused Amber, as an annoying smile painted her face. “Most of us don’t, actually.”
The answer genuinely shocked Francis. “How come?”
“Well,” Amber began explaining, “Miss Stacey is different from most. That’s why we get away with it.”
Huh. Perhaps I didn’t give the woman enough credit.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Amber pressed. “Do you want a demonstration?”
As much as he detested fleeting pleasure, he couldn’t deny that he desperately needed something that would remove the edge.
And although Amber was suspicious, her enthusiasm seemed authentic enough.
Seeing no objections, Amber got close.
Too close.
And a dance of sorts, it was.
“I’m assuming your patrons don’t get the purple skin version?” Francis asked.
Amber merely smirked before moving too close for comfort once more.