Page 96 of Voice of the Ocean

Celeste slowed to a stop. With a deep breath, she filled her burning lungs. The voice that came out of her was ethereal, haunting. She sang the Song the Chorus had taught her: the Song for controlling the mind.

From deep within the ocean, we sisters rise in song.

Her voice slid from note to note, circling her in a wave of sound. But there was something wrong in the noise. Like a hand that reached out for someone and found only air. Celeste sang louder, turning slowly in a circle and beckoning with her arms.

Come closer. Hear us calling. In our arms you belong.

The Song came out strained as her frustration grew.Perhaps singing underwater would help?She continued, diving beneath the waves.

Come rest your weary bones, love. Come join us in the sea.

Let the gentle waves consume you, for your heart belongs to me.

Singing underwater felt uncomfortable, unnatural, in a way it never had before. The vibrations did not move through the water, but instead felt as though it stopped short mere inches from her face. The realization stung—another part of herself she sacrificed to the Sea Witch. She continued in vain, the breath in her lungs diminishing quickly.

I’ll fulfill your every longing.

I am everything you crave.

And still, she saw nothing. No creatures came to her. And when the need for air became too great, she surfaced with a gasp.

Let me kiss away your sorrows as I lay you in your grave.

She blinked the water from her eyes. The ship was no longer in sight.

No...

Celeste let out a cry of anger.No... no... no... no...

She thought of her family in Staria. Of her promise to her mother. Of Maeve. Of her grandmother, slain by King Leonidas. Of Kiyami, who risked her family’s well-being to set Celeste free. Angry tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision. She slammed her fist into the water, sending up a splash.

This can’t be it. It can’t be over.

Tears fell in waves down her cheeks. She let them fall. She did not turn the anger on herself, molding it once more into a weapon meant to punish. No, instead Celeste allowed herself this moment. For once she let herself release the fury and sadness and frustration that she kept bottled up within her. She embraced the fear, the brokenheartedness, the disappointment. Everything she had pressed back for so long. Everything that, despite her best efforts, she’d never been able to control like others seemed to do. She let herself feel. Everything. And the emotions rolled through her like a storm, rumbling, clapping, shifting into shaking sobs.

I’m not strong enough alone... but I’ve come so far.

With every tear that rolled down her face, she let go a little more. She mourned for herself. The death of the siren she had wanted to be. The soldier. The princess. The daughter. The pirate. As much as she had wished she didn’t feel this way, that she did not feel overwhelmed and helpless and afraid, these feelings were a part of her. No matter how hard she tried to ignore them, they were still there, shouting to be heard.

So, for the first time, she listened.

Listened to the feelings as they passed through her one after another. Listened to the betrayal and the sorrow and the shame. Listened until only a few remained, like stones in her throat.

Her mother’s voice:I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.

Madam Auralia:You’re overreacting, girl! Get up and do the exercise.

She was thirteen again, tears filling her eyes as she began to hyperventilate. It was just another drill. It shouldn’t have been hard. But for some reason, her body felt weak, and she wanted a break. And initiates did not get breaks. Celeste hadn’t known how to form the words to ask for what she needed. She didn’t believe she would have received it if she had tried. And so instead... she’d cried.

Why don’t you calm down a bit, dear?

This last one was a surprise. A memory eroded with time, like a portrait beneath the sea. Celeste was six and had been singing at the top of her lungs at their dining table. Not magic, just a melody she’d heard from a storyteller. Until her father told her she was too loud. Her song stopped in her throat, shame heating the back of her neck.

Celeste saw herself, small and shushed, and her heart broke. She was often chided for being too loud. Even in joy, there were limits to how sirens were allowed to celebrate.

But the song. The song she’d been singing. She hadn’t heard it inso long. Another memory floated to her mind: Her grandmother Celeste singing to Sephone and her. A simple melody. A lullaby. Otherworldly, yet familiar as the moon.

Celeste’s tears stopped.

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