Page 60 of Beacon

I carefully formed each letter on my slate, unable to use all the words I wanted but knowing enough to get my meaning across. He waited with restless impatience, his gaze riveted to me with as much attention as he gave my pantomime. When I finished, I took a deep, nervous breath and turned the slate towards him.

You the most nice man. Most dear friend.

I kept my gaze riveted to him. Warmth enfolded me at the soft look filling his expression. For a long moment he simply stared, slowly taking in each letter, clearly touched…but there was also a deeper emotion, one which I had no words to describe but which stoked the wonderful way he made me feel.

He finally looked up with a tender smile. “That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. Thank you, Marisa.”

My cheeks warmed and I smiled shyly, pleased I could finally express some portion of my feelings for him. He leaned closer to read the words again, lightly tracing his finger over each carefully formed letter.

“Can I keep this slate? I’ll get you a new one. I just…don’t want to erase this. Please?”

I was pleased he thought so highly of my words that he wanted to keep them. By the soft look filling his eyes as he accepted my slate, he truly meant what he said. The value he placed on my simple words made me eager to learn more, to express myself beyond such simple sentences, all for the reward of how much it pleased Owen to receive them.

Owen continued staring at the words I’d written before he lifted his gaze to meet mine. Normally, he was quite talkative, but this time he seemed to have nothing to say. Somehow I understood how much my words meant to him along with his own gratitude for the friendship we’d formed, as if a wordless thread connected us, allowing us to communicate in a way no one else could.

And in that moment I felt closer to the prince than I ever had before…and this was only the beginning of rediscovering my words.

CHAPTER21

The summer afternoon was cool and overcast. Owen and I sat in the library near the fire that had been lit within the hearth, having another reading lesson. The words blurred on the page, my increasingly heavy drowsiness making each letter impossible to decipher.

Owen sat beside me with his own copy of my reader. Since I couldn’t read out loud, he gave me time to mentally sound out each word, waiting until I tapped his arm, my silent cue for him to read it correctly so that I could compare my attempt and correct it if needed.

My growing exhaustion caused the delay between words to grow longer and longer. He glanced over to find me fighting to keep my eyes open. He chuckled. “My apologies that these readers don’t contain the most exciting stories, especially when none of them are about mermaids.” His humor melted into concern as he brushed my arm. “Did you not sleep well?”

Sleep had been impossible with Father filling my thoughts. The longer Captain Farrell’s journey, the more my worry escalated, giving me reason to fear that the long search meant there was nothing to find.

But I was too exhausted to attempt to communicate these thoughts to Owen. Instead I yawned and rested my head on his shoulder, a position I wouldn’t have dared if I’d been thinking clearly—not even for the sake of the charade but because it felt only natural now. He stiffened before relaxing, his arm looping around my waist to nestle me close.

“If you want, you can take a short nap.”

My mind immediately seized upon this suggestion. I allowed the enticing lure of sleep I’d been fighting to curl around my thoughts and gently pull me under until I’d entirely submerged.

I dreamed of my childhood on the beach and the hours I spent with Mother and Father upon the shore and in the ocean with my magic. Hues of bright color and light lit the surrounding water before rising in a twirling waltz as it danced with my song, all while Mother and Father looked on with loving smiles. Even though it was a dream, my heart gave an urgent tug, yearning to return to the joy of these days long since passed.

All at once the tone of the dream shifted, no longer alight with golden sunlight but a thick, all-encompassing darkness. It filled the sky before reaching its shadowy fingers down to taint the ocean, causing the water to churn restlessly. The more violent the waves became, the less control I had over my powers.

They quickly took on a life of their own, gathering the surrounding water into a monstrous wave. It rose towards the sky before opening its jaws to swallow the bank and Mother whole. I opened my mouth to scream…but despite this being a dream of my childhood, I still had no voice with which to cry out.

The dream shifted until a new scene unfolded of me being older, sitting with Father in his fishing boat out on the open water beneath a murky grey sky. Even with this change in setting, my magic remained beyond my control. I frantically tried to pull it back, desperate to calm the churning waves…but my fragile hold remained.

Soon I found myself standing alone atop the rough waves, watching Father row farther and farther away towards a nearby island. But no matter how quickly he rowed, the ocean reached towards him to pull him under. I frantically tried to call for him…but once more, only silence passed my lips. Even when he managed to reach the island, it was no refuge for the ocean’s anger; the water gathered to rise up in a giant wave that crashed upon the shore, robbing me of Father as well.

Leaving me nothing.

I awoke with a startled gasp. It took me a moment for me to shake off the tendrils of the dream in order to take in first Owen’s face staring at me from above, then my surroundings—a wall of books rather than the curtains from my bed at the palace. I blinked, confused. Where was I?

“Marisa?”

Owen’s soothing voice helped dispel my shadowy confusion in order to notice my position—my head no longer rested on Owen’s shoulder as it had when I’d fallen asleep but in his lap, his arm wrapped tenderly around me to caress his fingers up and down my arm. My cheeks heated, yet despite my embarrassment, I was far too comfortable to listen to my mind’s rational suggestion to move.

“Marisa?” His hand went to my hair. “Are you alright?”

My wildly pounding heart made it impossible to meet his gaze. I finally risked a puzzled glance up at him and his own cheeks pinked.

“I’m sorry, I know this position is…it’s just, you didn’t seem very comfortable on my shoulder. I wanted to ensure you had a pleasant nap, especially considering you hadn’t slept well last night, so I…readjusted your position…” His fumbled explanation faltered and he lowered his eyes.

I managed a breathless nod, grateful that despite his obvious embarrassment, he made no move to push me away. In the comfort brought by his warm presence, I rested my hand over my heart—still pounding wildly from the nightmare—and struggled to take several deep, shaky breaths, which did little to dispel the anxiety cinching my heart. Though it’d only been a nightmare, I couldn’t escape its lingering emotions so easily.

---