Page 62 of Beacon

My heart lurched. My breaths grew short and shallow as I stared, waiting for the beacon’s familiar golden glow to light up the settling overcast. After several tense minutes, the worry pressing against my heart became too unbearable to endure a moment longer. I pushed off from the railing, my thoughts filled with only a single purpose: to light the beacon.

I hurried down the balcony steps to the beach, Owen faithfully by my side as he always was. I ignored his frantic questions about what was troubling me, my focus solely on getting to the lighthouse as quickly as possible.

The sand was wet, and I was quickly soaked from the rain but I didn’t slow. The journey to the lighthouse felt never-ending, but eventually we stepped inside and took the stairs two at a time towards the top to enter the shadowy room where the flame at the center remained unlit.

There was no time to be frustrated by Uncle’s negligence; I could only remedy his mistake as soon as possible. I sprang into motion, my shaking cold hands making it difficult to perform my duties. My uncle’s inexperience was evident in the improperly tended wick, requiring me to fix it before lighting it. Though the process didn’t take long, the heavy worry brought by the rain made it feel as if it took forever.

I went as quickly as I dared while still remaining thorough and didn’t relax until the orange glow filled the room, a light that stretched across the cloudy sea to reach whoever might be sailing upon its waters. For a moment I could only stare at the flickering flame before the determination that had guided me suddenly vanished; my legs gave out and I sank to the floor.

Owen immediately knelt beside me to wrap me in a tender embrace. “Are you alright?”

I shook my head and rested my forehead against his chest, fighting to steady my palpitating heart. It took several minutes before I’d calmed enough to look up at him. Seeming unsure what else to do, he offered me a tentative smile. “It was fascinating watching you work. I’ve always been curious about how a lighthouse functions. Will you show me more?”

Though I felt entirely spent, I gratefully seized the lifeline he extended. While I had no doubt that he was interested in the world I’d come from, his greater purpose was likely to refocus my frantic thoughts to a task in an effort to provide a safe harbor for the storm raging my mind.

Through gesture, explanations written on my slate with my limited vocabulary, and silent demonstration, I slowly showed him every part of the lighthouse; with each one I felt myself drawing closer to him.

When I’d finished, I glanced back around the lighthouse, my gaze lingering on the beacon’s comforting light. While it brought much-needed assurance, I knew I wouldn’t be able to rest easy tonight unless I spent the night at the lighthouse to ensure the beacon didn’t go out.

I took up my slate to write my wishes out, as usual ignoring my myriad of spelling mistakes for the sake of communication:I need to spend the night.

Owen’s eyes widened. “You want to spend the night here? Alone?”

I gestured towards the beacon’s light to indicate I had duties to see to, but rather than understanding, Owen didn’t look any more enthused by the idea.

“You shouldn’t need to stay when your uncle is tending the lighthouse.”

My movements were agitated as I took up the slate to write my response:He not do a good job. I must watch flame.

“To ensure it doesn’t go out?”

I nodded.

“If that’s all you need to do, then I can send a servant for the task. There’s no reason you need to stay.”

I pursed my lips.A servant not know how to light beacon.

I studied Owen’s expression as he stared at these words, confused why he seemed so put out. I lifted my shoulders in silent question, and he took a wavering breath. “You shouldn’t stay here by yourself.”

There was no need for him to worry, not when I’d spent countless nights tending the lighthouse by myself during all the nights over the years Father had been away fishing or in the weeks following his disappearance. I took up my slate.I often do. Nothing bad happens.

“It’s not just that.” He bit his lip, carefully considering his words. “Explaining your absence would cause unnecessary complications, especially since the Lycerian royal family doesn’t know you’re a lighthouse keeper. Not to mention your time at the lighthouse would require us to spend more time apart, neither of which would be prudent considering our circumstances…” He trailed off uncertainly.

Anger flared. Did he truly have the gall to deem his ridiculous charade more important than the lives of the sailors out at sea that would suffer consequences should the beacon falter without my careful watch?

My words were sloppy and undoubtedly filled with many spelling mistakes as I furiously wrote out my thoughts:Charade not as important as the beacon.

He lifted his hands. “Of course it isn’t! That’s not what I—” But his explanation faltered.

I pressed my hands to my hips and waited impatiently for whatever inadequate excuse he would seize to explain his horrible suggestion away. He wrung his hands.

“It’s not about the charade. I just…want you to remain close.”

I stilled at this unexpected admission before giving him my sign formore, inviting him to explain. He lowered his eyes with a sigh, as if too embarrassed to look at me.

“My mentioning the charade was nothing more than a poor excuse that has nothing to do with my wanting you to remain at the palace with me. Because I care about you…I’m worried for you.” He took my hand. “After all, we’re friends…aren’t we?”

My flare of annoyance immediately faded, leaving a thoroughly confusing emotion in its place. My heart pattered wildly as I stared first at his earnest expression, then at our connected hands, even as my mind frantically tried to process his words and the feelings brought by his unexpected touch—both of which blurred the line between what was real and what was only pretend.

---