Page 63 of Beacon

At first his sweet worry compelled me to concede to his wishes—I even allowed him to take my hand to lead me back to the palace. I fought for the willpower to protest, but my desires to remain close to him robbed me of the words; I eventually managed to succeed in wrenching my hand away from his.

I used a mixture of signs and written words to communicate thatIneeded to be the one to remain at the lighthouse tonight, but in the end they proved unnecessary, for Owen needed little of either to understand.

He sighed. “I know you want to stay tonight. Forgive me for being selfish. If this is what you need, then I’ll support you.” He gently took my hands. “At least allow me to have a servant accompany you so that you’re not by yourself.”

I squeezed his hands in gratitude and lingered at the top of the steps as I watched him descend into the darkness, leaving me alone. I took a shaky breath and faced the flickering flame. Although I’d spent weeks yearning for the night when I could once more tend the lighthouse, despite having gotten what I wanted, I felt so…empty. My duties were now no longer all I had…thanks to Owen.

In this moment I fully realized just how much danger my heart was in. Whatever defenses I’d managed to erect around it had been effectively destroyed by Owen’s concern, his earlier comfort after my nightmare, his support while I tended the lighthouse, and our deepening friendship.

No matter how he so easily affected my vulnerable heart, I absolutely could not fall in love with him. Uncle’s negligence in failing to light the lighthouse only reminded me of how much I needed to return to my responsibilities…a thought that no longer filled me with the same purpose it once had. Instead all I could think about as this long night stretched on was Owen and how much I missed him.

I felt torn between these two yearnings, as if I was fighting between two parts of myself: the part that felt obligated to return to my old life for the sake of duty…and the part of me that wanted my time with Owen to never end.

CHAPTER22

Though my heart was continuously drawn to my lighthouse over the next several days, life at the palace continued. I found time to check that the beacon was in proper working order while the rest of my days were measured by my time with Owen and my reading lessons. While I’d always savored my time with the prince, I found unexpected joy in my increasing literacy.

Learning to read helped me fall back in love with words. I’d gone so long without them, I’d eventually learned to live without them, only to discover that all this time my heart had been thirsting for them, eagerly collecting new ones with every lesson.

I’d initially feared this process would be painful, even frightening, but experiencing words in this form felt far safer than speaking them out loud. I quickly grew fascinated with the entire process—from the shapes of the letters to the sounds each made, to the feel of the slate pencil in my hand, to the words themselves, to visual representations of the sounds I heard around me.

Breaching my self-inflicted silence in this way caused me to often reflect on how I’d reached this point, often late at night as I lay awake, my mind too active to be lured to sleep by the soothing waves. I didn’t often revisit the memory of the day I’d lost my voice, having kept it locked securely away with all the other painful memories of my past.

But lately it’d been haunting me, at first only in snippets—hints of color and sound from the day in question—but gradually these began to take shape; rather than discerning the memory through a murky pool, they began to grow clearer, though never enough to fully return.

Despite my determination not to revisit this memory, it haunted me at every opportunity, tainting both my time with Owen and my reading lessons. It didn’t take long for Owen to sense something was wrong. He paused mid-reading lesson to snap shut the book we’d been reading from.

“I can’t bear my worry any longer. You’ve been melancholy for days. Please tell me what’s bothering you.” When I hesitated, he motioned to the slate resting in my lap. “If gestures are too difficult, I’m hoping you’ve acquired enough literacy to express your worries.”

It was one thing to use my growing collection of words for conversations and quite another to use them to alleviate the burdens I’d borne for so long that I couldn’t imagine myself without them.

He leaned closer to rest a gentle hand over mine clutching my slate pencil. “From someone who allowed my own burdens to haunt me for too long, I know all too well that bearing your worries alone will only make them heavier and prevent you from moving forward.”

I considered his words as well as the kindness filling his eyes, each compelling me to open up to him. I hesitated a moment more before picking up my slate and carefully forming two words I knew, unsure whether they were adequate enough to describe my inner turmoil.

When I finished, I turned the slate towards the prince:Bad memre.

I frowned at my childish sentence and the clearly misspelled word. There was so much more I wanted to say, but at least this was a start.

Owen studied my words for a moment as he tried to pronounce it. “Oh! Memory?” As he spoke, he showed me how to spell it.

I nodded even as my gaze wandered to the open window that provided a wide view of the surrounding ocean, an essential element of the memory that distracted me.

I retook my slate to amend my original sentence:Not think memory. Don’t want to. Still hurts.

Empathy filled Owen’s expression. “Haunting memories should never be borne alone. I’m glad you’re able to share your thoughts about the things that are bothering you.”

That was something I’d never considered when I’d taken my voice as a form of penance. Without Mother alive to hear my stories, I never imagined I’d ever miss it, and I’d especially never considered that I was hurting myself by taking away a means of expressing my thoughts and worries.

Once again, the memory of that day returned, more forcefully than ever, beating against my thoughts like waves against a ship. I squeezed my eyes shut in an effort to suppress it, and though I managed to keep it at bay, the strenuous effort left me exhausted.

“Don’t fight it,” Owen said gently. “While no good comes from dwelling on the past, there are things we can learn from it so that even the most painful experiences need not be in vain. Perhaps the memory you’re suppressing is returning not to haunt you but to teach you; listen to what your heart is telling you, and it will help you finally move forward.”

His words lingered long after our conversation concluded. They filled my mind as I wandered to the balcony and leaned against the railing to stare across the ocean and the lighthouse standing erect against the horizon. Even though its bright, guiding light didn’t shine during the day, the view soothed the anxieties pressing against my heart, giving Owen’s advice room to better guide me, illuminating the course I knew I needed to take.

With a wavering breath, I pushed off the railing and made my way to the beach. My footsteps guided me to my lighthouse and up the winding stairs to the beacon that would transport me to my island. I emerged to find Octavius awaiting me on the beach, as if he’d been expecting me. He gave me his usual excited greeting, practically mauling me with his tentacles in his eagerness.

The moment he realized my destination was the enchanted pool, his mood abruptly shifted and he put up his usual fight to dissuade me. I ignored his protests, for this time I wasn’t using the pool to relive my worst memory but instead the very one I’d been resisting these past several days. The pool’s magic would transport me back to that moment so I could fully understand both the memory and what I could learn from it.

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