Page 66 of Beacon

The box containing my voice glowed from its place on my nightstand, beckoning me towards it. It’d been extending this invitation ever since I’d retrieved it from the sunken shipwreck a few days ago. I’d tried to ignore it at first, but the bright light was too distracting, repeatedly drawing my gaze towards it.

So far I’d managed to resist it, but the lure was growing steadily stronger, becoming more and more difficult to ignore. Not for the first time I questioned the wisdom in retrieving my voice from the ocean where it’d remained hidden these past ten years. I’d frequently been tempted to throw it back into the depths…yet something held me back, the same force that had compelled me to retrieve the box containing my voice in the first place.

Having my voice so near had only strengthened my desire to communicate with Owen, especially the longer I spent with him. And although my growing literacy allowed us to have several conversations, I knew a proper conversation would only come with the return of my voice, something I was still too afraid to allow, especially when it was too closely connected to the magic that had caused that tragic accident.

Yet my determination to keep it locked away was slowly waning, especially after my most recent conversation with Owen during dinner the evening before, a setting that had made it difficult to use my slate. As a result, the conversation remained mostly one-sided as Owen filled the silence with stories, one of which had been about a time in his childhood when he’d nearly been swept up by the waves while playing on the beach.

A strange joy had bubbled inside me at the account, so similar to a story from my own childhood. I ached to share this connection, a desire so strong I opened my mouth without thinking…but, of course, no sound came out. Even if I’d had my slate with me, my written vocabulary was still too rudimentary to do the story justice.

Owen paused in his recitation to study my expression, as he had the habit of doing to ensure I remained involved in our conversations. “Your expressions often convey your emotions to some extent. You seem amused by my past antics…while also frustrated about something, and I have no way of knowing if it’s exasperation for my boyhood stupidity or something else entirely.” He sighed. “Your expressions alone aren’t enough. I wish you could speak; I’d love to hear what you have to say.”

Heat tingled my skin as his fingers grazed my cheek, a warmth that seemed to seep inside me to stoke the flames of my unexpressed desire along with his words.

“I hope I didn’t offend you,” Owen added hastily. “Of course I accept you just as you are and will continue to strive to do my best to better understand you despite your silence.”

His earnest sincerity caused the warmth filling me to expand. While I cherished each word Owen offered, these ones in particular moved me; his sweet words and unconditional acceptance remained with me long after we’d parted, caressing my heart all throughout the night.

So this morning when the box containing my locked away voice began to once more beckon me, it became far too difficult to ignore. Owen’s heartfelt wish along with my own desires drew me to the glowing box. I sat on the edge of the bed to stare at the golden light illuminating the box. My skin tingled as I gingerly stroked the lid, a sign of the magic protecting my voice.

I wasn’t planning on opening it…yet I found my hand moving unconsciously towards the rim. As if sensing my desires, the box clicked open. I stiffened and made no move to lift the lid…even as part of me longed for a single peek, as if to ensure my voice was still there. But I was afraid to open the box even a sliver, as if doing so would cause me to lose the last barrier keeping me from my voice.

Contrary to my fears, I found myself lifting the lid, drawn by my voice’s lure, all while the desire I still didn’t quite understand guided my movements.

My breath caught as I tentatively peered inside. My voice looked just as it had when the ocean had sealed it away—a tiny glowing orb, no bigger than a pebble, nestled against the bottom of the water-made box that rippled in a way as to look like blue velvet.

My voice pulsed, its silent plea for me to once more accept it. Part of me ached to heed its silent wish, even as I was afraid touching it would cause the last of my resolve to finally slip away.

Owen’s words returned to caress my thoughts, seducing me far more effectively than the magical lure currently beckoning me:I wish you could speak; I’d love to hear what you have to say. That was a wish of his I both yearned and was terrified to fulfill.

But even if my voice returned to me, that didn’t mean I had to use it…

Without realizing I’d come to a decision I gently cradled my voice in my palm. It pulsed more brightly at my contact, causing my skin to tingle. Touching it relinquished whatever sliver of control I’d managed to cling to up until this point, as if my stubborn will had become eclipsed by my voice itself.

Without conscious thought, I lifted it to my neck. A burning sensation surrounded my throat as it seeped inside—not a painful feeling, even if it wasn’t one that was exactly pleasant—before it gradually faded, leaving the area where my voice now resided warm, tingly, and almost heavy, as if my throat was no longer used to the burden that came from having a voice.

Panic immediately rose, compelling me to scratch at my throat to extract my voice…but it was too late. The box that had contained it was nothing more than a puddle now that its intended purpose had been fulfilled, leaving me nowhere to put my voice even if I could once more rip it away.

Regret lingered along with my rising anxiety, a weight similar to that now pressing against my throat. I was only able to keep my escalating emotions from completely overcoming me by reminding me I could always ask the ocean to take my voice away again…if it’d listen. Until then, I would remain silent as I always had.

Despite my fear at the implications that would come from having given in to my voice’s seductive lure, a secret part of me felt relieved to have it back. Even if I never used it, at least now I had theoptionof speaking with Owen. That thought alone helped calm some of my rising panic.

As if my thinking of him had acted as a summons, a knock sounded on my bedroom door, a familiar tap I recognized as belonging to Owen. I immediately went to open it, both eager to see him and grateful for the distraction his presence would provide.

“I’m finally free,” Owen said by way of a greeting.

He and his guard stepped inside the room, where Owen immediately collapsed onto the settee, looking as exhausted as if he’d just participated in a rigorous horse ride rather than spent the past hour entertaining Princess Lavena as his parents had required every day throughout her entire visit. Rather than their time spent together bringing them closer as their ambitious parents hoped, it seemed to be having the opposite effect.

He leaned his head back and stayed in his position for a long moment, all while I watched. Upon seeing him, my voice gave an excited pulse, as if eager to immediately be of use and share all the words I’d kept suppressed for so long…but I forced it to still, not quite ready for such a step.

Owen finally glanced up with a smile that, while weary, was still filled with its usual warmth. “After my arduous afternoon, I’m in need of an adventure and have the perfect one in mind, if you’re willing. Princess Lavena actually suggested we spend time together and even came up with an idea.”

I’d barely nodded when he took my hand to tug me into the hallway and along a route I recognized would lead to the beach.

“Last night I was considering how wearying it must be for you to constantly feel pressured to try to communicate,” he explained as we walked. “So I came up with an idea that won’t rely so heavily on conversation.”

Owen didn’t relinquish his hold on my hand even after we stepped outside into the bright sunlight. The sunlight glistened against the water as we walked along the shore, a sight lovelier than usual, as if the ocean sensed I was somewhat annoyed with it for returning my voice and was trying to appease me.

In our time together, we’d taken several walks along the beach. Normally, during these excursions, Owen chatted easily with me, but today he seemed content with the silence. Whether or not he spoke, I enjoyed his presence all the same.

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