Page 81 of Beacon

His sweet concern only made me want to give him more words. I shook my head but didn’t say anything more. Though I knew I could rely on his strength to press forward, silence was my habit; my voice needed to not only be coaxed out but coddled even after it’d emerged.

As was his usual way, Owen seemed to understand this. He considered, as if contemplating which words would act as the key to unlocking more of mine. “Is there a particular story you wish to share with me?”

Even though it was the opening I’d been seeking, I still stiffened. His concern deepened.

“Marisa?”

I closed my eyes with a sigh, blocking out the sight of his kind eyes. “Sad one.” My words faltered before I could confess it wasn’t just sad but tragic, a story also filled with heartache and guilt, words I wasn’t ready to add to my spoken collection.

Owen gently caressed my cheek, compelling me to once more meet his tender gaze. “I’m willing to listen to any story you have to offer, but I’m curious why you want to share this particular story first?”

I pressed my hand over my heart. “Burden. Stopped talking. Maybe…” I didn’t finish but I didn’t need to, for by Owen’s widening eyes, he clearly understood.

“You’re hoping that by sharing this particular story it’ll be easier to speak again?”

As true as his observation was, nerves forced my next words waiting in the wings to recede. I shrugged, resorting to the unspoken communication I’d relied so heavily on in the past. I tried to coax my words back out, but spending years preparing for these words didn’t make them any easier to speak.

I glanced in the direction of the cavern containing the enchanted pool. It would be so much easier to just show him the memory, as he had with me…but doing so would only encourage my usual silence, making it harder to break away from the chains I’d allowed to trap me for so long that they’d grown comfortable. Instead I needed to trust Owen with not only my words but also my secrets so that he’d finally be able to understand what had stolen my voice in the first place.

I took a shaky breath. “Sad memory…stole voice.”

“I wondered,” Owen said. “Once I learned you hadn’t been born mute, I knew something must have caused you to choose to stop speaking.”

Tragedy and guilt had robbed my voice, a form of self-inflicted penance that had seemed like the only path open to me at the time.

“I did…bad thing,” I shakily continued.

“I know all too well how much a single mistake can haunt you.”

Once more, the tragedy that haunted his own past deepened the connection I already felt with him, providing the strength I needed to continue. But it would be too difficult to explain the story in full until he knew another one of my secrets, one that didn’t require words at all to share.

I scooted closer to the ocean. My powers, which had been gradually reawakening ever since my first word, were at my command the moment I touched the water. I hummed a single note. At the sound, a drop of golden light extended from my hand, as if my magic had reached into the sky to capture a portion of the sun, which it used to paint the surrounding water. At my powers’ caress, the water rose to twirl in the air in a single pirouette.

Owen’s gasp pierced my hummed melody, but I kept my gaze riveted to the water so I couldn’t gauge whether his reaction was one of fear or wonder. My magic was like a muscle unaccustomed to being used, so my concentration quickly wavered, leaving me exhausted. I withdrew my hand and the water gradually stilled.

The silence that followed was almost deafening, so unlike the comfortable ones that usually filled the spaces between us. After an anxious moment I peeked hesitantly at Owen for his reaction. Though his eyes were wide, to my relief, he looked more awed than frightened.

His gaze slowly met mine. “I had no idea you could do something so amazing.”

My tense posture relaxed even as heat caressed my cheeks.

“Where did such power come from?”

I shrugged. It’d been a question my family had wondered about ever since my powers had first manifested in my early childhood. I wasn’t sure whether magic existed somewhere in my family tree or whether they’d been gifted to me by the ocean the stronger our relationship had become.

His smile grew teasing. “Perhaps you’re a mermaid after all.”

I rolled my eyes, but I was feeling too relieved by his acceptance to truly be annoyed, especially with the soft way he looked at me—as if he’d never seen anyone more dear.

“No wonder you love the ocean.” His gentle tone warmed me even further. His brows drew together. “You said what you had to show me was sad, but I can only see beauty in your magic.”

I sighed and gazed back across the water. He scooted closer, a proximity that felt not just soothing but almost…protective, a feeling that gave me the strength I needed for the words I needed to speak.

“Did…something happen with your powers?” he asked.

The time had finally come to share the secret I’d borne alone for far too long. Once more I was tempted to lock away my words, but I’d come too far to retreat now.

“With my power, water…responds to emotion and words,” I began. “One day…I was angry. Touched water, caused storm. Mother…on ship. She—” I stopped abruptly. I’d never voiced, even in the sanctity of my thoughts, the words that I’d caused Mother’s death, and I wasn’t about to start now.

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