Page 54 of Of Songs and Silence

“Your father.”

I go still, holding whatever version of breath I have underwater. This is the first time she has consented to speak about him, and I don’t want to startle her out of it. She shakes her head again, like she’s come to some sort of conclusion. Finally, she sits down on the small sofa in my room, gesturing for me to join her.

“Makani was a villager,” she states.

“But that’s—”

“Forbidden, yes.”

From the haunted look in her eyes, I’m not so sure I want to hear this story anymore.

“He was…earnest. Straightforward. Kind. He was a musician. That’s how they met.”

“Because of his music?” I ask.

She nods solemnly. “He was playing. She was dancing in one of the villages.”

I would suspect her of lying if I didn’t feel the truth of her statement. My mother, dancing. I can’t picture it, can’t even fathom it. She never even stayed for music lessons at the house, and she wouldn't allow my sisters to play freely. If there was music, it had to be for a purpose, to prepare for some social event. Even then, she got no enjoyment out of it. At least, not that I could see.

With something close to a sigh, my aunt closes her eyes. The next thing I know, images are flitting through my mind.

It’s my mother.

I know because even then, she had a more calculating gleam to her eye than my aunt does. Still, she is almost unrecognizable with a soft smile on her face as she shoves her curls out of her face and moves around with abandon.

Behind her, a man watches with unabashed awe in his pale green eyes. His skin is several shades lighter than mine, but his lips pull up into the same full smile I see in the mirror, and his short-cropped hair is the exact shade of crimson as my own.

When the song is over, he goes to her, stretching out a hand and placing a wrapped bundle in her palm.

She unwraps the package, dropping the seaweed to the ground. Her eyes widen in something like wonder as she stares at an iridescent conch shell on a delicate chain. My hands automatically go to the necklace I haven’t taken off since she gave it to me years ago.

She wraps her arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his lips in a movement more genuine and gentle than I have ever known her capable of.

The image fades, and my aunt opens her eyes.

In all the times I’ve wondered who my father was, it never truly occurred to me that Mother might have loved him. That she grieved him. It doesn’t undo her sins. It doesn’t even come close.

I picture her in my room, her hands in my hair—the red spiral curls that are identical to his.You are entirely his.

Not Damian’s. My father’s. The man she loved. The man shelost.

Did he change his mind about the danger? Did she leave before he could be punished? Is he out there somewhere, unaware that he has a daughter?

My aunt gives a small shake of her head. Once again, I have allowed myself to be naive. To be hopeful in a world that doesn’t allow for such fanciful notions. Tears stab at the back of my eyes, and she gives me a knowing look.

“He was right not to tell you. You are too free with your thoughts by half.”

Before I can be bothered by her cryptic words, she places a slim hand on my shoulder. “It’s time to work on your shields.”

CHAPTERTHIRTY-TWO

ARIIHAU

Once I’m sure she’s safe with Kala’ni, I take advantage of the privacy to sneak out of the palace. I was too reckless, too free with our conversation. If anyone else overheard us, I would be dead.

And her punishment would be far worse than that. Guilt snakes through me once again, but I remind myself that I couldn’t have told her sooner. Even now, I don’t know how much Danica will reveal. If she’ll tell her the truth I’ve been fighting so hard not to.

Before I leave the palace grounds, I grab one of the newer recruits from the barracks and send her up to keep an extra set of eyes on Kala’s door. Though Napo would happily take the job, he’s not as strong as the warriors are, even if he thinks otherwise.

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