25. Message in a Bottle
Chapter 25
Message in a Bottle
SONGBIRD
“ T ell me more! Please! How were the princesses? Are they as elegant and beautiful in person as they seem in the brochures?” My cousin, Marjorie, asks me, rummaging through my travel bag like a pirate scouring for treasure.
“Not at all. They’re just like us, really.”
Kiro snickers from the door. “Just more spoiled and snobbish. And rich enough to do whatever they want.”
“Shush,” Marge scolds her twin.
“It’s nice to have you back, Beth. I’ll be back before sundown,” Kiro says with a boyish grin.
“Lots of new friends, eh?” I quip.
He gives a dismissive shrug. “The guys from the new school are alright. Mum told me I could hang out with them if it didn’t interfere with my schoolwork.”
Marge’s nose wrinkles. “Mum felt guilty for leaving us to our own devices. I just wish she didn’t have to work in the mines all summer.”
“You know she has to work while the weather’s good enough to allow for safe travel on the mountains.” The miners hire a ton of city moths to chisel the gems, and while it’s hard work, it’s a decent pay.
“But she could find a safer job here,” Marge says, gnawing at her bottom lip.
With Aunt Paola’s salary, along with the money I’ll earn as a clerk in the Winter royal bibliotheca every summer before I graduate, the twins won’t have to quit school, and maybe even go on to the Tundra university, Thanatos willing.
“Oh, this is divine,” Marge holds my academy corset to her chest, her big round eyes full of admiration, her chatterbox attitude drowning the constant ploc, ploc, ploc of the ceiling leak in the corner of our bedroom.
I grin. “Be careful with that.”
I left most of my uniforms at the academy but brought along the fanciest one. If I get expelled, I can sell it for a nice price. It won’t make much of a consolation prize, but it’ll be something.
After months of handling invaluable books and having my pick of round-the-clock, all-you-can-eat buffets, it’s humbling to be home and dealing with the day-to-day reality of being poor again.
“Are you excited to start work tomorrow? I heard tons of lords visit the palace bibliotheca every day,” Marge says.
“Sure,” I mumble, my mind elsewhere.
She pokes my arm with one finger. “What’s wrong with you? I thought you’d be thrilled to recount your adventures, but you’ve barely said a word about school. Do you miss your drop-dead-gorgeous fiancé?” She clasps her hands together and lets herself fall back onto the mattress, her brown pigtails sprawled on either side of her youthful face. “Oh, are you in love with him, Beth? Your prince? It’s so romantic. I wish I had a prince.”
I can’t bring myself to shatter her sweet, unrealistic romantic notions. She just turned thirteen. I’d rather she remains a kid for a little while longer.
Aidan’s smile pops into my mind. “My prince is very handsome,” I say, skirting the truth.
“And you love him?”
Air whistles out of my lungs, and I look down at my hands. The memory of Aidan’s fingers entwined with mine is vivid enough to hurt. “I do.”
Marjorie crashes into my side and hugs me tight. “Oh, I’m so glad.”
We cook dinner together as we have countless times and eat once Kiro gets home. Afterward, the twins retreat to their bedroom to study. We usually all share a room, but their mother relinquished her small bedroom on the other side of the thin partition wall during her absence.
The familiarity of it all forms a raw ache in my chest. I clean out the bedroom leak bucket, each of the tiny bumps and dents in its surface telling stories of the years of use. The water sloshes out into the sink, and I wipe away the droplets that cling to the sides, the old habits coming back to me in an instant.
The academy was such a different world. A different life, almost.
Aidan fills my thoughts as I tidy the minuscule kitchen. My family’s entire life could fit into the little cabin he built for fun in the gardens. The contrast stings—his luxuries, our struggles, and the impossibility of my fantasies.
Despite the promises I made to myself, my planned marriage to Zeke would ensure both of my cousins a life they’ve only dreamed of. But at what cost?
The click of the latch pulls me out of my dark thoughts, and I press my lips together.
Papa cracks open the door, the hinges whining from the cold and humidity, and slips inside. “Welcome home, Lizzie,” he says, resting his work binder on the hall table.
I scurry over to hang his jacket and peck his cheek. “Thank you, Papa.” The uniform smells of oil and winter air, a familiar scent that grounds me to reality. He’s munching on his bottom lip the way he does when he’s stressed, and I ask, “Do you want some stew? I could reheat supper if you want.”
The tensed lines of his brows soften. “Oh, it’s nice to have you home. But if you don’t mind, I’m going to go straight to bed. I’m exhausted.”
I grimace, hesitating. After wracking my brain all day about this siren business, I don’t think I can wait any longer. “There’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about.”
I hand him the cup of hot cider I’d prepared, the steam curling between us, and pull out a chair for him at the kitchen table.
He sits slowly, his lips curled down, and wraps his hands tightly around the cup. The warm amber glow from the kitchen lamp deepens the lines on his face. “You look worried, Lizzie. What’s wrong?”
My mouth is dry, and my prepared speech isn’t quite as natural as I’d hoped. “I sang last night. For the gala Willow organized.”
“That’s… nice.” He averts his gaze. “Can you do the shopping after work tomorrow? Take Kiro and Marge with you. We need wood, flour, and a bit of witch hazel powder to keep the spiders in check.”
“I sang. And people loved it,” I continue, unsettled by his blatant attempt to switch the subject.
“Mm. I’m not surprised. Did Marge iron out your new uniform? I asked her to.”
And I see it then. The avoidance. The guilt.
By Thanatos and all his reapers. Devi was right.
“Papa…” My voice cracks.
The cup shakes in his hands, and he sets it down on the table with a heavy sigh.
“Papa. A girl at school figured it out. She knows about my… song.” The word feels horrible, blasphemous.
I have a siren’s song. Me .
“But when did you even find out about this? Did something happen while you were singing?” he breathes, his voice thin and strained. “Is your song something you could… feel?”
Tears spill over my lids, hot and unrelenting. “No. I had no idea I even had one. Not until she told me.”
Before I can process it, his hand curls around mine like a snow serpent guarding its eggs. His voice drops, urgent and sharp. “Promise me you’ll never sing again. As long as you don’t, there’s no way for them to tell you’re one of them—at least, none that’s widely known. If you never sing again, you’ll be fine.”
“Fine?” I croak.
The words crush me, each syllable laced with a contempt that twists in my chest. I want to cry, to scream. The idea of never singing again feels like a death sentence. I’d rather cut off my own arm than make that promise.
Papa sighs. “Oh, I’m so sorry, my Lizzie. But not singing is a small price to pay compared to being exiled, shunned, or worse—locked away forever.”
The air between us feels too thick to breathe.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He looks away, his lips pressing into a thin line. For a moment, I think he won’t answer, but then his shoulders slump. “Your mother asked me not to. She didn’t want you to think ill of her—not if it could be avoided.”
“Who was she, really?”
“She was as I’ve always told you. Brave, strong, and absolutely lovely.”
He rubs a hand down his face, the gesture tired and worn, before he stands. His chair creaks against the wood, the sound echoing in the quiet kitchen.
I stay silent, my mind racing as he crosses the room to the magical chest where he keeps his most important documents. He hesitates for a moment, his hand hovering over the lock, then presses his thumb against it and mutters the combination. The metallic click reverberates through the room.
My breath catches as he retrieves a sealed letter from the lid’s flap pocket. “She gave me this for you,” he says, turning it over in his hands like it’s a most cherished treasure. “In case you inherited too much of her blood after all. She made me promise not to read it.”
I stare at the letter, my chest tightening. “But you always said she died suddenly.”
“Go to work tomorrow. Do the shopping. When I get home, we’ll talk. Alright?”
I nod, almost tearing the letter from his grasp, the ball of saliva in my mouth too thick to swallow. My heart pounds as I retreat to my bedroom, close the door, and crawl under the covers.
Hands trembling, I rub my puffy eyes, desperate to hold it together, to keep the sobs clawing at my chest at bay. But as I unfold the letter, my resolve cracks. The first words blur through the tears I can no longer stop.
How fair is it that this letter, the only tangible piece of my dead mother that exists, was kept from me all this time? If not for Devi’s meddling, would Papa have simply ripped it to shreds?
I never even knew her hand.
Dear Elizabeth,
I’m terribly sorry that I can’t be with you on such a confusing, momentous day, but a reaper will come to me within days, I’m afraid. And your beloved Papa was always better in a crisis than I was.
Contrary to what we told the family, we didn’t meet in Taiga after he survived a shipwreck in the northern skerries. I collected him from the waves and escorted him to shore. It was love at first sight, my dear, and I decided to leave my old life behind.
Don’t resent him. We agreed this is the story you should be told until you are old enough to hear the truth—or until your Sea Fae blood manifests.
The light of my heart, my wonderful little girl, please know our kind isn’t as wretched as you’ve heard. The siren’s song our goddess Melpomene gave you is a gift. And like most god-given powers, it comes with great responsibility. We live in a harsh world that has forgotten how beautiful a siren’s song can be. A world of quick judgments and misconstrued fears. Were you to be discovered, to be identified as a Sea mutt... It ices my blood right in my veins, just thinking about it.
Sirens are punished for the magnetic pull we have on men, but it’s not something we can entirely control. You should always be able to tell the good ones from the bad, so trust your instincts, my darling. Be careful of going too close to the sea, as it would only strengthen your song. To write down any more about where I came from or the secrets of our blood would be too much of a risk, but know I love you even in death. With enough practice, I know you will find a way to use your song as a blessing to the world, not a weapon.
I only wish I could have heard you sing, my Beth. I’m sure your voice is magnificent.
Your loving mother,
Melissa
That’s it, then. I’m a siren. Aidan never loved me. He never meant to cheat in the trials and lure me into his gravity. It was all a spell, an enchantment of my own making. And if anyone finds out, I won’t only be expelled from the academy, but executed for seducing the Crown Prince of the Summerlands.