The Singing Cove
What a beautiful day.
Today is Irriona’s betrothal celebration.
Her father is hosting a grand dinner to welcome Montigo to Chroma’s legacy.
He is much older than her, but handsome—tall, with dark hair and deep brown eyes, a striking contrast to Irriona’s gold braid and moonlight smile.
The square is full of music and laughter and warm wishes.
As they dance, Irriona and Montigo look radiant together.
I walk slowly through the square, watching the dancers swirl like petals on the wind. And then I see him.
He is unpacking a box near the steps of the meeting hall. He lifts something wrapped in cloth, sets the wrapping aside, and holds a red vase—vivid and glowing—in the sunlight. His face changes as he looks at it. The joy in his smile... it takes my breath away.
Then he looks up. He catches me staring.
The square is still bustling, but for a moment, the sound fades. He sees only me. I feel the flush rising in my cheeks and try to turn away, but I can’t. My feet won’t move.
He crosses the space between us, unhurried, his smile wide and disarming.
“I’m Jiah,” he says.
I try to smile, but my lips barely move. “I’m Ismene.”
“I’m from White Wood,” he adds, sweeping his hand through his light brown hair. “Montigo commissioned a vase for his bride. That red one—it’s my best work.”
“It’s beautiful,” I say, breathlessly. My heart is racing, loud in my chest. I feel like such a fool. “Did you make it yourself?”
“I did.” His smile brightens. “It took weeks to get the shape right. I’m still learning to blow glass. But Montigo seemed pleased.”
“So you’re just here to deliver the gift,” I say, and immediately regret how disappointed I sound. Of course he doesn’t live here. White Wood is miles away. That must be why I’ve never seen him before.
He notices. “I haven’t been this far up the mountain since I was a boy,” he says lightly, filling the pause. “All my friends say the women of Chroma are unusually lovely.” His gaze lingers on me. “Now I see they’re right.”
I blush again. He is so bold, but not arrogant. Not like others. He reminds me of Izin—easy with people, good at drawing smiles—but quieter, more careful somehow.
“I brought other pieces to sell,” he says. “Would you like to see them?”
My heart leaps. I nod. “Yes. I would.”
He offers me his elbow. I hesitate for only a moment before resting my hand there. He leads me up the meeting hall steps, back to the crate. We kneel beside it, and he picks up another bundle. A piece of straw clings to the cloth, and he flicks it aside.
Then—of course—Izin appears.
He bounds up the steps like a child and gasps, “Ismene! I’ve been looking everywhere. I saved you a dance!”
I force a smile. “Thank you.”
I give him a look that says, Go away. He grins at Jiah, then looks back at me. “They’re about to play your favorite song,” he calls, already jogging back toward the square.
I stare hard at the cloth in Jiah’s hands, trying to ignore the heat in my face.
“Your beau?” Jiah asks, calm as still water.
“That’s Izin,” I say. “He’s just my neighbor. He married my best friend a few weeks ago. We’ve all known each other since we were small.”
“Ah. Only your neighbor.” There’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes, a barely-there smirk that makes my stomach flip.
Our eyes meet, and my thoughts fall silent.
He unwraps the cloth slowly, and I hold my breath.
Inside is the most brilliant yellow vase I’ve ever seen. It’s tall and elegant, the lip shaped like a flower’s edge. Where the red vase had curves, this one has grace. I dare not touch it. But he offers it to me all the same.
“What do you think?” he asks.
“It’s so bright,” I whisper. “Like a wildflower in sunlight. I didn’t know glass could hold so much color.”
“If you like that one,” he says, placing it carefully back in the box, “you’ll love this.”
He lifts a smaller bundle. This time he unwraps it quickly, then cradles a blue bowl in both hands.
“Hold out your hands,” he says gently.
I do. He places the bowl in my palms.
It’s heavier than I expect. Cool. Smooth. The rim ripples like water. Its color is a deep, endless blue—the color of dreams, of an ocean under the moon.
I look into Jiah’s smiling face.
It’s the color of his eyes.
And I think... I think I may be falling in love.
—Ismene
“Hey Collin! Are you ready? I’ll just be a minute,” Aries shouted from inside his room.
Collin shut his mother’s journal with a muffled thump and let it fall beside the bowl of apples. For a moment, he sat still, the air around him thick with the weight of her voice. Then he swung his feet off the dining table, nearly toppling the flour jar in the process.
“Oops,” he muttered to no one, catching it just in time.
With a groan, he pushed up from the hard-backed chair and stretched until his shoulders popped. The spell of the journal had passed—for now. He grabbed the sack of food and camping gear, slung it over his shoulder, and followed Aries out the door into the already-blazing morning.
The sun hit hard as Collin and Aries stepped onto the pale sand of the Singing Cove. Light bounced off the shore like it had teeth—every grain glittered white-hot, as if the stars had spilled themselves across the earth.
They’d made good time. A few hours’ hike from the mountain had brought them here, to this tranquil pocket of coast tucked between high cliffs and wind-worn stone. The sand was warm beneath his boots, the breeze curling through the inlet with the motion of secrets whispered.
Niall and Clive spotted them and sprang up from the surf-stained sand. Their identical honey-blond hair was drenched and matted, and their shirts stuck to their ribs in uneven patches.
“You look like you’ve been swimming,” Collin said, squinting at the twins.
Niall shook his head like a dog, flinging droplets and sand in every direction. “I waited, but the water was too tempting.”
Clive threw an arm in front of his face. “You’re impossible.”
“Patience is your job.”
Clive turned to Collin, grinning. “We’ve got permission to camp out tonight.”
Aries dropped his fishing pole and started rolling up his trouser legs. “We’d have been here ages ago, but I had to take someone’s shift at the armory this morning.”
Clive glanced around. “Is it just us?”
“River’s working,” Collin said, his tone as flat as a pond at dawn. “Shocking. I thought he might spontaneously develop a social life. Guess not.”
Aries, wobbling on one leg as he wrestled with a bootlace, grunted. “We won’t be seeing Nic either. Apparently today’s Helen’s only day off.”
“He could’ve brought her,” Niall said.
“I doubt Helen wants sand on her imported shoes,” Collin muttered. “Or to witness us commoners in various stages of shirtlessness.”
“I heard she considers trout the poor man’s swordfish,” Aries added with a smirk.
Before the speculation could spiral further, Clive cut in brightly. “We brought my canoe.”
“Fantastic,” Aries said with mock grandeur. “We brought plenty of bait—mostly worms, some charm. We’ll see which works better.”
“I need a swim after that hike,” Collin said, already peeling off his shirt and tossing it near Aries’s fishing rod. “I’ve got at least three blisters begging to be drowned.”
Clive broke into a jog toward the canoe beached at the water’s edge. “Water’s perfect. I’m taking her out!”
“Wait for me!” his twin called, loping after him. “Aries, you coming?”
Aries shook his head. “Later. Hadria wants seaweed.”
A collective pause.
“What does she need seaweed for?” Niall asked.
“No idea. She was very specific.”
“She brewing a potion or exfoliating a toad?” Collin asked. “Because if it’s the latter, I need the recipe.”
Aries just sighed. “You mock, but if I bring the wrong kind, I get the look.”
“Ah,” Collin said, stretching with a groan. “The one that makes you apologize for things your ancestors did. Understood.”
Collin sat alone for a moment, letting the breeze cool the sweat on his neck.
He rolled his trouser cuffs to his knees, pulled off his boots, and dropped them beside his shirt.
He unbuckled his watch, then tucked it carefully into one boot.
The sand was warm under his soles—sunbaked on the surface, cool just beneath.
He dug his toes in, letting the heat and grit settle between them.
Down the shore, Aries combed through strands of seaweed with surprising focus, lifting each one like a scholar inspecting parchment.
Every now and then, he gave a satisfied grunt and coiled one into a slick green loop.
Clive and Niall were already halfway to open water, paddling out in their canoe between bursts of laughter and poorly aimed splashes.
Collin looked out over the wide horizon. The clouds above were soft and slow-moving, the waves below catching just enough sunlight to glow pale blue at the edges. The openness of the cove hit him like a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
He stood up, stretched once, then jogged toward the water. His feet sank into the wet sand as he splashed into the shallows without hesitation. The ocean grabbed at him—icy and bracing—but his body, flushed from the hike, welcomed the shock.
He stopped at waist-deep, let the water swirl around him, tug at his hips. The pull was strong here, the kind that might knock a man off his feet if he wasn’t paying attention. He grinned and let it rock him anyway. Then, with a deep breath, he launched forward and swam.
His strokes were steady, practiced. Grandfather had taught him in the lake, throwing him off the little dock and shouting corrections between sips of tea. Later came boats, skiffs, summer sails. The water had always felt like home.
Out here, with only sky above and sea below, everything else peeled away. He wasn’t a son or a boy carrying too much history—he was just motion and breath and salt. Small in the world, yes. But fully inside it.