Page 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Lying upon the warm, sandy floor of her bedroom, Celeste stared blankly above. She did not see the glorious iridescent shells that were intricately hand-placed across the vaulted ceiling. Her mind was leagues away, on the surface watching the human prince laugh. She replayed it in her mind, every detail burned into her memory. His dark hair falling over his forehead. His high cheekbones and his dark round eyes. His smile. Without noticing, she hummed, and it was the song he’d sung.

The water around her drifted. She felt someone coming.

“Celeste!” a voice echoed up the spiraling path that led to the princess’s rooms.

The siren bolted upright. “In here, Mother!” she called, perhaps too brightly. Firmly Celeste put aside whatever confusing feelings she had and focused on the mission. It was her first real assignment with the Chorus, and she couldn’t wait to tell someone about it.

The queen swept into the room, the shells across her back tinkling like little bells. “I wished to see you before you left with the Chorus,” she said with a smile, coming to rest on a stone chair next to her daughter.

“It was certainly a surprise that the test was moved to today. But I feel ready,” Celeste said, placing her hands in her lap.

The queen smiled. “Good. General Echo came by not too long ago and told me you were to be paired with her.”

Celeste’s stomach clenched. Why was General Echo reporting to her mother about her? Wouldn’t Xandra be the one to give the official report? It was her mission, not Echo’s.

Halia’s eyes roamed over her daughter, stopping at the top of her head. “Your hair is a mess. You should comb it, little star,” she tsked.

Celeste’s hand jumped to the spot her mother looked at. She tried to straighten the tangled knots with her fingers, but the action felt pointless in the water.

“Are you nervous?” the queen asked, getting up and moving toward the mother-of-pearl comb on the shelf.

“I—” Celeste began, hand dropping from her hair. She wanted so desperately to ask her mother about the prince, but she was certain it was a bad idea. “No.”

The queen glided back to her daughter’s side, eyes unreadable. With a gentle touch, she placed her hand on Celeste’s chin, turning her daughter’s face away. Then she carefully ran the comb through the tangles, each stroke smooth and soft. The touch was soothing. Calming. It reminded her that she wasn’t speaking only to the queen of Staria. She was speaking to her mother. The siren who raised her.

“Did you know humans sang songs?” Celeste hedged.

The comb paused, then continued.

“Their songs aren’t like ours.”

“Right! I know,” Celeste agreed, heart hammering. Why did she say that? What if her mother asked how she knew about the human songs? But the queen said nothing, only finished brushing and set the comb down. “Are—are all humans bad?” Celeste turned to face her mother, knowing full well she was swimming in dangerous waters. But she couldn’t stop herself.

The water around her felt as though it had dropped several degrees.

“They would kill you as soon as they laid eyes on you. You know this,” the queen said, her brow knit in confusion.

“I know, but—” Celeste’s words died in her throat. She wanted to ask about the animal. About the dancing. To ask why sirens hated these creatures who made the things sirens pillaged. Surely there was more to them than violence. But she couldn’t say any of what she’d seen without revealing that she had been to the surface that morning. Instead, she said, “What if they’re not all dangerous?”

The queen looked as though Celeste had slapped her.

But Celeste pushed on. It was as if her thoughts were water, rushing out at once. “I’m sure you have good reasons for not trusting them... but couldn’t there be some humans who are good too? Just because their king is a monster doesn’t mean his son?—”

“That’s enough, Celeste.”

“But, Mother?—”

“Humans are dangerous and violent, even to their own.”

“I know,” Celeste said, knots forming in her stomach.

The queen shook her head, hurt plain on her face. “Then how can you say such things? Just because you discovered they have songs you think they’re civilized?”

Tears pricked at Celeste’s eyes. “I don’t know?—”

“You don’t.” The queen sighed, rubbing her temples with her long fingers. “You don’t know anything about them.”

This landed like a blow. “That’s why I’m asking you!” she said. “I only want to understand, Mother. You haven’t told me anything about them. Everything I know has come from gossip or through training. I know their language and their ships and their geography. We even collect their things ! I just—” Celeste stopped at the look on her mother’s face, angry enough to boil water.

“That’s enough,” the queen said, straightening.

“Please, Mother. I just want to talk about this.” But as the words left her mouth, her voice began to waver. Then the tears grew in her eyes, until they released, unbidden, mixing with the water around her and disappearing as quickly as they formed.

“Calm down,” the queen said. “Crying about it is not going to help.”

Celeste wiped at her eyes, embarrassment white-hot in her chest. It only made things worse. The tears did not listen.

“Don’t act like this,” the queen said, “like one of them .”

The words sucked the air from her lungs. Sirens considered humans irrational creatures, led by their emotions and incapable of reason or control. Celeste gasped, the tears falling faster. Stop crying , Celeste begged her tears, but they ignored her silent pleas. The feelings inside her felt too big, too confusing. This is foolish. Why am I crying over this? Why can’t we just talk? How did this go so wrong?

But this was not the first time. Celeste had always been emotional, unlike her family. She’d never seen her mother or father cry. Shye hadn’t cried since their grandmother died, and Sephone... Sephone only cried when no one was looking. But it seemed as though Celeste cried all the time. She couldn’t control it. And even having someone present wasn’t a deterrent. Despite her and her mother’s wishes, the Chorus hadn’t trained it out of her. She wished she could handle her emotions like other sirens. She wished she didn’t cry when she was angry or sad or frustrated. But she did. She always did. And she hated herself for it.

The queen took a deep breath and reached for Celeste’s hand. “I don’t think being a member of the Chorus is the right fit,” she said. “I fear this is too much pressure for you.”

It was as though Celeste had been doused in the icy waters of Skalvaske. “What?”

Her mother rose, moving toward the door. “I know you went to the surface today. The guard told me,” she said, voice low. Celeste looked down at her fin, embarrassed. “You’re not ready. I hoped you could learn from General Echo, but—I don’t think you should be making any more trips to the surface anytime soon. Clearly, they’re leaving a bad impression on you.”

With those words, the queen swam from the room.

“No!” Celeste shouted after her through her tears. “Mother, wait!”

No answer.

In frustration, Celeste slammed her fist into the floor, sending bits of sand swirling into the water. Then she crumpled, tears blurring her vision. It poured from her. All the confusion about the humans, the prince. All the anger at her sister, at her mother, at the Chorus for assigning her a babysitter, at Maeve, who was always too busy. But most of all, at herself. For thinking for one second things would be different. That her mother might understand. Or at least talk to her about it. She should have never spoken of these things. She knew better. And now she had no future.

What was she if she were not a member of the Chorus?

What would she do?

Nothing . The answer hit her all at once. She’d do nothing.

It took time for the sobs to slow, the tears to lessen, her vision to clear. She looked around the room, gazing at the things she’d collected over the cycles. Colorful glass bottles. Shiny human coins. Sparkling jewels. Silver combs upon a shelf. Celeste pushed herself from the floor and picked up an object she’d found on a ship that had sunk after a siren raid. She moved her fingers over the smooth golden surface before pressing a little knob at the top. It sprang open, revealing a glass-covered face with two arrows, one long and one short, connected in the center but pointing outward. The arrows didn’t move on their own, but if she turned the knob, they spun around. She wished for the hundredth time that she knew what it was.

It was on one of her rare trips out to sea that she had found the object. For her eleventh birthday, her parents gave Maeve, Sephone, and Celeste permission to leave the castle grounds after significant begging. Sephone had been sixteen, so it was her responsibility to keep an eye on Maeve and Celeste. Other sirens their age were allowed to leave home unchaperoned. But, of course, their mother had sent along a royal guard, Helena. She was fun to be around, so it didn’t bother the girls. The summer waters were warmer than usual, if you swam high enough. Maeve and Celeste took turns daring each other to swim up a little toward the surface, each one trying to get closer than the other. They didn’t make it far before Helena suggested another game.

When they came upon the shipwreck, Celeste squealed with joy. The ship was lying on its side like a carcass of a great whale. The wreck was recent, so there wasn’t much growing on the ship yet, but already fish and other small creatures had made the husk their home. Shrieking battle cries, Maeve and Celeste raced each other to the vessel. Shipwrecks happened every so often, but Celeste had never scavenged a ship before. The little princess reached the ship first but hesitated before entering. What dangers lurked inside? Whatever had happened to the ship, it had been violent. Large pieces of the walls were missing or damaged. Had the Chorus done that?

“You look like you’ve seen the Sea Witch,” Sephone teased.

“No,” Celeste said, swatting at her sister. “I’m not afraid.” And with a deep breath, Celeste plunged inside. No door was left unopened. No secret undiscovered. She didn’t even take much; she only wanted to see it all. Thick rope too heavy to move. A collection of tiny blunt knives; little tridents; and small, shallow bowls attached to some handles. Waterlogged books. At the time she hadn’t known what they were. Their warped covers and delicate pages looked like clams. Sirens didn’t have a common written language. But the Chorus later taught her of books, and how humans used words to keep their stories instead of Songs.

In the ship, Celeste felt like an investigator, collecting clues about human life. And in a back room, she saw something shining on the floor. The golden object. Solid and smooth in her hands. And when Sephone entered the room, Celeste tucked the item away into her satchel so her sister wouldn’t fight her for it.

Sephone and Celeste had been close for a time, despite their age difference. But as those final two cycles went on before Sephone left, her sister’s fascination with shipwrecks and stories faded. Interests the sisters once shared. Instead, Sephone began taking lessons from tutors. So many that Celeste hardly saw her. When she asked, their mother told her that Sephone was preparing to become a wife to someone from another kingdom. The king and queen said it was Sephone’s choice. She did not have to marry a foreign siren royal if she did not wish. But Sephone accepted the role with grace. And when the day came for her to visit the other siren kingdoms, she left.

It had been five cycles since Sephone had gone, but somehow Celeste still felt her absence everywhere. Her mother tried to spend time with Celeste when she could, but she was so busy being queen that even with her father’s aid it was too much work. And they wouldn’t let Celeste go visit Sephone.

“We cannot use such immense resources for a simple visit, little star.”

The oceans were just too vast. Too dangerous. It was rare for sirens to journey through the Wasting Waters between the kingdoms, where most didn’t survive for long, though it was said the Sea Witch lived there, deep in a cave.

The ice kingdom of Skalvaske lay to the north, founded by Queen Klara, the third daughter of the Goddess. There sirens grew to be the size of whales, though it was the smallest siren kingdom in population.

Celeste had only met one siren from another kingdom. A diplomat from Ayakashi, in the east. Founded by the second daughter, Queen Suna, it was the second-largest kingdom to Staria and home to the most renowned storytellers. Sirens would risk swimming the ocean just to hear their tales. But the encounter with the diplomat was short, and Celeste was not allowed to ask them questions. She was left with only her lessons to give her the answers she sought.

Pulling herself from her memories, Celeste placed the golden object back on her shelf. The overwhelming tide of feelings had ebbed, but she could not shake her sadness. Soon it would be time to leave for the mission.

A mission she could not miss.

Setting her jaw, Celeste took up her spear from its place against the wall. A gift from her father on the day she joined the Chorus’s initiates. She remembered wanting to hug him after seeing it. It was the most beautiful spear she’d ever seen. The shaft was wrapped in stingray leather, and around the top near the wings—the part of the spear that protruded from the sides like a cross guard—black pearls were inlaid. Celeste placed the spear reverently upon her lap and began to sharpen it. With each rhythmic scrape, she felt herself sink into her routine. She could do this. She was ready. She had worked too hard for too long to give everything up now. After tonight she would be a full-fledged member of the Chorus, and her mother wouldn’t be able to keep her locked up in the palace any longer.

Rising from her chair, she secured the weapon to her back. She smoothed her hair with her hands, weaving it into a long white braid and securing it with a bit of fish leather. Then, with a steadying breath, she exited her room and made her way down toward the main hall.

“Where do you think you are going?” The queen’s voice halted her. She stared at her daughter, eyes wide with shock. Around her, two members of the council exchanged glances.

“I am leaving for my mission so I will arrive early,” Celeste said, respectfully nodding toward each council member, one of whom—the head of the council—was Maeve’s mother.

The queen left her company, barreling down upon her daughter. “No, you are most certainly not. You are forbidden from going to the surface.” She kept her voice low, tossing a glance toward the council members behind her.

“I am an initiate of the Chorus,” Celeste said, lifting her chin and refusing to lower her voice. “I am required to go. My absence from this mission will result in my removal.”

“Perhaps that is for the best,” her mother said quietly, moving into her daughter’s path.

Celeste’s eyes pricked with tears, the careful calm she had cultivated shattering like thin ice. “I am not a child, Mother!” she exclaimed. “You cannot order me around like?—”

“Then stop acting like a child,” the queen retorted, all effort to hide the dispute gone. The words struck hard. “How am I to trust you when you come home spouting nonsense! It is too dangerous. If you fail to control yourself, you could hurt someone.”

Celeste squeezed her eyes shut. “I won’t?—”

“Forgive me,” the queen said, cutting off her daughter as she turned to the council members behind her. “I must speak with my daughter. I will rejoin you in the pearl room.”

They nodded, bowing low before excusing themselves. But Celeste did not miss how they whispered to each other as they went. And neither, apparently, did the queen.

“Celeste, you are not going on the mission, and that is final,” Halia said.

Tears blurred Celeste’s vision as they mixed with the water around her. “You don’t want me to try, because you’re afraid I’ll fail. That I’ll embarrass you.” She threw the word embarrass like a curse. As if it was the worst thing in the world.

“No,” her mother said. “I don’t want you to try because you might hurt someone else.”

The words hurt more than Celeste thought they would.

“I can control it now,” the princess pleaded. “I know I can. Please just trust me.”

“My answer is no, Celeste. I’m sorry.”

The words resounded with utter finality. Celeste should have known. Known her mother wouldn’t understand. Known to keep her mouth shut. It was clear to her that Halia would never have let her join the Chorus. Not really. Perhaps she’d never believed her daughter would get this far. If it hadn’t been this, it would have been something else.

Celeste sank to the stone floor beneath her, the spear on her back clattering as it hit. Four cycles... four cycles undone. She had only wished to talk. To tell someone—anyone—about her doubts instead of holding it all inside. Shame and anger rolled down her in waves, crashing over and over.

She had nothing now.

“Why don’t you calm down in your room,” her mother said, reaching for her daughter’s hand in sympathy.

Celeste flinched away and pushed herself off the floor. When she looked into her mother’s face, there was no surprise there. Only pity. It was as if she had been waiting for this moment to come. Celeste looked away, not wanting to see it any longer. Without another word, she swam down the hall toward her room. Her mother did not stop her or offer comfort. Instead, the queen watched as the space between them grew. Then Celeste turned the corner and left her mother alone in silence.

Sephone had always been the better daughter. She never asked questions or spoke out of turn. Sephone did as she was told. And Shye was like their father. Hardheaded, straightforward, and ambitious. But strong. So strong. Doing everything by the book.

Celeste was the foolish one. The curious one. Too silly. Too loud. Too emotional. Once, when she was six, she swung her arms around when she was telling a story at dinner and knocked her mother’s favorite crown from her head. It fell, and one delicate piece of coral snapped from it. Her mother hadn’t reprimanded her. She hadn’t needed to. The crown had been in the royal family for generations, and in one sweeping gesture, Celeste had ruined it.

She was tired of ruining things.

She was tired of everyone treating her as if she were some problem to solve.

Without the Chorus, she would be destined to rot away in the palace alone or be wed off to some foreign prince, like Sephone. Her life would never be her own. So when Celeste reached the end of the hall, she did not turn to swim up the circling tower to her rooms. Instead, she swam straight through the side exit and into the night.