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BEACON
CAMILLE PETERS
BEACON
By: Rosewood Publications

Copyright © 2022 by Camille Peters
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express
written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names,
characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblances to actual events or places or persons, living
or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Rosewood Publications
Salt Lake City, Utah
United States of America
www.camillepeters.com
Cover Design by Karri Klawiter

To all those with any form of mutism—may you find your own “voice”, in whatever form that may
be.
C O NT E NT S
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Thank You
Also by Camille Peters
Acknowledgments
About the Author
C HAPTER 1
I watched, mesmerized, as the water rose from my palm to the sound of my song. I
experimented and altered the pitch of my melody; the water twirled higher, while another trill
of notes caused the water to glow a lovely lilac shade.
My giggle of delight broke my song, causing the water to return to the ocean where I stood knee-
deep. My fingers brushed the water’s surface as I waded farther in, eager to continue playing.
“Don’t go too far, Marisa.”
I turned at the sound of Mother’s worried voice. She stood outside the lighthouse yanking clothes
from the line, her movements frantic in her haste.
I sloshed closer to shore. “Did you see what I just did?”
I scooped up a handful of water so I could showcase my latest trick. At my hum, the water glowed
and rose once more. I glanced towards Mother, eager for her reaction, but although she was usually an
attentive audience, her attention wasn’t on me but on the laundry.
“I’m sorry, Marisa, I wish I could play with you, but I still have much to do before the ship
leaves.”
I pouted. “Do you have to go?”
Even amid her stress, she managed a soft smile; if I’d been closer, she’d certainly have stroked
my hair. “Yes, darling. My sister needs someone to help with the children before and after her baby is
born.”
I heaved an annoyed sigh. My aunt always seemed to be having babies, each time taking Mother
across the sea to Lyceria where she lived so she could help her tend the house and growing swarm of
children. Each visit lasted for several weeks…weeks that felt like an eternity.
“Can’t I come with you?”
The softness around Mother’s eyes tightened, revealing her strain. “Marisa, we’ve talked about
this over and over. You know you can’t—”
“Please, can’t I come? Please? Please?”
My temper flared when she rigidly shook her head. I clenched my fists and let out several shrill
notes, causing a huge wave of water to rise up and crash violently against the shore.
“Marisa!” Worry filled Mother’s scolding tone, as it always did whenever I lost control of my
powers. Shame pierced my frustration and I relaxed my tightened grip, allowing the sea to calm.
“I want to come with you,” I said more softly.
“I wish you could, but you know your aunt and uncle don’t have the means for another mouth to
feed.”
It was the same argument she’d repeatedly given me, one I was not only growing weary of but
which I was beginning to doubt—if it were true, why was my aunt having another baby?
I pressed my hands to my hips. “If they have enough for another baby, they’ll have enough for me
until the baby is born.”
Mother opened her mouth to argue…but apparently one wasn’t forthcoming, for she closed it with
a sigh. Sensing I had the upper hand, I launched into my rehearsed speech of how I would be a great
help and not a bother at all. I could tend the house, help with the meals, and most importantly,
entertain the children with my magic. Surely Mother could see that it would be better if I came along.
My cousins had always loved watching all the marvelous things I was discovering that I could do
with my water powers, which grew with each passing year.
Mother sighed again. “Please, Marisa, I don’t have time for this; I need to finish getting ready.”
She took the laundry back into the lighthouse without another look back. Tears blurred her retreating
form as I watched her leave.
“Will you show me your latest trick, Starfish?” Gentleness filled Father’s tone and expression as
he beckoned me over to where he sat on the rocky shore tending his fishing lines. Even the idea of
showcasing my latest trick wasn’t enough to quell the disappointment tightening my chest.
I waded towards him. “Mother won’t let me go with her.”
“I know you’re disappointed, but I’m grateful you’ll be able to stay and keep me company.”
“Are you disappointed you can’t go either?” Father’s job as the lighthouse keeper was far too
important for him to take a break, even for a single night, not when his light shone as a steady beacon
to all the ships out at sea.
“No. It’s a great honor to tend the lighthouse.” He pursed his lips in thought. “Hmm, I have an
idea.”
I waded a step closer. “What is it?”
He patted his lap, and even though I was nine years old and thus too old for such things, I still
eagerly accepted his invitation and came over to curl against him. He made no protest at getting wet
from my soaked skirts and cuddled me closer.
“How about you help me with the lighthouse while your mother is away.”
Delight trickled over me in waves. “I can help? Really?” For up until now my tasks with assisting
at the lighthouse had all been small, the larger ones far too important to entrust me with.
“You can stay up late tonight and help me tend the beacon. Would you like that?”
I nodded eagerly and some of my annoyance at being left behind slowly subsided. While not quite
as grand as a wondrous week at sea with Mother and several weeks of playing with my cousins,
helping with the lighthouse would still be quite the adventure.
I had to tell Mother the grand news. “Thank you, Father.” I kissed the underside of his whiskery
chin before crawling off his lap. Halfway to shore, I paused to sing a trilling note; a small wave of
water rose up to lightly press against Father’s cheek like a kiss. He chuckled, as he was always
delighted by my unusual magic. Now if only Mother would feel the same way.
I hurried up the beach towards the lighthouse. Sand stuck to my wet feet and trailed all over the
floor as I ventured inside, where I found Mother in her room scrambling to finish packing.
“Mother, guess what? Father said I could—”
Her eyes widened when she noticed the trail of sandy footprints that had followed me up the
stairs. “Marisa, did you get sand all over the floors?”
My heart sank at the strain in her voice and I dipped my head in remorse. “I’m sorry.”
She took a wavering breath before reaching out to stroke my hair, assuring me I wasn’t in
complete disgrace. “Will you clean it up before I leave?”
I nodded, earning me a smile. I brightened once more. “Mother, guess what? Father said I can help
tend the lighthouse while you’re away.”
“Did he?” Her tone was less enthusiastic and more distracted as she went over the contents of her
travel bag.
“He did.”
I began chattering all about it as I followed Mother around her room like a shadow, talking about
all manner of things—the tasks I could assist Father with, the latest discoveries of my powers, and all
manner of subjects I felt important enough to share before she left. There were so many things to talk
about with her, and to think I only had a few hours to share them before she left and I’d have to wait
until her return in several weeks’ time, which felt ages away.
The tension lining Mother’s eyes deepened and her mouth pursed in the thin line that only
appeared when she was losing her patience. Finally, she spun on me. “Marisa!”
Her sharp tone caused my mouth to instantly snap shut mid-sentence. She took a steadying breath.
“I’m sorry, but I’m really busy and don’t have time for this right now. So please, just…stop
talking.”
I stared as the meaning of her words settled over me. She wanted me to…stop talking? Mother
usually had time to listen to me. Did my talking…annoy her?
My chin wobbled as I ran from the room and up the spiral staircase that twisted towards the
beacon. I slouched on the top step and buried my tears in my knees.
I wasn’t sure how long I’d sat there before I heard heavy footfalls ascending the stairs, ones
familiar after having heard them every night without fail. Father. He paused near the top. “Your
mother is leaving. Would you like to come down and say goodbye?”
I didn’t even emerge from my crumpled position as I shook my head. Father ascended the
remaining steps to settle beside me.
“I heard your mother got short with you, but she wishes to apologize before she leaves. Would you
like to see her?”
I shook my head again. “She doesn’t want my company.”
“Of course she does.”
“She doesn’t. I annoyed her with my talking.”
Father wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “Your mother was simply stressed, but you know
she loves you.”
Deep down I did, but in that moment, my hurt was stronger, leaving me unsure—I didn’t want to
see Mother off for fear of annoying her again.
At my continual silence, Father sighed, but when I tentatively peeked up at him, I found only
gentleness in his expression.
“Traveling is always difficult for your mother. She’s worried not only about the upcoming journey
but about what she’ll find waiting for her upon her arrival; your aunt’s pregnancy isn’t going well.
Not to mention she hates leaving you behind.”
Guilt I’d only added to her stress penetrated my stubborn hurt, but it didn’t lessen the sting from
Mother’s rebuke. “Do I talk too much?” I murmured.
“Of course not,” Father said.
“But Mother said—”
“She loves both you and your stories dearly.” Father gave me a reassuring snuggle. “Now come
say goodbye; I want there to be peace between you before she leaves.”
He said nothing more and simply gave me another loving squeeze before departing. I watched him
disappear down the spiraling steps, listening to the echo of his footsteps growing fainter and fainter
until I was left in silence.
It took me several minutes to decide to follow him. I tiptoed down the stairs, careful not to make
any noise so I wouldn’t be detected as I gauged Mother’s mood to ensure she truly wanted to see me
before she left. After several turns on the stairs, I slowed near the bottom at the sound of Mother and
Father’s hushed voices.
“I’m not sure I can go,” Mother said. “You saw the way Marisa lost control over her magic when
her mood overcame her. What if—”
“It’ll be alright.” Father’s tone was soothing and reassuring, and even though I couldn’t see them,
I could imagine the way he always gently cupped her chin to calm her when she worried.
“How can you be so sure?”
“She’s still so young. She’ll gain better control as she grows older.”
Mother took a steadying breath. “You’re right, of course. I just worry. There’s still so much we
don’t know about her magic—where it came from, what she can use it for…not to mention her powers
are developing at an increasing rate. I’m afraid to leave her for so long.”
“I’ll watch over her,” Father assured her.
“Are you worried at all?”
He hesitated. “I confess that the mystery behind them makes me wary, but they bring her so much
joy. Thus I have faith that all will be well.”
“But will it?” Mother was silent another anxious moment more. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to
have her help you with the lighthouse? She’s still so irresponsible…”
I’d heard enough. I crept back up the stairs, no longer wanting to say goodbye. Instead I curled up
in my favorite spot at the top between the beacon and the tall windows, careful not to lean against the
glass; the lighthouse panes had to remain spotless in order to better allow the light to shine through.
I stared down at my hands, examining them from front to back. I hummed one of the soft tunes that
the water responded to at my command whenever I was near it, even as the conversation I’d
overheard gnawed at my thoughts.
Whatever her worries, my powers weren’t a cause for concern. They’d been a part of me for as
long as I could remember, just like my earliest memories, all of the sea—the way the early morning
light glistened off its surface, the salty breeze that rose from the water, the feel of sand between my
toes and the cold waves rolling across my feet…and the first moment I felt the magic stir within me
when I touched the ocean. It’d swelled within my breast and tingled my hands, begging for release.
But for years it’d remained trapped inside…until I discovered music.
Since then, developing my powers had come as naturally as learning to speak, for with speech
came song, which affected any water I touched. Each melody created a unique effect, each one
enchanting and beautiful. How could Mother be so concerned over something that had brought me
nothing but joy?
I was torn from my thoughts at the sudden movement below. My perch provided a clear view of
both the surrounding ocean and the shore, so I was able to watch as Mother walked outside and
Father followed to embrace her. As if sensing my gaze, Mother glanced up amid his embrace and our
eyes met. She watched me a moment before blowing me a kiss and turning to walk down the path that
led to the village.
Anxiousness swelled as I watched her depart, even as foreboding knotted my stomach so tightly
that I almost felt ill. I sprang to my feet and nearly tripped over my skirts in my haste down the stairs
and out the door, where I careened into Father.
“Whoa, careful, Starfish. Your mother just left.” He looked disapproving, undoubtedly because
I’d missed my opportunity to tell her goodbye.
I tightened my jaw in determination. I wouldn’t miss my opportunity. I ducked beneath his arm and
hurried down the cobblestone path that led from our lighthouse towards the village.
I hadn’t made it very far when I encountered a fork in the road. I slowed, nibbling my lip as I
stared down the two paths twisting off in opposite directions. Which way did I go? I’d only
accompanied my parents to the village the few times I’d gone to school or visited the market, leaving
the route unfamiliar when I was by myself.
I examined each path carefully for anything I recognized, even as my anxiety increased with how
much time I was wasting deliberating. Was it the left path? No, it was the right; I was certain of it. I
ran down that one, ignoring the turns I could take along the way—until it ended at the clearing where
the town woodsman lived. Frustrated, I realized I must have missed a turn and had to backtrack. But
none of the side paths were right, and it didn’t take long to realize I’d chosen the wrong road. It took
me nearly a half hour to get back to the main fork and turn the right way, costing me more time I didn’t
have.
I muttered one of Father’s favorite curses, grateful neither he nor Mother were around to hear it. I
swiveled around and hurried back up the road until I managed to find the fork. This time I took the left
path. The long detour had only added to Mother’s head start, one where my shorter legs already left
me at a disadvantage.
But I pressed on, hurrying along the path as it twisted parallel to the shore before veering towards
the bustling village. In the distance I could see the ship’s billowing sails, peeking through the gaps
between the buildings.
I paused at the gate to clutch at a stitch in my side and scan the crowd. Not only was there no sign
of Mother but the clusters of shops, houses, and market stalls made the village one giant labyrinth, one
that would take ages to navigate in order to reach the dock in time. But I would; I had to.
I only lingered to catch my breath and to ask a nearby vendor the way to the dock before I took off
again, weaving around people and stalls as quickly as I could. I arrived at the dock just as the anchor
was being lifted and the ship sailed from the harbor. Defeated, I sank onto the dock’s rough planks
and watched the ship sail farther and farther away.
I’d missed Mother.
The horizon blurred with my tears as I stared after her. I was still staring out across the sea an
hour later after the ship had become nothing but a speck in the distance when Father found me. He
rested a comforting hand on my shoulder, which did little to prevent my sob from escaping.
“I missed her.”
“I’m sorry, Starfish.”
I blinked back my tears. “I thought I’d make it, but I took a wrong turn…and by the time I arrived,
the ship had already set sail.” It took a moment for me to push through my emotions in order to ask my
burning question. “Why didn’t Mother—”
“She waited for you as long as she could; she wanted to say goodbye but didn’t want to force you
to see her if you didn’t want to.”
My earlier moodiness felt immature, especially considering it’d prevented me from seeing Mother
off. It’d be weeks before she returned.
My chin wobbled as I numbly accepted Father’s hand. He helped me to my feet and tucked my
arm around his elbow before we began the long trudge up the hill back to the lighthouse, which stood
as a tall, steady beacon along the rocky shore. It was nearing dusk by the time we arrived. I knew
Father would need to tend to his duties in order to help any ships at sea who relied on our light…
which now included Mother’s.
He paused before going inside. “Would you like to help me tonight?”
I shook my head and tugged my arm free. I wandered to the shore and settled on the sand, where I
dipped my feet into the rolling tide. Rather than the water calming me as it usually did, my thoughts
only darkened the longer I remained alone with them.
Not only had I missed Mother but she’d left without saying goodbye. Had I truly annoyed her that
much? Hurt and resentment burned my chest, churning the warm, tingly power that always lingered
just below the surface. My fragile control I’d been trying to strengthen over the years was no match
for my whirling emotions fighting their way towards the surface, which only grew stronger as I
recalled each and every time Mother had ever gotten annoyed with me.
With each memory, I muttered angry and hurtful words beneath my breath…which only seemed to
add strength to my magic. At first I didn’t notice the way the sea responded or the change in the wind.
I barely noticed anything midst my aching sadness, an emotion that seemed to trickle down my arm
into my fingers grazing the surface of the water.
The sound of the sea crashing violently against the shore yanked me from my reverie. I blinked as
I stared across the ocean, the water near me churning roughly despite it being a clear, cloudless night.
Had I done that? But how was that possible when I hadn’t been singing? Could my words and
emotions be another fuel for my powers?
I experimented. I dipped my hand deeper into the sea, focusing on my feelings rather than singing.
The water rippled, subtly at first before they slowly grew into waves, ones that began from where I
touched and stretched out across the ocean.
This new discovery not only invigorated me but the challenge was therapeutic for my heartache
and disappointments. The more I thought of them and even spoke them out loud, the more the waves
grew, rolling farther out to sea until the ocean became as dark and choppy as it would during a storm.
“What are you doing, Marisa?”
Father’s frantic voice jolted me from my concentration. I swiveled around to find him hurrying
towards me, his eyes wide with fear.
I yanked my hand from the water. “I—”
“Are you causing this?”
My heart sank as I looked across the water. What had begun as a game didn’t feel like one any
longer; the sea churned angrily, a state I’d caused with my magic.
Dread pooled in my stomach. “I didn’t mean—I was just playing—”
Father spun on me, his expression wild, no sign of his usual patience. “Calm the sea. Now. Your
mother is out there.”
Fear cinched my heart in a tight, unyielding grasp. I hastily dipped my hand back into the water
where I could feel the sea’s energy pulsing against my hand, far more powerful than the magic
simmering within me. My voice cracked as I tried to sing a soothing tune, but my voice was lost in the
growing wind, my remaining magic no match for the elements.
“Stop the sea, Marisa.”
Father’s panic added to my own, trapping my voice in my throat. My anxiety grew as I looked
over the sea, growing rougher with my rising fear. Desperate, I once again tried to stop the waves,
pushing against my magic with all my might…but the rough sea had become an insurmountable
mountain, one impossible to ascend; the effort left me exhausted, making my powers even more
impossible to control.
Not sure what else to do, I scrambled onto the shore away from the rocky waves, as if distancing
myself would help calm the sea. But it only continued to rage.
I didn’t notice Father had left my side until he was halfway towards the lighthouse. I scrambled
after him. “Father, I didn’t mean—”
“I have to get up to the beacon.” He said nothing more as he ascended the stairs, me close behind.
I hovered at the top and watched as he lit the lantern, its bright light welcome in the tense, settling
darkness…and then we waited, staring out across the ocean as it continued to churn.
Eventually the sea calmed, as if the magic controlling it had finally run its course. But Father and I
didn’t move; we searched the darkening horizon for any sign of the ship that had set sail less than two
hours before, praying fervently that it had sailed beyond the reach of my raging powers.
Soon the twilight melted into night, yet still we lingered, silent, the despair pressing against my
chest increasing the longer the horizon remained empty. This worry lingered all throughout the night. I
remained by Father’s side, fear’s unrelenting grasp over my thoughts making even the thought of sleep
impossible.
With the arriving dawn came a knock, which echoed ominously through the lighthouse. Jaw taut,
Father left to answer it. I slowly followed, lingering on the bottom step as he opened the front door to
whoever was on the other side. I didn’t hear the whispered words that were exchanged, but I saw
Father’s devastation when he returned to me.
And then I knew. A strangled sob escaped past my dry throat as I collapsed onto the bottom step.
“No. No, no, no.”
Tears trickled down his cheeks into his beard as Father knelt before me and gathered me in his
arms, but they provided no comfort for the horror and guilt raging within me. Without him even saying
anything, I knew Mother’s ship had sunk…and that it was all my fault.
I didn’t hear any of Father’s grief-filled assurances that it was only an accident. That didn’t
matter, for I couldn’t escape the truth that I’d caused the accident. My mind was numb, each
hyperventilating breath a struggle as I frantically shook my head in denial.
“No, no, no, no…” Each word shattered another part of my heart, one that could never be put back
together now that Mother was gone. But soon my denial faded, along with my voice, and I fell silent,
having run out of words completely.
But I didn’t need words, not when the silence was more comforting. After all, words had the
power to hurt: words spoken in frustration, such as Mother to me; words remaining unsaid, like my
goodbye to Mother; words which had caused the sea to rage; and words that were now impossible to
ever speak, like any to Mother, now that she was—
No! I couldn’t even think that word, one more horrible and final than any other in my vocabulary.
But although I didn’t speak, I couldn’t escape the memories from my words. They swarmed in my
mind before settling on my final conversation with Mother. The memory of the kiss she’d blown to me
in farewell was swallowed up with the last words she’d ever spoken to me. I tried to suppress them,
but they washed over me in waves—taunting, cruel, accusing—repeating over and over in my mind
until I feared I’d go mad.
Just stop talking.
Just stop talking.
Just. Stop. Talking…
C HAPTER 2
TEN YEARS LATER
M y arm throbbed, but still, I meticulously scrubbed the windows, pausing every so often to
search for any sign of dirt. Not a smudge could be seen, yet I couldn’t stop cleaning. What
if there was a spot I’d missed and that very spot made it more difficult for the beacon’s light to be
seen for the ships out at sea?
Anxiety tightened my chest. I dipped my rag back into the sudsy bucket of water and proceeded to
wash the window anew.
“It’s clean enough, Starfish.”
From the other side of the room, Father had paused in trimming the wick—one of our many duties
as the keepers of the lighthouse—to watch me in concern. I gave my head a rigorous shake and
continued scrubbing. He was wrong; it could never be clean enough.
Father’s limping footsteps approached, but I didn’t turn around, not even when he rested a
comforting hand on my hand, forcing me to still. “It’s spotless. You’ve done a marvelous job.”
What if he was wrong? I’d thought the panes were spotless last month…only to wake up one
morning following a rough storm to find the remains of a ship splintered against the rocks…
I shook off his hand and renewed my scrubbing with increased vigor. The window had to be
clean. The ships had to see the light. I couldn’t bear if there was another shipwreck, one I might have
been able to prevent—
Father once more laid a gentle hand over mine clenching the rag in a death grip. I didn’t relinquish
my hold; I only clung to it tighter. I shook my head in protest, but he ignored me, working the rag loose
until it fell back into the water with a splash.
“You did a beautiful job, Marisa.” As usual, his tone was patient, even though his patience and
kindness were the last things I deserved after what I’d done.
I gave my head another feeble shake, but the effort was less defiant and more resigned. I
frantically scanned the windows again, searching, but the glass appeared utterly pristine.
“I’ve never seen a cleaner window. The beacon will shine for miles.” Father patted my hand
assuredly.
But what if it didn’t shine far enough? What if, despite my efforts, I’d still messed up? What if—
“It’s alright, Starfish.” Father murmured my familiar nickname in a soothing tone, the same he
always used with me—as if he feared I might break.
I wanted to believe him, but his gentle words did little to ease the constant tension pressing
against my heart or the memories always so near the surface. I wearily sank to the floor, and after a
moment’s struggle, Father eased himself down beside me. Even without looking I could sense his
concerned gaze.
He lightly touched my brow, as if the gesture could allow my thoughts to tumble free. “Won’t you
share yourself with me?” he asked.
I remained silent, just as I always had ever since…I hastily pushed those memories away, but they
returned unbidden, raging within my mind just like the storm I’d accidentally created, the storm that
had stolen everything.
Mother.
A choking sound escaped my throat before I could stop it, but I quickly silenced it before the
utterance could be shaped into any sort of meaning. I loathed words and refused to allow them to be
part of me any longer, especially when they brought nothing but distress.
But the noise was enough for Father to sense the distress raging within me, even if I refused to
vocalize it. He stroked my hair the same way Mother always had, but it didn’t feel anything like the
way she’d done it. He didn’t wait for me to speak, knowing well enough that I wouldn’t. Instead he
glanced around the lighthouse we’d spent all morning tending to.
“I think we’ve done everything here. Shall we have lunch?”
I nodded, but although I helped him stand, I didn’t immediately follow him towards the stairs.
Instead I lingered, just as I did every day, meticulously checking everything once more—the wicks
were trimmed, the fuel replenished, the clockworks wound and maintained, the lenses and windows
cleaned…but although everything seemed to be in order, I wasn’t satisfied until I’d checked
everything twice more. Everything appeared to be in order, and yet…
“Marisa?”
Father waited for me several steps down, concern filling his eyes as he watched me, even though
this ritual was nothing new. I didn’t care that my paranoia caused him worry; it was better than the
alternative—my mistakes costing another life. The ones I’d already stolen were an unbearable weight
on my heart; I couldn’t bear another.
I took a steadying breath, and after one final glance around, I looped my arm through his so he
could lean on me as we made our way down the stairs to the kitchen.
Faint sunlight tumbled through the window, creating a cheery effect in the homey room that was
entirely lost on me. I helped Father ease into a chair before cutting him a slice of the rye bread I’d
baked yesterday and preparing him a cup of tea. After giving him both, I immersed myself in washing
the dishes, basking in the rare solace that came from keeping my hands busy.
As I worked, Father chatted to fill the long stretches of silence I suspected he found
uncomfortable, doing his part to make up for my lacking role in the conversation by talking enough for
both of us. Normally, I was an avid contributor to our conversations. Over the years we’d established
a variety of signs that allowed me to convey all my thoughts, feelings, and ideas as needed, a precious
secret only the two of us shared. Yet there were still moments I was content to simply hear him talk,
the tone of his words as soothing as a lullaby.
I allowed his words to wash over me as he discussed the lighthouse and his plans to work on the
repairs for several of the creaking stairs…until he paused, hesitating in a way that was all too
familiar. My heart lurched. I spun around and began frantically shaking my head.
He sighed wearily. “Don’t give me that, Starfish. You know it’s time for me to take another fishing
trip. I’ve delayed it long enough but can’t do so any longer, not when we’re getting so low on coin.”
Although I’d heard this same lecture every time he’d been forced to venture out to sea, it didn’t
make it any easier, especially when my fear of boats prevented me from accompanying him like I used
to before the accident. I used my signs to explain as much before kneeling beside him to rest my hand
on his knee and stare imploringly up at him, but as usual my silent pleadings were in vain.
He rubbed my back. “I know you worry, but the day is beautiful, with no sign of an approaching
storm. And I’ll only be gone a short while.”
Any length of time with him out at sea was too long. My panic swelled. I shook my head again, but
he’d returned to his tea and bread, signifying an end to the argument. But it couldn’t end here.
Frustrated, I slapped my hand on the table, earning me a disapproving look.
“You’re far too old for a tantrum, Marisa.”
I shook my head and pressed my hand against my heart, my sign for fear, an emotion so gripping
that I felt it’d suffocate me. Tears burned my eyes as I jerked to my feet and returned to the basin, but I
made no move to resume my chores. Instead I leaned over it, struggling to control my hyperventilating
breaths.
Father’s chair scraped the floor as he stood and approached until he hovered just behind me. “I
promise I’ll return.”
I spun around and fell against him. He enfolded me in his arms. Even without his own words, I
felt his love and comfort in his warm embrace, and with it, I felt some of my tension ease…though not
completely, not when it was something that never fully disappeared.
It lingered long after Father had gathered his fishing supplies and sailed off into the ocean. From
the top of the lighthouse I watched his boat fade into the horizon until I could no longer see him. My
apprehension returned anew. I desperately tried to distract myself with various tasks around the
lighthouse, pausing every so often to search for any sign of Father even though I knew not to expect
him until twilight, when he’d return to help with the beacon.
It didn’t take long for this very beacon to tempt me with its usual seductive whispers. I once again
paused scrubbing the windows to stare at it before firmly turning my back to block its temptation. But
try as I might to resist, it continued to beckon me like a siren’s call, inviting me to the perfect place to
forget my worries for Father, however momentarily.
The battle didn’t rage long before I succumbed, just as I always did. I went to my bedroom to
open the trunk at the foot of my bed, where I found the jewelry box containing all my crystals nestled
inside. Magic hummed from each one as I lifted the lid. My fingers tingled as I stroked them, the
gesture soothing considering the promise contained within each crystal—an escape to another place.
I sorted through the various shapes and colors before I found the one I was looking for—a lilac
crystal shaped like a perfect sphere. I cupped it in my palm and ascended the twisting staircase to the
beacon. Hidden just below where the flame was lit was a tiny hole, the perfect size to slide the
crystal inside. Its magic hummed as it clicked into place, and the moment I lit the beacon it began to
glow.
The lilac flame shone brightly, filling the room with magic and light, which swirled around to
transport me even though I remained absolutely still. I only stirred when the light gradually faded and
I wandered to the window to peer out.
The familiar shore and distant village had vanished, replaced with the small island surrounded by
the sea on all sides with no sign of land for miles, one of the lighthouse’s many locations. This was
one of its greatest secrets that Father had shared with me years ago—our lighthouse stood not only on
the shore of our village but in several locations throughout Bytamia, even in places no one else had
ever seen. The crystals acted as a portal to transport me to whichever one I wished…and right now I
needed the secret cavern I escaped to nearly every day.
I stepped outside into the salty breeze and stared out across the ocean’s surface, searching…until
a familiar head emerged from the water. Upon seeing me, my octopus scurried over as quickly as his
eight arms could carry him. I met him on the shore as he eased himself out of the water, coiled himself
around my legs, and scooted himself up until he was wrapped around my shoulder where he nestled
against my hair.
I managed a half smile as I patted his head. Hello, Octavius.
As always I didn’t speak his name out loud; my faithful companion had no idea what I called him.
But it didn’t seem to matter that he didn’t know his name or that I didn’t speak, considering he
couldn’t speak either. Ours was a friendship based on silence, which was one reason I found it so
comforting.
I’d first discovered him shortly after the accident. I’d heard octopuses only lived a few years, but
he’d been around these past ten, as if his life had been extended by the magic of his home, my current
destination.
I picked my way along the shore that sloped downward around the base of the lighthouse until I
reached the water. I paused on the edge, just far enough away that the waves rolling across the sand
couldn’t graze my toes.
Octavius inched his way down my body and into the water, pausing to peer behind him in his
usual invitation to follow…but I couldn’t move. He waited with his usual patience, understanding the
battle raging within me—between my fierce love for the sea and my fear of it—of not wanting to be
near the water but needing the solace that only came from it. A different victor emerged depending on
the day.
But today, more than ever, I needed my love of the sea to reign victorious so I could enter my
cave. I took several steadying breaths before steeling myself and easing forward a hesitant step. I
stiffened as the water rolled over my bare toes and waited, allowing the sea’s majesty to calmly roll
over me, taking with it some of my fear. Octavius lightly caressed the top of my foot in silent
assurance and I finally managed to release my pent-up breath.
Before I took another step, I searched within myself for any signs of the magic I’d spent a decade
suppressing, not wanting to risk it emerging when I touched the water. But it’d been buried too deeply
for me to feel even the slightest stirring, as if its flame had been completely extinguished. Good.
Satisfied, I inched forward another step, allowing the waves to gradually wash over me—first my
toes, then my feet, followed by my ankles. My stiff tension relaxed with every step as the water
slowly healed my anxieties, pulling them out into the sea with each roll of the tide.
I waded deeper as I followed Octavius. When we’d ventured several yards from shore, he dipped
below the surface and I followed, allowing the ocean to surround me like a cocoon. We didn’t have to
swim far, just beneath the lighthouse where the cavern was hidden. We wriggled through the tight hole
in the rocks and clambered onto the rocky shore.
Darkness shrouded the cave until Octavius’s body changed to a gold that glowed in the dark. His
body illuminated the crystals embedded into the rock and lining the cavern floor and walls, a light
which glistened off them to dance around the chamber and the pool at the center.
I had enough magical crystals, so I ignored them and headed for the pool. Octavius paused in
admiring the way the light reflected off his glowing body and surged forward to block my path. I
pressed my hands to my hips, but he wasn’t dissuaded. I rolled my eyes and tried to step around him,
but he only blocked me again, tangling his arms around my ankles in protest.
I glared in an attempt to convey some sense of my urgency—I needed to look even though my
doing so would lead to nothing but heartache.
Octavius wriggled his body in a distinct no, and I pressed my hands back to my hips. We had a
silent stare down before he slumped in defeat and released me. I smirked with that success before the
emotion was quickly replaced with wariness.
Octavius curled against my side as I knelt beside the pool. He might not approve of my decision,
but he never abandoned me. I stroked him once before turning my attention to the water. The dancing
light from the crystals glistened off its surface in an enchanting, almost otherworldly way. One would
never suspect that such a pool could cause such pain.
I lifted my hand and reached out until it hovered just above the pool’s surface. I’d spent years
suppressing my powers…save for a single pinprick that the ocean had for some reason decided I
should keep. I’d kept safely locked away for this very moment a servant whose only purpose was to
grant me access to the enchanted pool’s visions.
Magical ripples extended from my touch, skittering across the pool’s surface and leaving images
in their wake before settling on the first memory I often relived, transporting me back in time to the
day I’d lost my voice.
I stood on the rocky shoreline overlooking the ocean. The sea was uncannily calm, even lovely
with the way the sunlight danced across the water’s surface almost innocently with no hint of the
storm that had raged only yesterday…the one that had stolen everything.
I hadn’t spoken since then, though I’d spent hours crying until I’d run out of tears, leaving me
entirely empty, a state of nothingness that brought my only semblance of relief. This numbness was
only penetrated by the sharp pain that accompanied the memory of what had happened—the loss
I’d suffered and my irrevocable mistake, one I’d do anything to escape.
Part of me held out the foolish hope that I was living a nightmare, one I desperately ached to
awaken from in order to return to the way things had been before Mother’s ship had sunk. I spent
hours standing at the shore, waiting…waiting…waiting…all while keeping my words locked away
until I could greet her upon her return.
Only, she wasn’t coming.
Heartache filled me, so acute that I feared I’d drown. I collapsed onto the sandy shore, buried
my face in my knees, and wept. Time held no meaning as I sat there crying…until the gentle breeze
shifted into a rough wind and the ocean began to churn restlessly.
My tears immediately ceased. I gasped and scrambled closer to the rough rapids with an
earnest prayer they’d calm. Though Mother’s ship had been lost, others were out at sea. I couldn’t
bear for any more lives to stain my conscience or for the guilt already weighing upon my aching
heart to grow even more heavy and unbearable.
It took several deep, steadying breaths for the sea to gradually calm. I released a shaky sigh of
relief, but though disaster had been averted in this instance, my anxiety lingered.
My emotions were too connected to my magic, making my powers too dangerous…along with
my voice, which had died with Mother. If I could never speak to her again, then I didn’t want to
speak at all; perhaps that would somehow make up for the chatter that had annoyed her during
our last interaction. My voice deserved to share her fate and become swallowed by the depths
where it now belonged…with her.
I didn’t voice my wish out loud, afraid a single word would cause me to lose my resolve. But
dipping my hand into the ocean was enough for it to sense my desires, a wordless connection the
sea and I had created in all the time we’d spent together.
The water stirred again, not in the rough, almost violent way it had earlier, but more gently. Its
ripples gathered to form a wave, which rose to eye level. Though the ocean couldn’t speak, our
connection allowed me to sense its thoughts, so closely attuned to mine—was I certain this was
what I wanted?
I nodded. I’d never been more certain of anything. While my guilt would always remain, at
least I could alleviate myself of the burden pressing against my throat, a connection to the magic
that had stolen everything from me as well as my last tie to Mother.
The water glowed before reaching inside my throat to extract the words I’d grown to fear,
leaving nothing but the lingering taste of salt and seaweed against my tongue.
The ocean withdrew, now carefully cradling a glowing bulb of light that was my voice. The
water formed a box where it locked my voice away before slowly swallowing it up as the wave
receded back into the ocean, taking my voice with it, stealing it forever.
And just like that, my voice was no longer my own, lost somewhere at sea.
This memory faded from my pool, the less painful of the visions I often subjected myself to, but I
lingered. Once more I grazed its surface, opening my mouth to emanate only a single, wordless note—
the only part of my voice I still possessed after giving the rest to the ocean—before I snatched it back
and locked it away.
It immediately responded to my touch to swirl with color and magic, which gradually formed the
image I both longed for and feared. My breath hooked when I spotted her. Mother.
I leaned so close my nose nearly grazed the surface, staring hungrily at the memories of her that
the pool reflected back to me. For the briefest moment I only felt peace as I watched recollections of
Mother’s smile, her stroking my hair, her blowing me a kiss…happy glimpses that kept me returning
to the pool again and again despite the pain that would inevitably follow.
But soon the images twisted to transform into the ones I dreaded, all of the last day of her life—
impatience causing her lips to purse, her disapproving frown as she noticed the sandy footprints I’d
gotten all over the floor, her weary sigh as I followed her around while talking to her, and the
annoyance filling her eyes as she said the words that had haunted me every moment since she’d
spoken them: just…stop talking.
I gasped and yanked my hand away, but the ripples didn’t fade; they couldn’t until the memories
had been played in full, forcing me to once again watch the moment my words and emotions had
caused the storm, as well as the nightmares that had tormented my nights ever since, of a towering
wave of water swallowing a ship whole, and with it…
With a strangled sob, I buried myself in my knees, desperate to block the images I’d seen so many
times that they were engraved on my mind. But even if I couldn’t see them in the pool, they lingered to
play out across my mind’s stage, reopening the wound that had never healed, leaving me bleeding
once more.
But as much as I loathed the pain, I also welcomed it, for it was my atonement for the mistake I
could never undo, a penance whose cost was even higher considering Father continued to treat me
with love, kindness, and forgiveness.
I deserved no forgiveness. Thus I had to punish myself. Day after day after day.
Time slipped away as I sat beside the pool, allowing the consuming pain to do its work. Only the
distant rumble of thunder tore me from my grief. Heart flaring, my gaze snapped towards the cavern’s
tight entrance. The rocky outcroppings nearly masked the sky, save for a single pocket that revealed
not the clear blue that had been there when I’d first entered the cave but one grey and stormy…
I gasped sharply. Suddenly the cavern became much too confining, the ceiling feeling as if it was
closing in on me. Octavius stroked my cheek in assurance before easing himself onto my shoulder.
I shakily stood and made my way towards the exit, guided by my urgency to return to the
lighthouse to ensure that the beacon was burning brightly for any ships out at sea, ones which included
Father’s fishing boat. Fear—my ever-present companion—emerged, bringing with it images of him
being lost in the storm, his boat destroyed against the rocks; I struggled to push them away, but they
were too powerful, eclipsing my mind until I feared I’d go mad.
I tried to steady my breaths, coming up short and sharp. I needed to return to the lighthouse.
I scraped my hands and feet along the rough rocks in my haste to crawl out of the cave back to the
ocean. I felt the water’s energy the moment I touched it.
For a moment I stilled, not wanting to venture out when the sea was in such a rage, more foe than
friend. Only the thoughts of my duty at the beacon compelled me to enter the water and swim to shore.
I emerged from the ocean and started running towards the lighthouse but froze when I caught sight
of something in the distance: a ship, bearing the royal crest, had appeared against the horizon…a ship
that was about to face the approaching storm.
C HAPTER 3
I stared out across the sea and watched as the ship sailed steadily closer. I’d never seen a ship
near my island, a place I’d always believed to be an uncharted part of sea, a magical
hideaway from the rest of the world. But if that was the case, what was a ship doing here?
The wind began to blow more fiercely, stirring me to action. I scrambled up the shore to the
lighthouse, where I hurried up the twisting stairs to the beacon. Thunder rumbled. I took several
steadying breaths and struggled to block out the sound so I could focus on each of my tasks. My hands
shook as I struck a flint and lit the oil in the mantle above the flame, which had extinguished with the
magical light that had transported the lighthouse.
The beacon’s flame flared to life, filling the room with a warm glow and creating a steady bright
beam that shone into the darkening sky, quickly becoming swallowed up by the gathering clouds. The
lighthouse shone not just here but from each of the locations upon whose shores it stood as a beacon
for the ships out at sea.
After ensuring everything was in working order, I returned to the shore to anxiously watch the
approaching ship, still a ways off. The sea churned in agitation as the storm increased and thunder
shook the sky; moments later the storm broke free, releasing torrents of rain that quickly soaked me
through.
But still I remained, my attention riveted to the ship, afraid that looking away would doom it. The
anxiety knotting my stomach tightened the closer the ship sailed to the rocks. I sent many silent prayers
heavenward for the safety of all on board. Lightning flashed, illuminating the crew bustling on deck.
Amongst them stood a man at the railing, his hand clutching the rigging and his gaze riveted to the
beacon shining through the rain.
Another bolt of lightning flashed across the sky and struck one of the sails, catching it on fire. I
gasped and lurched forward, but I could do nothing except watch with bated breath as the crew
frantically scrambled to put the fire out.
The rain quickly consumed the flames, leaving the mast charred and damaged, no match for the
raging wind rocking the boat. A loud crack pierced the air and the mast fell, striking the man at the
railing, causing him to tumble overboard.
I opened my mouth to scream but no sound came out as I watched the man hit the water and be
pulled under. I waited an agonizing moment for him to emerge or for someone to jump in after him, but
with the chaos on board, no one seemed to have seen the man fall, leaving him to be claimed by the
sea.
I tightened my jaw. That wouldn’t happen. I lurched forward to enter the water but froze when my
toes touched the waves rolling across the shore. My breath hitched. The sea was in the state I most
feared, churning with anger and destruction.
For a moment my fears anchored me to the safety of the beach…until images from my recurring
nightmare of Mother being lost to the sea provided me with the courage I needed to step into the
water. No matter how afraid I was, I couldn’t stand idly by and watch another life taken on my shore.
The cold water seeped into my skirts the farther I waded in. With every step, I frantically
searched the surface where the man had fallen overboard a quarter of a mile away. He hadn’t
emerged, leaving me little time.
My heart pattered in an unrelenting tempo as I took a deep breath and dove beneath the surface.
The sea was as dark as night, making navigation difficult. Octavius followed me into the water and
swam ahead. I struggled through the choppy waves in order to follow, guided by the sixth sense I’d
been born with, one that grew as my dormant powers stirred to life as they always did whenever I
touched the ocean. This time I didn’t push them away but allowed them to wash over me, adding
speed to my swim and providing me guidance through the waves.
The water’s energy hummed around me, tingling my skin with unspoken messages, which pulled
me towards the man who’d fallen overboard. I swam as quickly as I could, not just towards him but in
a sense towards Mother as well. Perhaps if I could save him, it’d provide some form of redemption
after I’d failed to save her…
The waves crashed around me, making swimming difficult; I felt the ocean would swallow me
whole to drag me to the depths where the storm had taken Mother all those years ago. But my
desperation allowed me to resist the pull in order to push forward through the rough sea.
I reached where the man had disappeared beneath the depths, but just before I dove after him, my
magic tugged me away from where he’d vanished. I hesitated briefly before submitting to its guidance
when I saw Octavius poke his head out of the water in the direction the magic nudged me towards.
With a deep breath, I dove. I pushed my powers through the thick waves in search for him, even as
my magic guided me down, down, down…
I found the man lying unmoving at the bottom. I struggled to hoist him up, but he was too heavy and
I was quickly running out of air. My lungs burned, urging me back towards the surface, but I refused to
leave anyone to the cruel mercies of the sea when I had the power to rescue them.
After a lot of struggle, I managed to hook my arms around the man enough to push against the sea
floor and swim towards the surface, my movements slow with the added weight of the stranger. Spots
danced across my vision and my lungs screamed for relief. I swam harder, reaching towards my
magic; it lent me strength and pulled me upwards, allowing me to reach the surface.
I emerged with a gasp, taking several shaky, painful breaths and coughing up seawater. My
exhaustion weighed on me, trying to pull me back under, but I resisted. I adjusted my grip on the man
and kicked my legs to propel me forward, Octavius pushing me from behind to assist.
The shore seemed so far away—a journey of miles rather than only a few remaining yards; the
longer I swam, the farther away it seemed. The man grew heavier, slowing me down and making it
more difficult to fight against the choppy waves. But still I swam, buoyed up by my magic.
We finally reached the shore where I collapsed onto the sand. I only allowed myself to lie there
for a moment before I struggled to my knees, tugged the man onto the shore, and rolled him over. His
eyes were closed and he appeared entirely still. My heart lurched. Was he—had I been too late?
Despair crashed over me almost as intense as when I’d lost Mother, making me feel I was losing
her all over again. I rested my forehead on the man’s unmoving chest. If I hadn’t hesitated to enter the
water, or if I’d swam faster, he wouldn’t be—
My gaze snapped up as the man coughed up a mouthful of seawater. Relief, so acute I felt light-
headed, washed over me. I hadn’t killed him after all. I helped him roll over and patted his back; he
coughed up more water before falling back with a groan and going still once more; only the subtle
rising and falling of his chest assured me he was still alive.
I scanned his body for injuries and found a large bump on his head where the mast must have
struck him, sending him overboard and rendering him unconscious. Thankfully, that appeared to be the
only injury, at least from what I could see. Still, I remained by his side, obsessively watching the
slow rise and fall of his chest as he took one raspy breath after another.
Octavius wandered over, his look rather suspicious for an octopus as he took in the stranger. He
gave the man’s arm a little poke, but he didn’t stir. Octavius poked him again, only stopping when I
gave him a scolding look. He drooped in remorse and sidled over to my side. I patted his head and
returned my attention to the man.
I continued to wait, but no matter how long I sat there, the man didn’t move. My helplessness
grew the longer he remained still. Why wasn’t he moving? His ship was inching slowly towards the
shore, leaving him entirely in my care until help arrived, and yet I was failing him.
Anxiety cinched my chest…until an idea suddenly occurred to me. With my magic’s return, I felt
the familiar desire stir within me to sing, one I’d kept locked away for as long as I’d given up the rest
of my voice, despite the fact that the ocean seemed to have purposefully left behind the part that
connected me to it.
I gave my head a rigid shake. No, singing would only make the situation worse, especially with
how unpracticed my powers were now. But the magic continued to tantalize my mind. I did my best to
resist the desire, but the longer the man remained unconscious, the tauter my nerves became, leaving
me desperate for a reprieve.
I softly began to hum one of my favorite water songs I used to sing to bring me comfort as a little
girl with all that my absent voice could manage. With each note, the man relaxed into the sand as if the
song provided him healing from his ordeal. Warmth settled over me with each trill, a soothing feeling
I hadn’t experienced in years, healing a portion of me as well.
I continued to hum, finishing one song and beginning another. After my third, the man’s eyes
slowly opened. My breath caught and I cut my song off mid-note.
“Please don’t stop singing,” he murmured. “It’s beautiful.”
At his words, the spell shattered and the full implications of my actions settled over me, causing
horror to constrict my lungs so tightly that I could scarcely breathe. How could I have been so foolish
as to hum when I was so near the water and my powers wandered from where I’d buried them all
those years ago?
The stranger seemed to be waiting for me to speak, but even if I could have, I was too horrified by
my actions to manage a single sound. When I remained silent, he simply shrugged and struggled to sit
up before falling back with a groan.
“Ow, my head…”
I tapped the spot on his temple near his bleeding bump. His fingers grazed my hand as they
fluttered up to it; I hastily yanked away, but he didn’t seem to notice as he poked and prodded his hair,
wincing with each touch.
He moaned again. “What…happened?”
I pointed towards the ship now nearing the shore; several sailors stood on deck, gesturing
towards us. The stranger blinked at them for a moment before slowly taking in the beach where he lay.
His eyes widened.
“I remember now. I fell overboard, and then…” He gasped as the remaining pieces of his memory
snapped into place. He turned to me in astonishment. “Did you rescue me?”
I hesitated before nodding once. He continued staring in disbelief before his expression softened
into awe.
“Thank you.”
My cheeks warmed as I lowered my eyes, only looking up when the man shakily propped himself
up in a half-sitting position; I awkwardly helped him, earning me another grateful smile.
“Thank you, you’re very kind. I owe you my life, a debt I can never hope to repay. Might I know
the name of my rescuer?”
I said nothing. He waited a moment before giving a quiet, awkward laugh.
“Forgive me, I’m going about this introduction in the wrong way. I suppose formality must be
followed even when I’m lying on the shore in a most undignified manner and you’re covered in sand.”
My hand flew to my face, coated in a layer of sand, which also covered my arms and the front of
my soaked dress. My hair didn’t fare much better; it was a chaos of wet clumps with several pieces
of seaweed tangled in my strawberry-blonde locks. The heat already filling my cheeks deepened.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” the man said gently. “It suits a woman as brave as you.”
Easy for him to say—despite both of us having endured the sea, this man had somehow avoided
being coated with sand and seaweed; he looked ridiculously presentable considering he’d nearly
drowned. The beacon’s light illuminated his well-defined features, a strong jaw, tousled brown hair,
and rather deep blue eyes that twinkled with the same mischief tugging on his smile. His friendly
manner somehow made me feel more embarrassed.
“My name is Owen. What’s yours?”
I remained silent. He frowned.
“Shy, are you? Surely someone as brave as you can talk to a man foolish enough to almost get
himself drowned. Won’t you—”
He fell silent as a cry sounded from behind us. We turned towards the sound. The ship had docked
on the opposite side of the island and several sailors were hurrying towards us. “Prince Owen!”
I stilled. Prince Owen? I gaped at the man, only now noticing the fine quality of his drenched
clothes and the rather regal tilt of his head. Mortification seeped over me. I’d just rescued a prince?
And now I sat here beside him covered in sand and seaweed and…oh. Oh!
His Highness followed my gaze towards the approaching sailors and chuckled. “Ah, here come
more rescuers. It’s about time. They’re a bit late to have been much help, and I’ll never let the poor
blokes forget it. Luckily for me, I had you.” He winked but his amusement faltered at seeing my shock.
“Are you alright?”
I simply gaped at him, still stunned.
His brow furrowed as he glanced towards the ocean, as if something had only just occurred to
him. “Wait…if I fell into the sea so far from land, how did you—”
Enough of my shock had faded for me to spring to my feet and stumble backwards; I nearly tripped
in my haste to escape. The prince struggled to stand in order to follow me, but by the time he’d
shakily gotten to his feet, I’d already run halfway towards the lighthouse.
“Wait, where are you going?”
I didn’t glance back until I’d reached the door. The sailors had surrounded the prince, inquiring in
a rush of voices after his well-being. He answered none of them, his gaze locked on me with a look
like he meant to follow. But I’d have none of that.
I fumbled with the doorknob and stumbled inside, slamming the door shut on another plea from the
prince for me to wait. I locked it and rested my forehead on the wood to catch my panting breath. But
rather than go upstairs to use another crystal that would allow the lighthouse to transport me far away
from here, part of me yearned to linger. I crouched down to peer through the keyhole.
His Highness stood in the middle of the frantic crew, staring after me. He said something to one of
the sailors and started to fight his way through the crowd towards the lighthouse.
I stumbled back and hastened up the stairs towards the beacon, where I fumbled with an aqua
crystal, the one that would take me home. It clicked into place just as a knock drifted from downstairs.
The magic hummed and swirled around me, and the knock faded as the lighthouse transported me to
another shore, leaving the prince behind.
The moment the aqua light dimmed I wandered the lighthouse in search of Father. Surely he’d
have returned by now. My settling heart flared to life with each empty room that confirmed my
escalating panic: he wasn’t here. I looked out the window at the darkening sky. It was past twilight; he
should have returned by now.
My terror returned. Had he been out at sea when the storm hit? Heart in my throat, I hurried
outside to search the shore. I half expected to see Father’s boat shattered against the rocks with the
rest of its splintered remains floating like corpses in the ocean…but the shoreline was empty.
I scanned it frantically. There was no sign of a wreck, so I searched the water. Although the sea
was choppy and it rained lightly, unlike the ocean surrounding my secret island, the storm didn’t rage
here. My relief weakened me and I sank to the shore where I stayed, my gaze riveted to the horizon as
I waited…and waited…
I released a whooshing breath when Father’s boat finally appeared against the horizon. I didn’t
even wait for him to dock before I splashed into the water. Father slowed his rowing, his eyes wide
as he witnessed my frantic approach.
“Marisa—”
The rest of his words were swallowed by my embrace. I burrowed against him, getting his front
all wet and coated in sand, but I was too relieved to see him to pull away. His comforting arms
surrounded me as he held me back.
“Were you worried by the rain? It was a minor storm, nothing to be afraid of. The moment I
noticed the turn in the weather, I turned around to return. I’m safe.” He repeated the words “I’m safe”
over and over as he rubbed my back, his murmurs soothing.
Yet his calming reassurances failed to penetrate my lingering fear, a remnant from the storm that
had violently raged at my secret island, the memory of the prince falling overboard followed by my
harrowing rescue, my worries that I’d almost lost Father…I choked back a sob and burrowed myself
closer.
He patiently continued to soothe me, eventually moving his touch from my back to stroke my hair
in the way he often did, and somehow, in this moment, it brought me more comfort than I’d felt in a
long time. I melted against him. Despite still not feeling like I deserved it, I was grateful for his love.
“You’re soaked and covered in sand. What happened? Are you alright, Starfish?”
Anxiety caused my hands to shake so much that I fumbled some of my signed explanation, so I
simply clung to him more tightly, so relieved to see him safe, whole, and returned to me that I
wouldn’t have been able to speak even if I’d had the ability to.
C HAPTER 4
T he beacon’s magic faded as the lighthouse once again transported me to my secret island,
my refuge from the worry and anxiety that always haunted me while Father was at sea, for
the shortness of his last excursion had forced him to go back out less than a week later, much sooner
than he normally would.
I was desperate for a glimpse within the enchanted pool, a distraction from the worries that had
only grown each hour of Father’s absence, now longer than he’d promised to be gone. My nerves
were already taut, thanks to anxiety lingering from the recent storm…as well as from my venture into
the ocean to rescue the prince.
The prince…
Heat burned my cheeks at the memory of having encountered a member of the royal family in such
an unkempt state. Thank goodness, I’d likely never see him again considering the mute daughter of a
lighthouse keeper had no need to interact with a prince, despite having rescued him.
I descended the twisting staircase to the beach…only to venture a few steps into the sunlight and
freeze. My usual view of the surrounding sea was marred by a large ship docked on the shore. The
sails swaying gently in the breeze bore the royal insignia, while my usually abandoned island was
crowded with sailors hard at work repairing the damage the storm had inflicted on their ship.
For a moment I could only stare at the trespassers. My first instinct was to escape within the
refuge of the lighthouse, but I found myself scanning the shoreline, searching, until my gaze settled on
Prince Owen.
He looked much better than his previous waterlogged and weak state following his rescue—
looking so healthy, one would never guess he’d nearly drowned a few days ago. He chatted amiably
with a ginger-haired man whose manner of dress revealed him to be the captain. He paused when he
caught sight of me. He blinked a few times before his face broke into a wide grin.
He stepped forward as if he meant to greet me, but before he could venture any closer, I hastily
backed into the lighthouse and slammed the door. For a moment I simply stood with my hands pressed
against the wood, breathing heavily…until a sudden knock caused my breath to catch. I stiffened, but
despite the rank of the man on the other side, I made no move to open the door.
The prince paused to patiently await my response, bringing blessed silence. I squeezed my eyes
shut and waited. Please go away. But my hopes proved in vain when he knocked again, a sound
quickly followed by the turn of a knob. I stumbled back as the door opened a crack, revealing the
prince’s curious expression as he peered inside.
“Miss?” He inched the door open a bit farther and grinned when he spotted me. “There you are. I
was beginning to wonder whether I’d really seen you. I’ve already been questioning our previous
meeting; I hit my head hard enough to fear I’d imagined the entire interaction.”
I gaped at him before my fluster caused me to step forward and push against the door, a silent
order for him to leave…but he only stepped fully into the room as if my refusal had instead been an
invitation.
At my startled gasp, he lifted his hands in a conceding gesture. “Forgive the intrusion, I mean no
harm. I only want to—” His words faltered at my glare. He blinked, taken aback. “Is something the
matter?”
I made a shooing motion with my hands. His brow furrowed before his eyes widened with
understanding.
“Do you want me to leave?”
Relieved he’d understood so easily, I nodded.
His shoulders slumped. “I suppose in my desire to see you, I did invite myself in. My sincere
apologies.” A blush caressed his cheeks, but his embarrassment was quickly replaced with another
smile. “Perhaps it wouldn’t be an intrusion if you granted me permission to stay a bit longer?” His
hopeful expression faltered when I pursed my lips and shook my head. “I see. Then I suppose…I
should go…”
He shuffled backwards a few steps but not enough for me to close the door. If he hadn’t been a
prince, I’d have closed it anyway, but it’d be foolish to act on such a tempting impulse towards
royalty. My relief at his obedience to my wishes faded when he paused on the threshold with a rather
imploring look.
“I know you haven’t invited me in, but if I stay outside, would you allow me to talk with you for a
few minutes? I’ve been searching for you for days. When I couldn’t find you, I actually began to
wonder whether you were some sort of mermaid.”
He chuckled at the notion and I only continued to stare. When my silence continued, his good
humor vanished and he tilted his head with a thoughtful look.
“You’re rather quiet. There’s no need to be shy; I’ve been told I’m easy to talk to.”
Of course, I remained silent. Perhaps he’d finally depart once he realized I was mute. No one but
Father ever tried to communicate with me, even when we ventured into the village, and I doubted the
prince would be any different. Yet even though I was desperate for him to leave, I couldn’t help but
be curious: what did a prince want to discuss with a lighthouse keeper’s daughter?
He waited a polite amount of time for me to speak before his forehead crinkled. “You’re shyer
than most.”
I debated whether or not to tell him my condition before deciding it was preferable than the prince
thinking I was deliberately ignoring him. With a sigh I tapped my throat.
He frowned. “What’s wrong? Does your throat hurt, making it difficult to speak?”
I tapped my throat again, this time while opening and closing my mouth to mimic words. The
furrows in his brow only deepened…until his eyes widened with sudden understanding.
“Wait…can you not speak?”
Finally he understood. I nodded.
He continued to stare, mouth agape. “At all?”
I shook my head. I hoped the answer would be enough to end this one-sided conversation, but
unfortunately, my revelation seemed to have only made him more curious and thus more inclined to
stay. He continued to stare in disbelief. I quickly grew uncomfortable with the attention and lowered
my eyes.
He hastily stepped forward. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
My gaze snapped up in surprise that he’d so easily understood my feelings, even without words.
He shifted as if nervous.
“I truly didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m sure you’ve gotten such a reaction a lot.
Despite my surprise, I should have behaved better.” He hesitated. “Would it be rude to inquire what
happened to your voice? Were you born this way, or was it an accident?”
Little did he realize that an accident was exactly what had stolen my voice, even though it hadn’t
been my own. But even if it hadn’t left me mute, I would never share my darkest memory with him.
But the sadness brought by it filled my features, causing him to hastily step forward, his hands held up
in apology.
“Forgive me, I have no right to ask…though I suppose you couldn’t have told me anyway. I
mean…that was the wrong thing to say. What I meant was…oh bother.” He heaved a heavy sigh. “I’m
certainly fumbling up this entire interaction.”
A blush stained his cheeks and he avoided my eyes, an image the complete opposite of what I’d
expect from a dignified prince, making him seem not royal but almost…normal and thus much more
approachable.
His fluster was short-lived and he straightened determinedly. “I know I’m making a muddle of
this, but would you still grant me a moment of your time? I know you’re uncomfortable with my
coming inside, so perhaps we can talk on the beach.”
The beach was much more preferable to inviting him in, and yet…I glanced warily towards the
working sailors, many of whom cast us several curious glances. Thankfully, the prince was astute
enough to notice.
“Ah.” He bit his lip. “Your condition likely makes it difficult to be around others when you can’t
communicate with them in return, so we can go somewhere more private.”
I blinked in surprise that he’d been able to discern the reason for my hesitancy, something as
surprising as the fact he’d extended the invitation at all. Despite knowing I’d be unable to contribute
to our conversation, he still wished to speak with me. Warmth filled me, but I continued to hesitate;
it’d been so long since I’d spent time with someone other than Father.
Yet I couldn’t help but be curious as to the prince’s purpose in seeking me out. I gave a tentative
nod, earning me another endearing grin. He beckoned me to lead the way. With a steadying breath, I
stepped from the solace of the lighthouse into the warm sunlight.
I couldn’t help but cast the working sailors a rather disgruntled look as we passed, a childish
whim that was unfortunately not lost on Prince Owen. He guiltily bit his lip.
“Our presence is undoubtedly unwelcome. My apologies for trespassing; the ship was damaged in
the storm, preventing us from sailing. I tried to seek the lightkeeper’s permission to dock here until
we could complete our repairs, yet no one answered.”
It would have been impossible for us to hear his knock after I’d transported the lighthouse away
from the island, meaning he’d been knocking on an empty building. I was still grateful for his
consideration; as a Bytamian prince, he had every right to any of the islands within his kingdom and
thus hadn’t needed to seek permission at all, and yet he’d done his best to obtain it all the same.
I offered a small smile, and he visibly relaxed. “Thankfully, the repairs are near completion.
We’ll likely set sail tomorrow. As eager as I am to return home, I hadn’t yet had a chance to see you.
I’m grateful I found the opportunity.”
But why? The mystery taunted me as I led the prince around the back of the lighthouse where the
beach sloped down towards a smaller, more secluded shore opposite to where his ship docked,
granting us a semblance of privacy…well, almost.
The water swayed as Octavius poked his head out. Upon seeing me, he scrambled excitedly
towards me, pausing upon spotting the prince. He immediately planted himself in front of me to extend
his many arms out like a shield. If octopuses could glare, this was the closest imitation I’d ever seen.
Prince Owen looked startled at the intrusion before his easy grin quickly returned. “Is this your
pet?” He crouched down and extended his hand, as if hoping to be properly introduced. “It’s a
pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’m—”
His introduction was cut short when Octavius squirted him with ink. The prince fell back onto the
sand in surprise. For a moment he could only stare before he held up his hand, dripping with ink.
“I don’t think he likes me. Let’s hope his ire at making my acquaintance doesn’t stain or else I’ll
have some explaining to do at court.”
Octavius looked rather smug that his message had been so easily conveyed, all while doing his
best to avoid my disapproving glare and my wagging my finger back and forth to give him the
scolding he so thoroughly deserved.
I hovered uncertainly over the prince, unsure how to make amends for my octopus’s mischief, but
he only chuckled good-naturedly. Octavius ruffled, clearly offended his threat hadn’t been taken as
seriously as he’d hoped. He wound himself around my leg and wriggled up my body to perch himself
on my shoulder where he rested, his beady attention fixated on Prince Owen.
Yet once again, the threat was seemingly lost on the prince, whose gaze softened as he took in my
friend. “What a faithful guard dog. He seems an amiable companion…if a bit mischievous.”
I gave him a gentle pat on the head, and my octopus snuggled himself against my hair in obvious
affection.
“Does such a loyal companion have a name?”
I nodded, earning both his smile and Octavius’s almost inquiring look. The poor thing had no idea
what I called him and likely never would.
“If only you could tell me so I could use it to get in his good graces; I suppose a nickname will
have to do.” Prince Owen paused in washing his hand off in the ocean to study the ink being carried
out with the current. The sight seemed to provide inspiration, for his eyes brightened. “How about
Inky?”
Octavius gave an annoyed shudder, and I wrinkled my nose. The name didn’t suit my sophisticated
pet at all. Prince Owen’s smile turned bashful.
“I take it neither of you like it. I shall have to consider a better alternative, but until then…” He
shook his hands dry before straightening and turning towards my octopus, his expression suddenly
rather serious. “I understand you’re protective of your mistress, but might I have permission to speak
with her?”
He was so polite and sincere that it seemed not even my protective pet could resist his charm. My
octopus made no move to object when Prince Owen finally began his long-awaited conversation.
“I’m grateful I finally have the opportunity to speak with you. I wanted to thank you for rescuing me.
It…was very brave.”
The memory was still vivid in my mind, especially the all-encompassing anxiety. I hadn’t felt
brave as I’d ventured into the ocean; instead I’d been guided by an emotion that wasn’t the least bit
noble. Guilt prickled. I fought to tuck it away as I shrugged.
He frowned. “Please don’t discount your actions; I’m truly indebted to you. Without you I would
have drowned. It certainly would have been poetic justice considering…” A haunted look filled his
eyes before he hastily blinked away the dark emotion and offered another smile, this one more forced.
“I’m grateful, nonetheless. Thank you.”
Heat encased my cheeks and I lowered my eyes. I didn’t deserve his gratitude, not when I hadn’t
saved him for his sake, not completely. The desire for penance had led me to the ocean as well as the
desire to do anything to prevent adding to my burden of guilt should someone drown on my watch. I
finally managed to lift my gaze to find the prince watching me, his head tilted curiously.
“I wish I knew what you’re thinking. I have so many questions.” His gaze drifted towards the
surrounding ocean. “How did you manage to rescue me? From what I remember the ship was quite a
ways from shore. How did you reach me in time?”
Naturally, I didn’t answer. He sighed.
“I suppose I’ll always be curious, left to imagine the reason for myself; perhaps you’re a mermaid
after all.”
I rolled my eyes, earning me a cheerful chuckle that dispelled his serious expression.
“I have an idea.” He reached down to pick up a seashell, which he handed me. “Since you can’t
speak, perhaps you can write your answers instead.”
I frowned at the shell in my palm before shaking my head, accompanying the gesture with crossing
my arms. His bright expression faltered.
“You don’t know how to write?”
I shook my head again. In truth, I’d never seen any need to learn, not when my established sign
language was adequate in communicating with Father and for any errands I might need to fulfill in the
village. My parents’ literacy skills had been rudimentary at best, and although I’d attended the school
in the village, my need to chatter had distracted my attention away from my lessons, making it so I’d
made little progress.
After the accident, my desire to use any words—written or spoken—to forge relationships with
others outside of my family had vanished. Over time those words I’d managed to learn had eventually
slipped from my memory.
Yet I couldn’t communicate any of this to the prince.
His shoulders slumped at my response, looking so disappointed that I felt a sudden need to get
him to smile once more. I crouched down to shakily write the only word I still knew into the sand: M-
A-R-I-S-A. Mistakes forced me to restart twice, the years it’d been since I’d last written causing me
to forget how to properly form even these six letters. Once I finished, I sat back on my heels and
peered expectedly up at the prince.
As I’d hoped, he was smiling again. “So you do know how to write.”
I held up a single finger.
“Oh, just this word? Is it your name?”
I nodded.
“Marisa.” A strange but rather pleasant shudder rippled over me at hearing him say it. Somehow
it sounded more lovely spoken in his voice, and it wasn’t until this moment that I realized just how
much I’d missed hearing someone other than Father say my name.
Prince Owen stared at my name written roughly across the sand with as much concentration as if
I’d spoken several sentences, not dismissing my communication despite how small it’d been.
“It’s a pretty name. Does it mean anything?”
Of the sea. I used to treasure my name’s meaning, considering the powers I’d been born with, but
now any connection with the ocean only brought pain after it’d stolen so much.
I gestured towards the sea, and as I’d hoped, the prince understood. “How fitting, considering the
ocean is where we first met. The meaning of your name is much more interesting than mine, even
though my own is admittedly fitting, considering my station—it means noble and wellborn. This is
how you spell it.” He crouched beside me and used his finger to spell O-W-E-N, repeating each
sound as he wrote it. “There, now you know two words.”
Despite his sweet gesture, I frowned. Part of me was wary of adding another word to my limited
vocabulary, but somehow being the prince’s name made it seem like an exception. Perhaps because
names held special meaning. For a moment I simply stared at the two names side by side, tracing my
finger over each letter.
Silence settled over us. Despite my reservations towards any interaction, the moment felt
strangely peaceful. I darted a sideways glance towards the prince, expecting to find him appearing
uncomfortable with the silence, but he seemed perfectly at ease, not seeming bothered I couldn’t offer
him any further communication.
Yet fear lingered beneath the surface to churn the calm waters. I studied our names again. The
prince had not only unlocked one of the words I’d previously vowed to keep hidden away but had
given me another. And it wasn’t just his written name, but the words he bestowed so easily upon me
without any expectation for me to give any in return.
Though the silence was comfortable, would he eventually want to fill it? Would his curiosity over
the mute girl beside him lead him to search for the secrets haunting his rescuer’s past, particularly
each of those I’d failed to save with each shipwreck that had occurred at our shore? Should he
uncover them, he’d discover I wasn’t a hero at all. Learning about every lost soul staining my
conscience would lead him to regret every word he’d so kindly bestowed.
The thought caused me to stand with a jolt that caused Octavius to slide from my shoulder. I
withdrew from the prince’s warm and friendly presence, walking backwards towards the safety the
lighthouse would provide.
Concern furrowed his brow as he glanced over his shoulder to watch me retreat. “Where are you
—”
Before he could give me yet another word, I turned and ran up the sandy slope, not even stopping
at the sound of him calling my name. I was surprised he wanted me to linger even after he’d
expressed his gratitude, considering our interaction would have remained one-sided, but despite his
kindness, I couldn’t heed his wishes.
I didn’t slow even after I’d entered the sanctity of the lighthouse. I locked the door to prevent him
from following and scrambled up the stairs to use the crystal to transport myself far away from the
prince. Even after the magic settled and the beacon’s enchanted glow faded, my rapidly pounding
heart didn’t slow. If anything, it only tightened, clenched within my anxiety’s painful grasp.
I released a shaky breath and collapsed onto the cold floor near the beacon’s now faded light.
There I pulled my legs up to my chest and buried my face against my knees. But even closing my eyes
didn’t dispel the memory of the prince’s friendly smile and kind words, all of which he’d given
without expecting any in return.
I doubted I’d ever see him again, making him the first and last person outside my family to initiate
an interaction with the silent common girl who didn’t deserve a voice after everything she’d done. If
he’d known the truth, I was certain he wouldn’t have talked to me at all.
C HAPTER 5
D arkness shrouded the sea, so the only evidence of the raging storm came from the rushing
wind and the sound of the waves beating against the lighthouse, as if the ocean itself was
trying to swallow it up…but though the lighthouse stood firm, a boat could easily be overcome.
My heart squeezed tightly even as my thoughts raged fierce as the ocean. I paused in my duties to
search the sea for Father, a task made impossible with the thick darkness that had settled across the
ocean without warning. The only source of light came from the beacon, whose golden glow reached
across the churning water, empty of any boats.
Father remained at sea, and with the current storm…
Fear clouded my mind. I fought to push through it in order to focus on each required task: check
the beacon and ensure there was enough fuel to allow the magic to keep it burning brightly throughout
the night. Each duty acted as an anchor that kept me afloat even when I felt on the brink of drowning.
Only the lighthouse kept me from sinking into the despair threatening to engulf me.
The night stretched on, and still, Father didn’t return. He’d never been away for so long. I ached
to go outside and stand on the shore to search for his boat myself but doing so would require me to
leave the lighthouse unattended, something I could never do on such a night.
Tears burned my eyes, making it nearly impossible for me to see as I faithfully tended the
lighthouse. My rising anxiety caused my hands to shake, making each movement difficult. I forced
myself to focus on the beacon’s golden light, the only source of comfort amid the surrounding
blackness and the very light that needed to burn brightly in order to guide Father home…if he hadn’t
already been lost.
Despair squeezed my heart at the thought and it was an effort to push it away. I couldn’t entertain
the possibility that he wouldn’t return to me.
I tried desperately to cling to my fragile hope, else I was certain I’d drown, but it was like trying
to hold water—it slipped through my fingers each time I tried to seize it; my already weak grasp
loosened with each passing hour that remained empty of Father’s return.
No matter how endless a night, it eventually faded into dawn. But though it didn’t bring the end of
the storm, it brought enough light for me to no longer need to rely on the beacon…which allowed me
to finally leave the lighthouse. I went outside and stood along the shore. The ocean still raged, though
without as much energy, meaning the storm was nearing its end.
I struggled to control each of my sharp breaths as I stood on the beach, though not close enough for
the waves to reach me, not wanting to touch the water else I make the storm worse. I frantically
searched the horizon for any sign of a fishing boat coming home to me…but there was nothing.
Please, Ocean, please don’t take my father. But like every other word, my pleas remained
trapped in my throat. Even if I could have spoken them out loud, I doubted the sea would have
listened, especially when it’d done nothing to protect Mother.
Unbidden, the memories from that day returned like a reoccurring nightmare. I squeezed my eyes
shut to block out the sight, but with the sound of the churning ocean, it was impossible. But this time
the memories were different—rather than a ship bearing Mother being swallowed by the depths, it
was a small fishing boat containing my beloved father…
I released a silent sob and sank to my knees to bury my face in my hands. There I remained,
unable to look at the ocean or the continuously empty horizon as my grief and despair consumed me…
leaving me nothing to do but wait.
And wait.
And wait…all while the sea slowly—ever so slowly—gradually calmed.
The silence following the storm was almost deafening. I waited a moment more before I
tentatively uncovered my face to stare out across the water—not only still but glistening beneath the
sunlight that had pierced the cloudy overcast, a sight so lovely, it was as if there hadn’t been a violent
storm at all.
And still there was no sign of Father.
But surely he’d return. Since losing Mother, I’d felt trapped within a never-ending nightmare I’d
yet to wake up from, but to lose Father as well…no, that couldn’t happen. It wouldn’t.
I spent all day on the various beaches connected to the lighthouse’s different locations, searching
every sea, even the ones far from where Father had first set sail. But no matter how long I waited or
how fervently I prayed, the ocean didn’t bring him home to me.
The day drifted by, followed by an even longer night. Then the second passed, then the third. With
each one, the fear encasing my heart squeezed tighter and tighter until I was certain it’d shatter. But no
matter how long I searched for his boat, there was never any sign of it, as if he’d been swallowed by
the ocean itself.
It was on the morning of the fourth day while I stood on my secret island that I received any news
concerning Father’s fate. Not from the enchanted pool—which despite my every attempt couldn’t
show me truth that didn’t come from my own memory. Instead it came from my faithful pet. He swam
tentatively to where I knelt on the beach, still overlooking the empty ocean in the vain hope that
eventually, I’d finally find what I so desperately longed for.
I glanced towards my octopus…only for my heart to immediately still at the sight of what he
gingerly carried.
No.
I could barely see through my tears as Octavius tentatively handed me a piece of wood bearing the
first part of a name as familiar to me as my own: Starfish, not only Father’s tender nickname for me
but the name of his fishing boat.
For a long, endless moment I could only stare, my disbelief so acute that I could barely breathe,
let alone think. I lost all sense of where I was—the rough sand against my knees, the sound of the
waves, the surrounding ocean—so that there was only silence, for the first time not comforting but as
overwhelming as the sea had been during the storm. This silence dragged me beneath the surface of
the despair I’d fought so long to keep my head above.
My hands shook as I traced the name carved in the wood, then across each jagged splinter, a sign
it’d been torn apart by a great force, leaving nothing behind except for a jagged piece of Father’s
boat, wrecked.
I frantically shook my head at Octavius as he wrapped his tentacles around me in comfort, but the
gesture did nothing to change what I held in my hands, revealing the truth of why Father hadn’t yet
returned to me that I couldn’t accept.
Shipwrecked. Lost at sea. Gone…leaving me utterly alone. My composure faltered, unlocking the
burst of emotion I’d fought to keep inside, and my despair yanked me under.
A WEEK HAD PASSED — THE longest of my entire life, one even more unbearable than the one following
Mother’s shipwreck. Then, I’d had Father to anchor me, but now…I was left with nothing, save for a
numbness so all-encompassing that I could barely perform the lighthouse duties expected of me. Only
the fact that without them I’d be left entirely with nothing gave me the strength needed to go through
the required motions. But with each one, my thoughts remained absent, my despair so acute that it’d
swallowed all of them up.
Another emotion accompanied this agonizing sense of loss—the all-too-familiar guilt that perhaps
I could have done something more to have saved Father. Surely, like with Mother, I was responsible
for his loss…only this time I had no more voice to atone for my mistakes.
Logic told me he must be dead while a niggling hope insisted that he might still be alive—even if
it was only a small possibility he was marooned somewhere. Every day the part of me still trapped in
denial led me to the ocean. I’d spent the first several days following Father’s disappearance
searching the ocean for more wreckage while Octavius scoured farther from shore, but we never
found any, giving me more reason to believe he’d return.
I spent hours standing along the shore, watching the continuously empty horizon…which was how
my uncle eventually found me. I wasn’t sure how he’d received word about the second tragedy that
had befallen me, but even if I’d had the words to ask, I couldn’t.
Uncle was Father’s younger brother whom I’d met only a handful of times over the years. He was
kind, though withdrawn, almost as quiet as me. He spared few words now.
“The palace informed me—” he began before he swallowed the remainder of his words, ones I
was grateful remained unspoken else it’d make them all the more real.
Naturally, I said nothing, only continued to stare across the horizon, still empty.
“I’ve also been told…that the lighthouse’s beacon has faltered twice this week.”
I squeezed my eyes shut as guilt, always so close to the surface, rose, though not enough to
penetrate my despair. Nothing could do that. Despite the distraction it provided, I’d been unable to
give my tasks adequate focus, which had caused moments where my emotion had caused me to falter
in my duties.
“Without your father…I have inherited the lighthouse. Though I will allow you to continue living
here, from now on I will perform the duties you cannot.”
My breath hitched and I immediately began shaking my head. No, he couldn’t take my lighthouse
away from me. Not only was it my last connection to my parents and the life we’d shared together but
it was my only sense of purpose. Without it…surely I’d drown.
I tried to convey my thoughts through my usual signs, but no matter how hard I tried, he couldn’t
understand them. My despair deepened as I realized that my only voice couldn’t be heard when I most
needed it. I tried a variety of signs, but my protests too remained silent…and thus not strong enough to
dissuade my uncle.
He rested a comforting hand on my shoulder. “It’s for the best, Marisa.”
I continued shaking my head even as my despair rose, threatening to consume me. My emotions
were founded on more than him taking away my home and purpose—Father had often complained
about Uncle’s inexperience and irresponsibility, traits that left him ill-equipped for the sacred
responsibility now entrusted to him.
But I was left with little choice. Uncle’s arrival had only confirmed what my mind refused to
accept; he’d come to fill in the space created by Father’s absence, making this nightmare all too real.
And no matter my desperation, this was one I could never awaken from.
C HAPTER 6
T he days following Father’s disappearance and Uncle’s arrival were long absent of meaning,
my heartache my only measure for the passage of time. I tried to distract myself with my
lighthouse duties, but Uncle repeatedly rejected my every attempt to help. When he’d initially
informed me that he’d take over, I hadn’t realized he fully intended to care for the lighthouse alone,
leaving me without purpose or distraction.
I spent most of my unwanted free time on the beach, desperately searching the ocean for any sign
of Father’s fishing boat, hoping against hope that his boat had survived whatever had caused the
damage I’d witnessed and fiercely clinging to his promise that he’d return. But the longer his absence,
the more my worry escalated, a heavy anchor that wedged itself firmly in my heart, leaving me devoid
of hope.
Yet I refused to give up. I spent hours exploring the lighthouse’s various locations in order to
search the different oceans for any sign of Father. Uncle seemed relieved that my frequent absences
prevented my interference with his running the lighthouse.
One of these excursions finally provided a single shaft of light in an otherwise stormy sky. It
occurred at the lighthouse near the beach surrounding the Bytamian palace. I rarely ventured there,
considering the beach was exclusive to the royal family, but this was the one ocean I hadn’t yet
searched…admittedly due in part to a strange hope at the thought of potentially encountering Prince
Owen, one I was afraid to acknowledge.
I hesitantly made my way across the sand to a section that would provide the widest vantage
point. I scanned the horizon for any sign of boats, yet the ocean remained entirely empty. Even though
this beach was forbidden, I couldn’t resist lingering. I remained on the shore and continued staring out
across the sea…until a sudden sound tore my attention away.
I glanced behind me and my heart lurched; someone was approaching. Though the distance made
the intruder’s features indiscernible, the formality of his attire confirmed he came from the palace. I
stood completely still in hopes he wouldn’t notice me…but my wishes were dashed the moment he
did. He immediately shifted directions to come towards me. I turned and ran for the lighthouse.
“Please wait.”
That voice…it belonged to Prince Owen. I glanced over my shoulder. He’d come close enough
for me to discern his features, confirming it was, indeed, the prince. Yet I didn’t slow. My efforts to
outrun him were futile, for his longer stride allowed him to easily catch up. He seized my wrist,
tugging me to a stop.
“Wait, Marisa.”
Despite his gentle hold, I felt constrained. I yanked myself away with a glare. He lifted his hands
in apology.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. I only wanted to speak with you. Please don’t—”
I didn’t give him a chance to finish before I tried to run again, but he once more stopped me, this
time by wrapping his arms around me in a loose embrace. I was unprepared for the fluttery sensation
created by the unexpected gesture and instantly stilled, my breath lodged in my throat.
“I won’t keep you here against your will,” he assured me, never mind his innocent touch made the
thought of further movement utterly impossible. “The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable.
But I sincerely wish to converse with you, so please don’t run when I let go.” He released me without
me having to wrench myself away.
As tempted as I was to resume my flight, it’d be unwise to ignore such an earnest request from a
prince, especially one whose determination would only lead him to recapture me. But more than that,
Father’s absence had made me lonely, leaving me with a strong desire to connect with someone…
even if that someone was an amiable prince who, unlike most of the villagers, had the patience
required to decipher the communication I’d developed over the years.
I sighed in acquiescence, and his shoulders sank in relief at my compliance but concern quickly
eclipsed the emotion. “Why did you run away? We’ve talked before, so I was hoping…” He shifted
awkwardly.
I was well-versed in acting out my thoughts with Father, and in the rare moments I discovered a
limit in my communication, he and I would simply invent new signs to allow me to express the full
extent of my thoughts.
The familiar excitement that came from this game swelled my chest as I gestured towards the
beach. Father and I’d never needed to create a sign for “prohibited,” so I invented one now by
crossing my arms in front of me to form an X. The gesture transported me back to the many happy
moments Father and I formed my language together—from the practical signs to the silly. My heart
twinged in yearning at the memories.
The prince’s comprehension smoothed his furrowed brow, and in that brief moment when he
understood, I felt as if I had my voice back. “You were worried because you were using the palace’s
beach? There’s no need to be concerned; you can come here anytime you want.”
That was an offer I’d likely never be able to accept. If anyone other than him caught me, I had no
words to explain that I’d obtained his permission and would thus find myself in trouble. But he
seemed so pleased with the solution that I offered a small smile, which he readily returned.
“I admit I’m happy to see you, albeit confused.” He glanced towards the lighthouse. “This
lighthouse is quite far from the one on the secluded island where our ship was damaged. Do you own
both?”
It was the best explanation I could offer to satisfy his puzzlement; even with words, it’d be
difficult to explain the lighthouse’s transporting magic. My nod earned me another wide grin.
“I’m glad you live so close to the palace. I thought I’d never see you again, but now I’ll be able to
see you as much as I want.”
He seemed rather pleased by the prospect, his look warm and friendly, just as it’d been during our
last interaction. My cheeks heated and I hastily looked away. But my shyness was no deterrent for his
determination to continue the conversation.
“I’ve never seen you on the royal beach before. Was there a reason you came today?”
My heart wrenched as I glanced across the vast ocean whose waters were still empty of any
boats, a reminder Father was still missing.
Prince Owen studied my expression as if trying to uncover my silent secrets. “You look troubled.”
His concern penetrated the barriers I’d erected to guard my devastation. Tears burned my eyes. I
hastily tried to wipe them away, but with the way his breath caught, he’d already seen them. He took a
hasty step forward.
“What happened?”
I cupped my hand in the shape of a boat and arranged my arm parallel to the ground, swaying it up
and down like the waves of the ocean. I moved my cupped hand across my arm before breaking the
shape apart, a poor representation of the boat being wrecked.
Though I usually viewed my signs as a fun game of communication, in this instance reenacting the
scene of losing Father made it impossible to suppress my sorrow. I buried my face in my hands and
allowed my tears to flow. Like everything else, my sobs were silent, my shaking shoulders the only
outward sign of my emotions. Ever since learning of Father, I’d struggled to lock my sadness away,
afraid that feeling it would make his disappearance more real. But the prince’s kindness had acted as
a key, and with it, my devastation could no longer be contained.
Throughout my tears, he remained by my side, only stirring to give my back a few brief, uncertain
pats. Eventually, my swell of emotion subsided, allowing me to bury the remnants that remained.
Once they were secure, I finally looked up to meet the prince’s gaze. He looked very grave.
“Are you alright? I mean, of course you’re not, but…” He hesitated, as if unsure how much he
should pry. “I just remembered the palace recently received a request to appoint a new lighthouse
keeper—the brother of the previous keeper. Since your lighthouse was so far away, I never imagined
it’d be related to you, but a shipwreck…was it the old keeper?”
A single tear escaped, my answer. His expression crumpled.
“I see. I’m so sorry, Marisa.”
Though he couldn’t do anything to change my circumstances, I found comfort in his presence as he
remained at my side. For the first time since Father hadn’t come home, I didn’t feel quite so alone.
“Was the lighthouse keeper…a brother? Your father?”
His gravity deepened at my nod for his latter guess. He withdrew a handkerchief, which he
awkwardly handed me. “I wish there was more I could offer.”
I rested my hand over my heart in an effort to convey my gratitude. If only I could do more to
express how much what he offered meant to me. While no words could restore Father, in this moment,
his were enough.
He followed my gaze when it returned to searching the horizon. “Are you looking for a ship?
Does that mean there’s a chance your father is still alive?”
I could only shrug.
“If you’re uncertain, then there’s reason to hope. If there’s any chance he’s still alive, I want to
help.” He considered the matter before his eyes brightened. “I have an idea.”
He tilted his head in a motion to follow him and began leading the way towards the palace. Rather
than follow, I stared at his retreating form as he walked away. It didn’t take him long to realize I
wasn’t accompanying him. He paused and glanced over his shoulder.
“Aren’t you coming?”
I was in no state to visit somewhere as grand as the palace, especially in my state of common
dress. I gestured to my clothes and sand-coated bare feet.
His expression gentled. “There’s no need to be embarrassed. No one would dare turn away a
royal guest, no matter their attire.”
I frowned, not entirely convinced. He approached and extended his arm with an encouraging look
for me to accept it. I continued to hesitate, but though I remained apprehensive, something compelled
me to reach for him. I wasn’t quite ready to part ways, especially when doing so would leave me
alone with nothing but my heartache.
He said he wanted to help me. Was there any possibility he could? I glanced towards the
lighthouse. Night was still several hours away, but once it settled, the beacon’s light would penetrate
even the thickest darkness, similar to what the prince was offering now. I was desperate to cling to
this hope, no matter how small.
This thought, along with the prince’s warm gaze, finally gave me the courage to accept his arm
and allow him to lead me towards the palace.
With how little time I’d spent at this lighthouse, I’d had little opportunity to see the palace. It was
one thing to admire such a grand structure from afar and quite another to approach it; the closer we
drew, the more magnificent it became. The white marble structure glistened in the sunlight, creating a
regal presence that rose above the ocean on an elevated cliff that overlooked the capital below. I
couldn’t help but gape.
Prince Owen glanced sideways at me, seeming both pleased and a bit embarrassed by my overt
wonder. “It’s quite grand, isn’t it?” Then as if to cover every potential reason for my reaction, he
hastily added, “I know it likely seems rather intimidating, but in the end it’s just a building—one
which contains something I hope will help you.”
My eyebrows rose in curiosity, earning me one of his wide grins.
“I hoped you’d be intrigued. I shall satisfy your curiosity momentarily.”
We neared a side entrance where the posted guard admitted us. Though his stoic expression didn’t
falter, surprise filled his eyes upon seeing a common girl accompanying the prince. Heat warmed my
cheeks, an embarrassment that lingered as Prince Owen guided me through the hallways, seemingly
oblivious to the prickling stares of the servants we passed when they saw me on his arm.
“The palace contains a rather large library, though one not nearly as impressive as you’d find in
any of the kingdoms on the mainland. My eldest brother managed to acquire many books during his
seafaring days, acquisitions that included several maps.”
Thankfully, the walk to the library was short, allowing me to take refuge from the curious stares of
those we passed in the corridors. Though not large, the room was grand, with a floor and balcony
lined with towering shelves, all packed with gilded volumes. Prince Owen seemed proud to show off
the collection, but his cheerful expression quickly faltered.
“I’d forgotten you can’t read, but not to worry, I can assist you on your search. Luckily, literacy
isn’t a requirement to read maps, so they should still be of use to you.” He led me to a table and
heaved open the atlas resting upon it. “If you show me your father’s route, I can send a search party to
look for him.”
My gaze snapped up from the map I’d been perusing to gape at him. He’d truly send some of his
men to search for a mere lighthouse keeper? Why?
Crimson stained his cheeks at my blatant shock. “There’s no need to be surprised. It’s the least I
can do after you rescued me. Please allow me to repay you.”
He looked so earnest that I could only nod. At my acceptance, he scooted the atlas towards me in
invitation to peruse its vast array of maps. I flipped through the book, staring wide-eyed at each in
turn, overwhelmed by how many it contained. Despite living near the ocean, I was unfamiliar with
maps, leaving me unsure where to begin.
When the prince realized this, he rummaged through the shelves for a book that, based on the
illustrations it contained, seemed to be about various trades. I flipped through it until I found a
drawing of fish to indicate Father was also a fisherman.
Prince Owen brightened. “That narrows things downs considerably.”
He flipped to a section containing maps that outlined various fishing routes, but considering I had
no knowledge about Father’s fishing locations, these proved useless, leaving me no further
information to offer. Father too had become withdrawn following Mother’s death, and without the
words to ask him questions, my knowledge about his trade was limited.
The prince studied my expression as intently as he perused the maps and noticed my
discouragement. “Knowing he’s a fisherman is a great start. I can begin an inquiry with the other
fishermen in the area to learn more about the areas they fish in hopes of narrowing down the route he
might have taken. So don’t be discouraged, we’ve still made progress.”
Despite his encouragement, my frustration wasn’t so easily abated. I wasn’t sure what the prince
could learn through his inquiry. Father’s routes varied based on which lighthouse he left from, and the
one he’d departed from a few weeks ago wouldn’t be from any of the locations other fishermen knew
about.
He frowned. “You still seem disheartened, but it shouldn’t be too difficult to figure out his route;
there are only so many from the island where we met—” His brows furrowed when I shook my head.
“Did he not leave from there? But…where else could he have left from? No ships ever leave the
royal beach, leaving no other possibilities from your two lighthouses.”
I held up two fingers, shook my head again, then lifted my other fingers one by one. Surprise
widened his eyes.
“You own more than two?” At my nod he nudged the atlas towards me. “If you could show me
where the others are, then I could…” His words faltered when I firmly closed the book. “Do you not
know how to find them on the map?”
I shook my head, feeling entirely useless. How could I possibly tell him about our lighthouse’s
other locations? The easiest solution would be just to simply show him. As reluctant as I was to
divulge the lighthouse’s powers, the prince’s sincere intentions to assist me would amount to nothing
if I couldn’t offer him the information he needed, which included showing him the place Father had
last set sail.
Part of me was thrilled at the thought of being able to show him the lighthouse’s secret, a wish that
extended beyond the practicality doing so required. I couldn’t explain my desire to share this part of
my life with him. I beckoned him to follow, and despite his puzzlement, he obeyed.
I led him outside and retraced our earlier steps towards my lighthouse. Once we’d entered and
reached the top of the twisting staircase, I retrieved a lilac crystal from the chest, clicked it in place,
and lit the flame. The magical glow filled the room, causing the lighthouse to shift as it transported us
to the secret island. The prince’s eyes rounded in amazement. The moment the lighthouse settled, he
hurried to the window to take in the changed scenery.
“We—what—?” His mouth remained agape as he turned to me. “What happened? Did the
lighthouse move?”
I tapped the side of the lighthouse and pushed my hands in a downward motion towards the floor
to indicate that the lighthouse had stayed before motioning to us and walking across the room to
indicate we’d been the ones to change locations.
“Amazing.” His wide gaze took in the scenery outside the window. “Wait…I recognize this place.
This is the island where we met.” He seemed satisfied to have finally solved the mystery of how I
could live at different lighthouses so far apart from one another. “Is this where your father set sail?”
I shook my head and took out a green crystal to slide beneath the flickering flame. The lighthouse
shifted and transported us again, this time to my home village where my uncle was currently staying. I
pressed a finger to the prince’s lips to instruct him to be quiet while I checked whether the coast was
clear. I tried to ignore the pleasant warmth such a simple touch caused as I listened for any sound of
Uncle downstairs, but all was quiet; he was likely having his usual drink in the village pub. My
shoulders sank in relief that I wouldn’t be forced to see him.
I led Prince Owen to the beach to show him where Father’s boat had disembarked, along with the
piece from his boat that Octavius had brought me. He traced his finger over the remainder of each
letter of Starfish carved into the wood, his expression solemn. After a moment he lifted his gaze to
search the horizon, lost in thought.
“I’m not sure how to even begin looking for him. The easiest way to find your father would be our
family’s enchanted map…but unfortunately, Captain Farrell has borrowed it for his current voyage.
He’s not due back for several weeks, which is too long for us to wait to take action.”
I furrowed my brow in surprise at his reference to an enchanted map, but he didn’t seem to notice.
He bit his lip, considering. “I can use the time he’s at sea to make inquiries as well as send out
search parties until the map can provide us with a clearer direction.”
Though I appreciated his assistance, I was still left discouraged. My shoulders slumped in defeat,
and he rested a gentle hand on my arm.
“It’ll be alright, Marisa. We’ll figure something out. I promise.”
And although I wasn’t sure how he could possibly fulfill such a vow, I wanted to believe it was
possible. Despite the seemingly hopeless situation, the prince didn’t seem deterred; if anything, the
challenge seemed to excite him. His faith helped quell some of my despair in order to stoke the hope
lying dormant within me, and for the first time since learning of Father, I felt some semblance of
peace.
Without the specific map he required, we were forced to return to the palace and peruse the ones
contained in the royal library. Eventually, the prince was able to find one whose shape seemed to
match the island I’d taken him to, but even with this map we unfortunately made little progress.
For the next hour we busied ourselves looking through the atlas until a servant arrived to
announce dinner, signifying the end of my time with the prince. Despite my initial reluctance to
accompany him to the palace, I now found myself not wanting to leave. By his frown I hoped he might
share my silly sentiments.
“We didn’t have nearly as much time as I’d hoped.” He tapped the latest map we’d been perusing
with his fingers, considering the matter, and soon, one of his frequent smiles appeared. “Would you
like to stay for dinner?”
I stiffened. Stay for dinner? As reluctant as I was to part from his company, the thought of dining
in such opulence with the rest of the royal family sounded akin to torture. I adamantly shook my head,
but he talked over my show of protest.
“I’d love to introduce you to my family, and after dinner we can look for more information about
your father. Please, Marisa.”
I nibbled my lip, considering. By the time we finished, it’d be long after dark. The thought of
being away from the lighthouse at night only increased my anxiety; I was desperate to be there to
guide any ship that might need our light, anything to atone for my past mistakes.
But my desires were impossible with Uncle’s arrival depriving me of my usual duties, leaving me
without my usual purpose. Other than the uncertainty of Father’s fate, there was no feeling more
helpless than being at the lighthouse while being forced to remain uninvolved. Spending the evening
at the palace would offer me a rare reprieve from my hopelessness.
I weighed my options with my desires. In the end, the thought that additional research with the
prince might help us obtain the information needed to help Father compelled me to push aside my
nerves at the thought of dining with him, and I agreed.
If only I knew what a simple agreement would entangle me in. If I had, I’d have done all in my
power to find the courage to express my adamant refusal. But by the time I realized the outcome of
this meal with the royal family, it would be too late.
C HAPTER 7
M y heart pounded in an unrelenting tempo against my ribs as we waited in the dining room
for the arrival of the royal family. My nerves were taut as I took in the glitter and grandeur
of the palace’s dining room. It was large and spacious, decorated in gilded gold and seashell accents.
Lacy drapes outlined floor-length windows, which offered a majestic view of the ocean where the
sun was just beginning to set, bathing the waves in hues of rose and gold. A crystal chandelier cast
glistening light across the elegant dishes lining the table, a cheery effect in such contrast to my
escalating anxiety.
I felt entirely out of place being surrounded by such opulence while dressed in my common attire
about to meet our kingdom’s sovereigns; I didn’t even know how to properly curtsy, considering it
was a skill an insignificant daughter of a lighthouse keeper had never had any need to know.
I wrung my hands as my nerves escalated, only stilling when Prince Owen rested a reassuring
hand over them, his touch gentle. “There’s no need to worry. My family is very kind.”
I took a steadying breath in an effort to calm myself…only to stiffen as the wide doors swung
open. It wasn’t Their Majesties who entered but one of the princes escorting a dark-haired beauty on
his arm. He slowed when he noticed me sitting beside Prince Owen.
“Forgive me, I didn’t realize we had a guest.”
Prince Owen’s grin didn’t falter as he rose to perform the proper introductions. “Ronan, Seren,
this is Marisa. Marisa, this is my brother and his wife, Crown Prince Ronan and Crown Princess
Seren.”
I shakily stood to bob a sloppy curtsy that didn’t go at all like I’d painstakingly rehearsed in my
mind. Princess Seren nodded in greeting while Prince Ronan’s polite bow was marred by his lifted
eyebrows. “Are you the same Marisa, the mermaid who rescued my brother?”
Heat prickled my cheeks even as Prince Owen’s ears turned bright red. “She’s not a mermaid.
You know I was only joking when I told you that.”
“With the way you recited the story, I expected you were sincere in believing some mystical
creature to be responsible. Forgive me for misunderstanding.” Despite Prince Ronan’s solemn
apology, his eyes glistened with silent laughter at his younger brother’s expense. Prince Owen
scowled.
Princess Seren rested a light hand on her husband’s arm. “Dear, perhaps you can hold back on
your usual brotherly teasing; we must do our best to make our guest feel welcome.” It was as gentle a
scolding as she could have given considering the circumstances. Prince Ronan was immediately
repentant.
“You’re right. Forgive me, Miss Marisa, for teasing my brother at your expense. I’m most
certainly pleased to welcome you.”
He bowed again before helping his wife into her seat, which she lowered herself into rather
slowly considering she was round with child. Prince Ronan gave her an affectionate smile before
settling in the seat beside her and taking her hand. He turned back to his brother.
“Are Mother and Father aware we have a guest?”
Prince Owen shifted a bit guiltily. “I thought it’d make for a nice a surprise.” As if he hadn’t
invited me spontaneously on the spot.
Prince Ronan’s responding smile was tight. “They’ll certainly be surprised.”
Prince Owen frowned. “What do you mean? They’ve never had a problem with unexpected
guests. Are you aware of something I’m not?”
Prince Ronan and Princess Seren exchanged a wary look before the crown prince offered his
brother a rather forced smile. “They’ll undoubtedly be pleased to meet the woman who rescued
you…and that she’s actually real. The more you recounted the story, the less plausible it seemed.”
The crimson lining Prince Owen’s ears darkened, but before he could retort, the doors opened
once more. Again I stiffened, but as before, it wasn’t the king and queen but the last two princes—one
entered with a confident stride and an air of self-importance while the other shuffled in behind him
with his nose burrowed in a book, which he didn’t look up from even as he settled at the table.
The other prince didn’t immediately sit but swept into a formal bow upon noticing me. “I didn’t
realize we had the pleasure of entertaining a guest.”
Prince Owen introduced me before giving me the last two princes’ names. “These are my younger
brothers, Prince Jaron and Prince Damon.”
Prince Jaron bowed again, this one accompanied by a charming wink, but even the sound of his
name didn’t cause Prince Damon to look up from his book. It took two subtle nudges from Prince
Jaron until he finally glanced up. His cheeks darkened upon seeing me. For a moment he looked
almost panicked before he managed a breathless “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” His duty seen to, he
ducked back behind his book, lifting it higher to better mask his crimson face.
I bit my lip to suppress a sigh. After only four introductions, I was already weary from the
exchange, and I hadn’t even greeted Their Majesties or sat through an entire royal dinner. The already
daunting task became much more intimidating when the doors opened a final time to admit the King
and Queen of Bytamia.
The king entered with a bounce in his step and the queen on his arm. He was a rotund but
cheerful-looking man while the queen was refined and emanated a calm presence. He helped her into
her seat with all the tenderness of a doting husband before turning a rather jovial grin towards me.
“Who might this charming young lady be?”
Once again, Prince Owen went through the introductions. “She’s the maiden who rescued me.”
The king’s grin widened. “Is she, now? How wonderful. I am so pleased to meet you, my dear.”
I blushed under his fatherly look, one I hadn’t expected from the ruler of the kingdom, especially
considering my common station, but it seemed my act of heroism made it easy to overlook such things.
I bowed my head with a shy smile.
Their Majesties’ presence signified the beginning of dinner. I hoped to endure the meal entirely
invisible, a feat made easier considering the royal family had already begun a comfortable
conversation amongst themselves. But my reprieve was short-lived; the first course had barely been
set before us when the queen turned towards me.
“It really is a pleasure to meet you. Owen has told us the story of his rescue, but I’m afraid he
might have embellished it a bit.” She gave her son a rather indulging look before turning back to me.
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power of government rested with themselves and not with the
mother country. The remedy, he thought, should have been found
not so much by giving greater power to the Imperial It should have been
Government as by establishing in America itself an controlled from
within, not from
authority controlling the separate Assemblies of the without.
separate states, which body would have been a
‘Partner in the legislation of the Empire’.
It was no new conception that the states should have been in
some sense federated while still under the British flag. Various
governors, and men like Franklin, had proposed or contemplated
some such measure, in order to correct the weakness of the
separate provinces as against the common foe in Canada, while
Canada belonged to France, and in order to minimize the difficulties
which the Imperial Government found in dealing with a number of
separate legislatures at least as jealous of each other as they were
of the Home Government. But the Chief Justice’s retrospect was
based on somewhat different grounds. He would have The grounds on
had a federal legislature in order to control the which Chief Justice
Smith advocated a
provincial legislatures. He would have corrected General Legislature
democracy in America by, in a sense, carrying for British North
America.
democracy further. He would have nothing of the
maxim divide et impera; but, as democracy was born on American
soil, on American soil he would have constituted a popular authority
wider, wiser, and stronger than the bodies which represented the
single provinces. It was a very statesmanlike view. He saw that one
leading cause of the rupture between Great Britain and her colonies
had been the pettiness of the American democracies, the
narrowness of provincial politics, the intensity of democratic feeling
cooped up in the small area of a single colony as in a single Greek
city, the personal bitterness thereby produced in local politicians, and
the obvious semblance of oppression when a great country like
England was dealing with one small state and another, not with a
larger federated whole. A federal legislature would have exercised
home-grown American control over the American Assemblies; it
would have given a wider and fuller scope to American democracy,
enlarging the views, making the individual leaders greater and wider
in mind; it would have been the body with which England would have
dealt; and the dealings would have been those of ‘Partners in the
legislation of the Empire’. This was in his mind when he earnestly
recommended that the grant of constitutional privileges to the
Canadian provinces should be from the first accompanied by the
creation of a general government for British North America, including
the maritime provinces as well as Upper and Lower Canada.
But, if this general government was to be a partner The General
in the legislation of the Empire, it was clearly to be, in Legislature
contemplated by
the view of the Chief Justice, a subordinate partner. Chief Justice Smith
The last of his proposed additions to the Bill began in would have been a
subordinate
the following terms: ‘Be it further enacted ... that Legislature.
nothing in this Act contained shall be interpreted to derogate from
the rights and prerogatives of the Crown for the due exercise of the
Royal and Executive authority over all or any of the said provinces,
or to derogate from the Legislative sovereignty and supremacy of the
Crown and Parliament of Great Britain.’ In other words he re-affirmed
the principle, which the old colonies had rejected, that they were
subordinated to the Parliament of the mother country as well as to
the Crown; and he showed clearly in the clause empowering the
Crown to appoint Executive Councils apart from the Legislature, that
the Executive power was to rest not in British North America but in
Great Britain. The general government of British North America was
to be a partner in the legislation of the Empire, but not in the
Executive, and even in the legislative sphere it was to take a second
place. Theoretically, and to some small extent practically also, the
Dominion Parliament is still a subordinate partner in legislation, so
far as Imperial questions are concerned; but, since the The Chief Justice
days of Lord Durham, colonial self-government has did not contemplate
colonial self-
included control of the Executive in the colony. Chief government in its
Justice Smith had therefore not contemplated or fullest form.
foreshadowed the colonial self-government of the future.
But that he had not done so was not due to want of
statesmanship. He was rather still intent on seeking after a solution
of the problem which later thinkers and statesmen held to be
insoluble. The grant of responsible government in after times was
not so much an act of constructive wisdom as a wise recognition of
what was at the time impossible. To give to the colonial legislatures
the control of the Executive was to remove them practically from the
control of the mother country, and thereby to concede to these
communities the full right of self-government. The first corrective of
this grant was on similar lines to those which Chief Justice Smith
prescribed, viz., to federate the self-governing communities in a
given area, to place their separate legislatures under a general
legislature, and, as the legislatures controlled the Executive, to limit
the provincial executive authorities by a general executive authority,
the control being exercised from within not from without, and small
democracies being rectified by creating from among themselves a
larger and a stronger democratic body. It still remains for the wisdom
of the coming time to carry the constructive work further; if human
ingenuity can devise a practical scheme, again to extend the
principle of democratic representation and control; and to constitute
a body which, with the Crown, shall, alike in legislation and in the
sphere of the Executive, make the great self-governing provinces in
the fullest sense partners in the Empire. In short, the point which it is
here wished to emphasize is that whereas self-government was
conceded not as a solution of the problem but as a final recognition
that the problem was insoluble, men have come to realize that after
all what was intended to be final was only a necessary preliminary to
the possible attainment of an object, which had been relegated to the
land of dreams and speculations.
The views of the Chief Justice were not embodied in The Act of 1791.
the law which was eventually passed in 1791. Pitt had
pledged himself to deal with the Canadian question in the session of
1790, but in that year Great Britain was on the brink of war with
Spain, owing to the seizure by the Spaniards in 1789 of British
trading vessels in Nootka Sound, an inlet of what is now known as
Vancouver Island. The matter was adjusted by the Nootka Sound
Convention of 28th October, 1790, after which Vancouver began his
voyages of survey and discovery along the Pacific Coast of North
America; and, the hands of the British Government being free, a
Royal Message to the House of Commons, dated the 25th of
January, 1791, announced that it was the King’s intention to divide
the province of Quebec into two provinces to be called Upper and
Lower Canada, whenever His Majesty was enabled by Act of
Parliament to make the necessary regulations for the government of
the said provinces. The message further recommended that a
permanent appropriation of lands should be made in the provinces
for the support of a Protestant clergy.
On the 4th of March Pitt introduced the Bill. On the Proceedings in
23rd of March Lymburner was heard at the bar of the Parliament.
House on behalf of its opponents. He took objections, among other
points, to the division of the province, to the creation of hereditary
Legislative Councillors, to the small number of members who were to
constitute the Assemblies, and to making the Assemblies septennial
instead of triennial. The passage of the Bill through Committee in the
House of Commons was chiefly remarkable for the historic quarrel
between Burke and Fox on the subject of the French Revolution
which was dragged into the debate. There was no real opposition to
the measure, though Fox opposed the division of the province, the
hereditary councillors, the small numbers assigned to the
Assemblies, and the large provision made for the Protestant clergy.
The duration of the Assemblies was reduced from seven years to
four, and the number of members in the Assembly of Lower Canada
was raised from thirty to fifty. Thus amended the Bill was read a third
time in the House of Commons on the 18th of May, and received the
Royal Assent on the following 10th of June, one of its sections
providing that it should take effect before the 31st of December,
1791, and another that the Councils and Assemblies should be
called together before the 31st of December, 1792. It had been
intended that Dorchester should be present in London during the
passing of the Act, in order to advise the Government on points of
detail, but the dispatch informing him that the Act had already been
passed crossed him on his way to England.
The omissions from the Act are as noteworthy as its Omissions from the
contents. The Bill, both as presented to Parliament Act.
and as finally passed into law, contained no description of the line of
division between Upper and Lower Canada, or of the It contained no
boundaries of the two provinces. In the draft which definition of the
boundaries of
Grenville sent out in 1789 there was a blank space, in Upper and Lower
Canada.
which Dorchester was invited, with the help of his surveyor-general,
to insert a description of the boundaries; but, wrote Grenville in his
covering dispatch, ‘there will be a considerable difficulty in the mode
of describing the boundary between the district of Upper Canada and
the territories of the United States, as the adhering to the line
mentioned in the treaty with America would exclude the posts which
are still in His Majesty’s possession and which the infraction of the
treaty on the part of America has induced His Majesty to retain,
while, on the other hand, the including them by express words within
the limits to be established for the province by an Act of the British
Parliament would probably excite a considerable degree of
resentment among the inhabitants of the United States.’ Grenville
accordingly suggested that the Upper Province might be described
by some general terms such as ‘All the territories, &c., possessed by
and subject to His Majesty and being to the West or South of the
boundary line of Lower Canada, except such as are included within
the present boundaries of the government of New Brunswick’.
Uncertainty as to what was or was not British territory affected
among other matters the administration of justice. It was from this
point of view that Dorchester mainly regarded it when he wrote in
reply to Grenville, ‘the attainment of a free course of justice
throughout every part of His Majesty’s possessions in the way least
likely to give umbrage to the United States appears to me very
desirable’. He returned the draft of the Bill with the blank filled in with
a precise description of the dividing line within what was beyond
dispute Canadian territory, and with the addition of some general
words including in the Canadas all lands to the southward ‘now
subject to or possessed by His Majesty’, but he reported at the same
time that the Chief Justice was not satisfied that the terms used
would answer the purpose. Eventually the Government left out the
whole clause, omitting also all reference to another difficult point
which had been raised and which had affected the administration of
justice in connexion with the fisheries in the Gulf of St. Lawrence,
viz., the boundary line between Lower Canada and New Brunswick.
Parliamentary debate on a very awkward question was thus avoided,
and the Act contained no provision which could give offence to the
United States.
But it was absolutely necessary to draw some How the
dividing line, and to give some description of the boundaries were
boundaries, however vague. Accordingly the following defined.
very cautious course was taken. A ‘description of the intended
boundary between the provinces of Upper Canada and Lower
Canada’, being Lord Dorchester’s clause with the omission of the
general words referred to above, was printed as a Parliamentary
Paper,[202] while the Bill was before the House; and this line of
division was embodied in an Order in Council issued on the following
24th of August, with the addition of the words ‘including all territory to
the Westward and Southward of the said line, to the utmost extent of
the country commonly known as Canada’. The line of division was
set out again in the new commission to Lord Dorchester, which was
issued on the 12th of September, 1791, the two provinces of Upper
and Lower Canada being specified as comprehending all such
territories to the Westward and Eastward of the line respectively ‘as
were part of our said province of Quebec’.
On the important subject of administration of justice Administration of
the Act was almost silent. One section only had Justice hardly
mentioned in the
reference to it, constituting the governor or lieutenant- Act,
governor and Executive Council in either province a
court of appeal in civil matters, as had been the case in the
undivided province. Nor was any attempt made to Nor did it contain
define the powers of the Legislative Council and any definition of the
respective powers
Assembly in relation to each other; but, in sending out of the two
the Act, Dundas, who had succeeded Grenville, Chambers.
reminded Dorchester of ‘the disputes and disagreements which have
at times taken place between the Councils and Assemblies of the
different colonies respecting the right claimed by the latter that all
Bills whatsoever for granting money should originate with them’, and
he laid down in general terms that the principle, ‘as far as it relates to
any question of imposing burthens upon the subject, is so consistent
with the spirit of our constitution that it ought not to be resisted’.
Out of the fifty sections which composed the Act, no Contents of the Act.
less than thirty-two related to the constitution and
legislative powers of the Councils and Assemblies in the two
provinces. In Upper Canada the Legislative Council was to consist of
not less than seven members, and the Assembly of not less than
sixteen. In Lower Canada the minimum fixed for the Council was
fifteen, and for the Assembly fifty. The electoral qualification was, in
the country districts, ownership of real property to the net annual
value of forty shillings, and in the towns of £5, or in the alternative in
the latter case a rental qualification of £10 per annum.
Of the remaining sections eight related to the Provision for
endowment and maintenance of Protestant clergy and Protestant clergy.
to providing parsonages and rectories for the Church of England.
The wording of these sections, and the system of clergy reserves
which they introduced, proved a fruitful source of controversy in after
years. The Act continued the existing system by which Roman
Catholics paid their dues to the Roman Catholic Church, while the
tithes on lands held by Protestants were applied to the support of a
Protestant clergy. It then went on, in accordance with the terms of
the Royal Message to the House of Commons, to provide that there
should be a permanent appropriation of Crown lands for the
maintenance and support of a Protestant clergy, bearing a due
proportion to the amount of Crown lands which had already been
granted for other purposes, and that all future grants of Crown land
should be accompanied by an appropriation, for the same object of
maintaining a Protestant clergy, of land equal in value to one-
seventh of the amount which was granted for other purposes. The
intention was that the establishment and endowment of Protestant
clergy should proceed pari passu with the alienation of lands for
settlement, so that each township or parish in either province should
have its Protestant minister. So far the general term Protestant was
used, but provisions followed authorizing the erection and
endowment of parsonages or rectories in every parish or township
‘according to the Establishment of the Church of England’, the
incumbents to be ministers of the Church of England, and to be
subject to the ecclesiastical authority of the Church of England
bishop. It was also enacted that, while these provisions relating to
religion and to Crown lands might be varied by Acts of the provincial
legislatures, before any such Acts received the Royal Assent, they
were to be laid before the Imperial Parliament, and, if either House
presented an Address to the King praying that His assent should be
withheld, such assent could not be given. The Act, though obscurely
worded, in effect established and endowed the Church of England in
both provinces alike, while confirming the rights which had already
been conceded to the Roman Catholic Church. The provision made
for the Church of England was, at any rate on paper, very ample,
inasmuch as, while Crown lands were being assigned for its
maintenance, the liability of Protestant land-owners to pay tithes was
not abolished. Dundas, however, in his dispatch which enclosed
copies of the Act, intimated to the governor that it was not desired
permanently to continue the burden of the tithe, if the land-owners
would in lieu subscribe to a fund for clearing the reserve lands and
building the parsonage houses. Fox attacked these sections in the
Act, and he also criticized a suggestion which Pitt made that a
Church of England bishop might be given a seat in the Legislative
Council.
It may be noted that the Act specifically mentioned The first Church of
the Bishop of Nova Scotia as the spiritual authority for England bishops in
British North
the time being over such ministers of the Church of America.
England as might be appointed to the two Canadas. The Bishopric of
Nova Scotia dated from 1787, and was the first, and in 1791 the
only, Church of England bishopric in British North America, the
Bishop—Bishop Inglis, having been a Loyalist clergyman in the city
of New York. In 1793 a separate Bishop of Quebec was appointed,
and in 1799 the Secretary of State authorized the building of a
metropolitan church at Quebec, which was completed for
consecration in 1804, and at the centenary of which in 1904 the
Archbishop of Canterbury was present. There were indications at
this time that the Protestants in Canada, most of whom were not
members of the Church of England, might be inclined to unite within
it, and it was hoped that the building and endowment of a
metropolitan church might tend to such union and to placing the
Church of England in the position of the Established Church of
Canada.
The provisions in the Act which related to religion were followed by
three very important sections dealing with land tenure. The main
grievance of the settlers in Upper Canada was met by Provisions relating
providing that land grants should there be made on to land tenure, and
to taxation by the
the English system of free and common soccage. The Imperial
Parliament.
same system was made optional in Lower Canada at
the will of the grantee, but in that province the seigniors were not
finally abolished until the year 1854. In 1778 an Act of Parliament
had been passed[203]—too late in the day—which abolished the tea
duty in the North American colonies, and laid down that no duty
should in future be imposed by the British Parliament on any colony
in North America or the West Indies for revenue purposes, but only
for the regulation of commerce, and on the understanding that the
net produce of such duties should be at the disposal of the colonial
legislatures. Similar provisions were inserted in the Canada Act of
1791, and, in introducing the Bill, Pitt explained that, ‘in order to
prevent any such dispute as had been the cause of separating the
thirteen states from the mother country, it was provided that the
British Parliament should impose no taxes but such as were
necessary for the regulation of trade and commerce; and, to guard
against the abuse of this power, such taxes were to be levied and to
be disposed by the Legislature of each division.’
Thus Canada was endowed with representative institutions, and
entered on the second stage in its history as a British possession. It
was divided into an English province and a French province, in order
as far as possible to prevent friction between two races not yet
accustomed to each other. For the English province English land
tenure was made the law of the land, in the French province it was
only made optional. Taxation of members of one religion for the
upkeep of another found no place in the Act, nor did taxation of a
colony by the mother country for the purposes of Imperial revenue.
The popular representatives were in the main given control of the
moneys raised from taxes: and no doubt was left as to who had the
keeping of the people’s purse.[204] On the other hand the Executive
power was left with the Crown, and the waste lands provided
possibilities of a revenue by which the government might be
supported apart from the taxes, and by which an Established Church
might be maintained apart from the tithes. The Imperial Parliament
too retained the power of regulating commerce, while making no
money out of the colony by any commercial regulations. It was in
short a prudent and tolerant half-way Act, wise and practical in view
of the times and the local conditions, and it was evidence that
England and Englishmen had learnt good and not evil from the War
of American Independence. A study of Canadian history, with special
reference to the Quebec Act of 1774 and the Canada Act of 1791,
and the results which flowed from them, leads to the conclusion that
in either case the British Government of the day tried most honestly
and most anxiously to deal with a very complicated problem on its
merits; that every effort was made by the ministers of the Crown to
mete out fair and considerate treatment to the majority of the
resident population in Canada; and that those who framed and
carried the laws guided themselves by living facts rather than by a
priori reasoning. But it is also impossible to resist the conclusion that
at almost any time from 1783 onwards, until the Canadian Dominion
came into being, there was little to choose between the arguments
for retaining a single province, and those for constituting two
provinces. In any case it was inevitable that the provisions of the Act
of 1791 should give rise to new complications of various kinds; and
apart from specific questions, constitutional and otherwise, there
were two very practical difficulties which necessarily arose from the
division of the province of Quebec. The first was an Executive
difficulty, of which more will be said presently. From the date of the
Act there was increasingly divided authority in the Canadas. The
second was a financial difficulty arising from geographical conditions.
One of the two provinces had the keeping of the other, so far as
regarded access from and to the sea.
As the line of division was drawn, Upper Canada, Financial difficulties
like the Transvaal at the present day, was compelled between the two
provinces.
to import all sea-borne articles through territory under
the administration of another government, either through Lower
Canada or through the United States. The St. Lawrence being the
high road of import and export, Lower Canada commanded the trade
of Upper Canada. Therefore, in order to collect a customs revenue, it
was necessary for the Upper Province either to establish customs
houses on the frontier of Lower Canada—a measure which would
probably have been ineffective and would certainly have involved
much inconvenience and expense, or to come to some arrangement
whereby a certain proportion of the duties levied at Quebec, which
was the port of entry of Lower Canada, would be handed over to the
administration of the Upper Province. The latter course was taken,
and in 1795, a provisional arrangement was made, by which the
proportion was fixed for the time being at one-eighth. The record of
what followed is a record of perpetual friction, of commissions and
temporary arrangements confirmed by provincial Acts. It was
suggested that the boundaries of the provinces should be altered,
and that Montreal should be included in and be made the port of
entry of Upper Canada, but the suggestion was never carried into
effect. As the population of Upper Canada grew, the discontent
increased. In 1818 one-fifth of the duties was temporarily assigned to
Upper Canada. Then a complete deadlock ensued, which ended
with the Imperial Canada Trade Act of 1822. By arbitration under the
terms of that Act the proportion which Upper Canada was to receive
was in 1824 raised to one-fourth; and when Lord Durham reported, it
was about two-fifths. In his report Lord Durham referred to the matter
as ‘a source of great and increasing disputes’, which only came to an
end when the two provinces were once more united under the
Imperial Act of 1840.
The Canada Act took effect on the 26th of December, 1791.
Dorchester was then in England, and Sir Alured Clarke, Lieutenant-
Governor of the province of Quebec under the old system and
Commander of the Forces in British North America, was acting for
him. Under the new Act Clarke was appointed The position in
Lieutenant-Governor of Lower Canada, while the Canada when the
new Act came into
Lieutenant-Governorship of Upper Canada was force.
conferred upon Colonel Simcoe, both officers being
subordinate to Dorchester as Governor-in-Chief. Dorchester had left
Canada on the 18th of August, 1791, and did not return till the 24th
of September, 1793. His prolonged absence was unfortunate in more
ways than one. Technical difficulties arose owing to the absence of
the Governor-in-Chief, for, as soon as the new Act came into force,
Clarke’s authority was confined by his commission to Lower Canada.
The practical effect too was that Simcoe started on his new charge
with a free hand and found it irksome, when Dorchester returned, to
take a second place. Added to this were the complications caused
by the French declaration of war against Great Britain in February,
1793, the hostilities between the United States and the Indian tribes
on the border land of Canada, and the persistent and increasing
bitterness in the United States against Great Britain, caused partly
by sympathy with the French Revolution and the intrigues of French
agents, and partly by the British retention of the frontier forts and
supposed British sympathy with the Indians.
However, the political arrangements in Canada were carried into
effect without any appreciable friction. Clarke, a man of judgement
and discretion, did not hurry matters in Lower Canada. He divided
the province into electoral districts, and summoned the Legislature
for its first session at Quebec on the 17th of December, 1792, when
the Act had been in force for nearly a year. The session then lasted
into May. Simcoe arrived at Quebec on the 11th of November, 1791;
but, as no Executive Council had yet been constituted for Upper
Canada, he could not be sworn in as Lieutenant-Governor and take
up his duties until the following midsummer, Upper Canada being in
the meantime left without any governor or lieutenant-governor. In
July, 1792, he issued a proclamation at Kingston, dividing Upper
Canada into districts, and on the 17th of September the new
Legislature met for the first time at Newark, on the Canadian side of
the Niagara river, near where that river flows into Lake Ontario. The
Lieutenant-Governor fixed his head quarters at ‘Navy Hall’, a building
constructed in the late war for the use of the officers of the naval
department on Lake Ontario. It stood by the water’s edge, nearly a
mile higher up the river than Newark; and on the bank above, in the
war of 1812, covering the buildings below, stood the historic Fort
George. The session was a short one, closing on the 15th of
October, but important work was done. English law and procedure,
and trial by jury, were established, while proposals for taxation and
the state of the marriage law gave a field for difference of opinion
and debate. When the session was over, Simcoe reported that he
found the members of the Assembly ‘active and zealous for
particular measures, which were soon shown to be improper or
futile’, and the Council ‘cautious and moderate, a valuable check
upon precipitate measures’.[205]
John Graves Simcoe, the first Lieutenant-Governor Simcoe.
of Upper Canada, was the son of a naval officer who
died when serving under Admiral Saunders in the fleet which helped
to take Quebec. The son, who derived his second name from
another sailor, his godfather Admiral Graves, was born in 1752. He
was born in Northumberland, but after his father’s death, his mother
made her home in Devonshire. He was educated at Exeter Grammar
School, at Eton, and at Merton College, Oxford, and he joined the
army in 1771, when he was nineteen years old. He served with much
distinction in the War of Independence, in which he commanded a
Loyalist Corps, known as the Queen’s Rangers. When the war
ended, he held the rank of lieutenant-colonel. After his return to
England in bad health he spent some years at his family home in
Devonshire, he married, and in 1790 became a member of
Parliament, sitting for the borough of St. Mawes in Cornwall. His
Parliamentary career was very short, for in 1791, before he was yet
forty years of age, Pitt appointed him to be Lieutenant-Governor of
Upper Canada. He left Canada in 1796, and soon after he reached
England he was sent out as Governor to St. Domingo. After a few
months in the island, the state of his health compelled him to come
home. He became a lieutenant-general, and was appointed to be
Commander-in-Chief in India in succession to Lord Lake, but he
never took up the appointment. Prior to going out he was sent to
Lisbon in 1806 on a special mission, was taken ill, and brought home
to die. He died at Exeter in October, 1806. There is a monument to
him by Flaxman in Exeter Cathedral[206], and in Canada his name is
borne by Lake Simcoe.
He was not only a good soldier, but a capable, vigorous, public-
spirited man, well suited in many ways to be the pioneer governor of
a new province. He was strong on questions of military defence and
a great road maker. He made Yonge Street, the road from Toronto
north to Lake Simcoe, called after Sir George Yonge then Secretary
of State for War and afterwards for a short time Governor of the
Cape; and he made Dundas Street, christened after the Secretary of
State for the Colonies, which then started from the point on Lake
Ontario where the city of Hamilton now stands and, running west,
connected with the river Thames.
Toronto owed much to him, but not under its present York or Toronto.
name. The name Toronto had been borne in old times
by Lake Simcoe, and on the site of the present city of Toronto the
French had in 1749[207] built a fort, named Fort Rouillé. The place
had come to be known as Toronto, but in 1792[208] the new name of
York came into vogue, and in the autumn of the following year, 1793,
Simcoe reported that that name had been officially adopted ‘with due
celebrity’, in honour of the successful storming of the French camp at
Famars near Valenciennes by the force under the command of the
Duke of York on the 23rd of May, 1793. It was not until 1834, when
the city was incorporated, that the old name of Toronto was restored.
Simcoe wrote of Toronto Harbour as ‘the proper naval Simcoe’s views as
arsenal of Lake Ontario’; but it was not here that he to the seat of
government for
would have placed the seat of government. Strongly Upper Canada.
convinced of the necessity of opening communication
between Lake Ontario and the upper lakes, without making the long
round by the waters of Lake Erie and the Straits of Detroit, in 1793
he explored the peninsula between the three lakes of Ontario, Erie
and Huron; and on a river, running westward into Lake St. Clair,
known at that date as the La Tranche river and afterwards as the
Thames[209], a place which was christened London and where there
is now a city with 40,000 inhabitants, seemed to him to be the most
suitable site for the political centre of Upper Canada. His view was
that the seat of government should be inland, presumably because it
would be more central in respect to the three lakes, and also
because it would be further removed from the danger of raids from
the neighbouring territory of the then unfriendly republic. It is
interesting to note that, in a dispatch expressing an opinion to the
above effect, Simcoe added that sooner or later the Canadas might
be divided into three instead of two provinces and Montreal be made
the centre of an intermediate government. Dorchester held, as
against Simcoe, that Toronto should be the seat of government, and
his view prevailed. The Legislature of Upper Canada met at Newark
for the last time in May, 1796, shortly before the fort of Niagara on
the opposite side of the river was handed over to the Americans,[210]
and from 1797 onwards, Simcoe having left in the meanwhile, it met
at Toronto.
Before Dorchester returned to take up again the duties of
Governor-in-Chief, Simcoe had formed definite views Friction between
as to the civil administration and the military defence Dorchester
Simcoe.
and
of Upper Canada; and it is not surprising that the

keen, active-minded soldier and administrator, who was little more
than forty years of age, did not on all points see eye to eye with the
veteran governor now verging on seventy; or that, when he differed,
he was not inclined to subordinate his opinions to those of
Dorchester. Thus we find Dorchester sending home correspondence
with Simcoe with the blunt remark that the enclosures turned on the
question whether he was to receive orders from Simcoe or Simcoe
from him. In his long official career Dorchester had been much tried.
At the time of the War of Independence, he had been badly treated
by his employers in England and had felt to the full the mischief and
inconvenience caused when those employers divided their
confidence and communicated with one subordinate officer and
another, thereby encouraging disloyalty and intrigue. The
correspondence of these later years points to the conclusion that the
iron had entered into his soul and that, with the weariness of age
growing upon him, he had become somewhat querulous, unduly
apprehensive of loss of authority, and over-sensitive to difference of
opinion. There seems to have been no love lost between him and
Dundas, while the latter was Secretary of State, but all through the
last stage of his career the key-note was dread of divided authority.
We have seen that he had not favoured the policy of Dorchester’s views
dividing the province of Quebec into two provinces, inCentral
favour of a
Legislature
and that he had shown sympathy with Chief Justice and a strong
Smith’s proposals for establishing a general Executive.
government for British North America. In the summer of 1793, after
the Canada Act had come into force but while he was still in England
on leave, he raised again this question of a central government for
all the King’s provinces in British North America, receiving an answer
from Dundas to the effect that the measure would require a new Act
of Parliament and that in Dundas’ opinion it would not add to the real
strength or happiness of the different provinces. After his return to
Canada Dorchester took up his text again, laying stress on the
necessity of welding together the different provinces. In existing
conditions he saw a revival of the system which had caused rebellion
and the dismemberment of the Empire. While the United States were
pursuing a policy of consolidation, the aim of the King’s Government
seemed to be to divide and sub-divide and form independent
governments. All power, he continued, was withdrawn from the
Governor-General, and instructions were sent directly from home to
inferior officers, so that the intermediate authority was virtually
superseded. Everything was favourable to insubordination, and the
fruits of it might be expected at an early season. This was in
February 1795, when the governor was smarting under what he
considered to be unjust censure by the Home Government; and,
though he remained in Canada for some time longer, he continued to
show, by the tone of his dispatches, that he entirely disapproved of
the existing régime. In November, 1795, he wrote of ‘all command,
civil and military, being disorganized and without remedy’; in the
following May he wrote that ‘this unnatural disorder in our political
constitution, which alienates every servant of the Crown from
whoever administers the King’s Government, leaving only an
alternative still more dangerous, that of offending the mass of the
people, cannot fail to enervate all the powers of the British Empire on
this Continent’; and in June he wrote, that the old colonial system
was being strengthened with ruinous consequences.
It is not easy to decide how much ground there was for his
complaints. If the situation was difficult, the difficulty had partly arisen
from the bad custom, of which he had availed himself, of allowing
governors and other holders of posts in the colonies to remain for an
inordinate time at home while still retaining office and receiving the
pay attaching to it. At the very time when he was most wanted in
Canada to carry out the division of the two provinces, and to make
the central authority of the Governor-in-Chief strongly felt from the
first, he had remained away for fully two years, thereby allowing the
new system to come into being and to make some progress before
there was any Governor-in-Chief on the spot. Coming out to Canada
he found the Lieutenant-Governors corresponding direct with the
Home Government, and it was hardly reasonable to insist that they
should be debarred from doing so, provided that, as the Duke of
Portland, who succeeded Dundas, pointed out, the Governor-in-
Chief was supplied with copies of the correspondence. An analogous
case is that of Australia at the present day. The governors of the
separate states correspond directly with the Colonial Office, sending
copies of important dispatches to the Governor-General of the
Commonwealth. Had Dorchester not been absent, Relations of the
when Simcoe took up his appointment in Upper Governor-in-Chief
and Lieutenant-
Canada, and had his mind not been prejudiced by Governors.
bitter memories of the days of Germain, it is possible
that friction might not have arisen. On the other hand the limits of the
authority of the Governor-in-Chief and of the Lieutenant-Governors
in the British North American provinces seem not to have been
clearly defined, with the result that, as years went on, the Governor-
in-Chief gradually became little more than Governor of Lower
Canada, and the Lieutenant-Governor of Upper Canada became, in
civil matters, governor of that province in all but the name. When
Lord Dalhousie was appointed Governor-in-Chief, Sir Peregrine
Maitland, then Lieutenant-Governor of Upper Canada, asked the
Secretary of State for a ruling on the subject; and Lord Bathurst’s
answer, dated the 9th of February, 1821, was that ‘So long as the
Governor-in-Chief is not resident within the province of Upper
Canada, and does not take the oaths of office in Upper Canada, he
has no control whatever over any part of the civil administration, nor
are you bound to comply with his directions or to communicate with
him on any act of your civil government. To His Majesty you are
alone responsible for the conduct of the civil administration’. If, on
the other hand, the Governor-in-Chief were to take up his residence
in Upper Canada and be sworn into office, the Secretary of State laid
down that the functions of the Lieutenant-Governor would be entirely
suspended. By this date, therefore, the two appointments had
become exclusive of each other. At a later date, when Lord Durham
was going out to Canada, Lord Glenelg, then Secretary of State,
emphasized still more strongly the independence of the Lieutenant-
Governors. When sending Lord Durham his commission, he wrote
on the 3rd of April, 1838, of the position which the Governor-General
or Governor-in-Chief had up to that date held in regard to the other
provinces. ‘With the title of Governor-General, he has, in fact, been
Governor of the province of Lower Canada only, and has been
prohibited from resorting to any of the other provinces, lest his
presence should supersede the authority of the respective
Lieutenant-Governors, to whose administration they have been
confided.... Hitherto it has not been the practice to carry on official
correspondence between the Governor-General and any of the
Lieutenant-Governors. The Governor-General and the Lieutenant-
Governors have severally conducted their separate administrations
as separate and independent authorities, addressing all their
communications on public affairs to the head of this department, and
receiving from the Secretary of State alone instructions for their
guidance.’ The result of dividing Canada into two provinces was
necessarily to create two governors. One was intended to be
subordinate to the other, but the subordination gradually became
nominal only. The political problems of Lower Canada were so
difficult and so important as to absorb the full time and attention of
the Governor-in-Chief; no railways or telegraphs facilitated
communication; and the British North American provinces, instead of
being controlled by a central executive authority, for good or evil
went their own way.
It has been seen that during Dorchester’s first government, he had
experienced no little difficulty in dealing with Livius, the
contumacious Chief Justice of Quebec. In the earlier period of his
second government, he had, on the contrary, a wise and loyal fellow
worker in Chief Justice Smith. Soon after the governor returned to
Canada for the last time, towards the end of 1793, Smith died and
his place was taken by Osgoode, the Chief Justice of Upper Canada,
who did not enjoy Dorchester’s confidence to the same extent as his
predecessor. But Osgoode’s appointment was made the occasion for
putting into practice a reform which Dorchester, to his lasting honour,
had urgently pressed upon the notice of the Imperial Dorchester’s
Government, the abolition of fees and perquisites, and opposition to fees
and perquisites.
the payment of judges and other public officers by
adequate salaries alone. Dorchester himself, when he first took up
the government of Canada in 1766, had refused to take the fees to
which he was legally entitled; and in the last years of his Canadian
service he wrote on this subject in no measured terms. In a dispatch
dated the last day of December, 1793, and written in connexion with
the vacant chief justiceship, he referred to the system of fees and
perquisites as one which ‘alienates every servant of the Crown from
whoever administers the King’s Government. This policy I consider
as coeval with His Majesty’s Governments in North America, and the
cause of their destruction. As its object was not public but private
advantage, so this principle has been pursued with diligence,
extending itself unnoticed, till all authority and influence of
government on this continent was overcome, and the governors
reduced almost to mere corresponding agents, unable to resist the
pecuniary speculations of gentlemen in office, their connexions and
associates’. He added that whatever tended to enfeeble the
Executive power in British North America tended to sever it for ever
from the Crown of Great Britain. Subsequent dispatches were to the
same effect. In June, 1795, he reported having disallowed certain
small claims by subordinate officers, expressed regret that
gentlemen in Britain should look to America for a reward for their
services, and laid down that officers should be paid sufficient
salaries to place them above pecuniary speculations in the colonies.
The next month he wrote in the same strain with reference to the
Customs officials and the collection of revenue: and a year later he
again insisted that such officers should not receive indirect
emoluments, that the local administration should not be warped and
made subservient to fees, profits, perquisites ‘and all their dirty train’,
and that the national interests should not be sacrificed to gentlemen
who possessed or were looking out for good places for themselves
and their connexions. Running through the dispatches is insistence
on the principle that the Executive must be strong, that it can be
strong only if the officers are duly subordinate to the representative
of the Crown, that loyal subordination can only be produced by
paying proper salaries and abolishing perquisites, and that the loss
of the old North American colonies had been largely due to abuses
which had lowered the dignity and the authority of the Crown,
alienating from it the confidence and the affections of the people.
The censure, if censure it can be called, which Dorchester
Dundas had passed on Dorchester, and which caused criticized by
Dundas for plain
the latter to tender his resignation, was connected with speaking as to the
the attitude which Dorchester felt it necessary to take Americans.
up towards the United States after his return to Canada in the
autumn of 1793. The Treaty of 1783 had settled, or purported to
settle, the boundaries of Canada as against the United States, but it
had not settled the boundaries of the United States as against the
Indians, and the Indians manfully maintained their right to the
territory north of the Ohio river. In November, 1791, an War between the
American force under General St. Clair, who had AmericansIndians.
and the
commanded at Ticonderoga at the time of Burgoyne’s

advance, was badly defeated in the Miami country to the south-west
of Lake Erie. The British Government and the Canadian authorities
made various efforts to mediate between the contending parties, but
the government of the United States was not disposed to accept
such mediation, though British officers were asked to be present at
conferences which were held in the summer of 1793 between
representatives of the various Indian tribes and commissioners of the
United States. No result came from these negotiations, the Indians
demanding that the Ohio should be the boundary, the Americans
definitely refusing to comply with the demand, and in the following
year fighting began again.
The French Revolution had for some years been gathering
strength. In the autumn of 1792 France had been declared a
Republic; and the execution of the King on the 21st of American sympathy
January, 1793, was followed on the 1st of February by with France.
a declaration of war against Great Britain. The French also declared
war against Spain, the power which now held New Orleans and
Louisiana west of the Mississippi. The position in North America
became at once very critical and very dangerous. Popular feeling in
the United States ran strongly in favour of France. The Republicans
of the New World were enthusiastic for the people who had enabled
them to gain their independence and who, having put an end to

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of Upper Canada; and it is not surprising that the

commanded at Ticonderoga at the time of Burgoyne’s

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