Siren song

Preparing for Departure

The trunk lay open on her bed, its brass hinges gleaming in the candlelight.Kyria folded her dresses one by one. The simple blue one her mother had sewn before she passed, the cream muslin trimmed with lace for church, and the pale green gown her father had insisted she bring to wear when meeting her betrothed. Her fingers lingered on that one, tracing the stitching. "A merchant's wife should look the part," he had said. It still felt strange, that word: wife.

Kyria smiled to herself, half in disbelief, half in shy excitement. She had imagined marriage since she was old enough to watch the older girls of the town parade in their wedding ribbons. But she'd never thought hers would begin with a voyage across the sea. She placed a small mirror beside her hair comb, then hesitated before adding a worn leather-bound book of poems. The idea of reading to someone, to him, made her cheeks warm. On her writing desk sat a letter she had penned and rewritten three times already. The parchment still smelled faintly of lavender.

To Mr. Thomas O'Malley, My father has informed me of your kind acceptance. I am grateful for your offer of partnership and am honored to begin this new life in your home. Though we have not yet met, I pray the sea is kind and delivers me safely to your shore. I look forward to making your acquaintance and hope you will find me worthy of your trust and household.

Yours respectfully, Kyria Taylor

She read it once more, cheeks still flushed at how formal it sounded. She wondered if Thomas O'Malley would think her stiff or cold. In her imagination, he was gentle spoken, with kind eyes and perhaps a bit of laughter in his voice. Someone who would not mind that she blushed too easily or loved the sea too much. The candlelight flickered as a breeze stirred through the open window.

Outside, the night carried the steady sound of waves against the docks, the same lullaby that had always soothed her as a child. She stepped to the sill and looked out. The ships were shadows in the moonlight, their sails furled, their ropes creaking softly. Tomorrow, she would be among them. She rested her chin on her hand, smiling faintly. "It's a new beginning," she whispered. "A good one." But when she turned from the window, the flame of her candle sputtered, guttering low as though something unseen had exhaled.

The scent of salt thickened in the air, heavy and strange, the kind of scent that came not from the harbor, but from the open sea. Kyria frowned, glancing back toward the dark horizon. For just a moment, she thought she heard a low hum rise from beyond the cliffs, soft and mournful, almost like a song carried on the wind. Then it was gone. She shook her head, smiling at her own fancy, and blew out the candle. The room fell into darkness and the tide kept singing beyond her window.