Siren song

The Docks

The morning air smelled of salt and rain. Kyria clutched her cloak tighter around her shoulders as she and her father made their way through the busy harbor. Men shouted from the decks of ships, ropes creaked, and gulls wheeled overhead in ragged cries. The sun was just cresting the horizon, turning the waves to molten gold. It was loud, chaotic, alive, and Kyria's heart thudded with equal parts excitement and nerves.

Ahead of them, The Maiden's Fortune rose from the mist like something out of a storybook. Her sails were furled but gleamed white against the sky, and her polished hull bore the soft luster of new varnish. The figurehead at her bow, a woman carved of pale wood with hair swept back like waves seemed to be smiling as if to welcome her. "She's beautiful," Kyria murmured. Her father gave a curt nod. "A fast ship, too. The captain has a good reputation. He'll see you safely to the colonies." He said it as if he were convincing himself.

The dockhands moved to load her trunk and chest, and Kyria stood aside to let them pass, her hands twisting in the fabric of her cloak. The sight of her belongings disappearing into the hold of the ship made her chest tighten in a way she hadn't expected. "You'll write as soon as you arrive," her father said, adjusting his gloves. "Thomas O'Malley will see your letters sent through his traders."

"I will," Kyria promised softly. For a moment, neither spoke. The wind shifted, carrying the tang of the sea and the distant sound of a bell marking the tide's turn. Kyria looked up at her father, at the hard lines softened by the years, at the worry he tried to hide behind sternness, and her throat tightened. "I'll miss you," she said. He hesitated, then laid a hand on her shoulder. "You'll have a good life there, Kyria. Better than this one. I've done my part to see it so."

She nodded, blinking quickly before her tears could spill. "Mother would have been proud," she said, her voice small. His hand faltered for a moment, then returned to his side. "Aye," he said quietly. "She would."

A sailor called her name then, his voice carrying over the bustle of the docks. "Miss Taylor! We're about to cast off!" Kyria turned toward the gangplank. The ship loomed above her, vast and strange and full of promise. Her pulse quickened. "Go on, then," her father said. "Don't look back."

But she did. Halfway up the plank, she paused and turned to find him still standing where she'd left him, the wind tugging at his coat. For a heartbeat, he seemed so small against the sweep of the harbor. She lifted her hand. He gave the barest nod in return. Then she stepped onto The Maiden's Fortune.

The wood shifted under her feet with the slow, living rhythm of the tide. The air was full of salt and possibility. She smiled, her heart light and trembling all at once. She was going to meet her husband. She was going to see another world. The ropes were cast off, the sails unfurled, and the ship began to move, slow and steady, parting the glimmering water. Kyria stood at the railing, watching the docks recede, her father shrinking to a single dark figure among many. "Goodbye," she whispered. The gulls cried overhead, and the wind carried her words away toward the open sea.