Son of the Siren

On the night of his twentieth birthday, Lirien was dreaming he was a golden bird with long, lustrous plumage, when a wordless song invaded his sleep. A woman’s voice, rich and beautiful, floated upon the warm summer breeze through the open balconette window, but it wasn’t until he felt the gentle brush of her breath against his ear that Lirien opened his eyes.

He was alone in the darkness of his room, but the song caressed him with silky fingers. A tingling warmth traveled his skin before it settled down as a hot knot in his stomach. He felt something like a tug at his waist, pulling him forward.

He didn’t remember standing or walking. He was in his bed, and then he was on the beach with the hulking silhouette of the castle and cliffs rising behind him. He thought he was dreaming again, until the cold water washed over his bare feet and, at last, the dreamlike haze within him dissolved.

The singing continued.

The light from the large, snow-white moon cast a strong glow upon the sand, which sparkled as though the stars had fallen and taken root there. Beside him, a mound of red velvet bedclothing had been tossed carelessly aside at the water’s edge. Lirien recognized the clothes and the figure in the sea before him, a man slowly stumbling forward against the crashing waves.

The knot in his stomach tightened. “Father! What are you doing?”

The man was already waist deep and Lirien ran in after him, sloshing through with difficulty as his father journeyed farther and farther out.

“Stop! Come back!”

Somehow, over the waves and the breeze, his words reached his father. Now treading water, he turned to Lirien, but too late.

The singing stopped. Long, lithe arms, silvery blue and covered in a smattering of scales, shot up from the water and encircled his father, dragging him below.

In desperation, Lirien dove under, blindly swimming ahead as frantic thoughts pummeled him and the sea floor disappeared underneath him. You knew someday she would come; you’ve known all along. It’s her, and she’s here for you both. Without ever seeing her before in his entire twenty years, he knew instinctively who she was.

A woman’s voice echoing inside his head brought a flash of pain. Get away!

Her eyes, two luminous orbs— large, bright, and orange like sunset, orange like Lirien’s own —flooded his vision. She was less than an inch from his face. He was so startled he opened his mouth and took in water, and choking, he rose to the surface. And then she was on him, seizing him tightly underneath his shoulders and staring at him intently.

Her hair, of darkest sapphire, another trait Lirien had inherited, was matted against her gleaming skin. Everything about her was longer, larger. She towered over him easily, and her fiery gaze was so intense he could hardly return it. And her face… he would never be able to describe how lovely and terrible it was, or the feeling that came over him when he saw the parts of her that were also his own.

“Let me go.” His voice, a gentle baritone, came out flimsy and trembling.

Do not follow. She turned to swim away from him. You will not see me again.

Lirien didn’t know what else to do. He called her by the only name he knew.

“Mother.”

She stopped.

“Don’t take him. Please.”

A wistful look spread across her face as she gazed into the water. I loved him. I did. But I cannot help what I am. She met his eyes. And because I love you, you cannot follow.

She dove, a flash of her leg skimming the surface of the water, only to change to feathery finned, kaleidoscopic tail as she disappeared below.

Unable to make sense of his mother’s words or what he was seeing, Lirien ignored her command and dove deep. The water was too dark for him to see, but he imagined the hulking form of his father sinking into the bitter abyss. He pushed on despite the pain in his lungs and the pressure of the cold, dark ocean.

He wasn’t sure what happened or when he lost consciousness, but when he opened his eyes, it was daylight on the beach. He was sprawled out on his back, his wet nightshirt offering no protection from the sand that scratched his skin.

He struggled upright as his stepmother rushed to his side, clutching his father’s abandoned robe to her chest. Several of her guardsmen were scattered along the shoreline, searching the water.

“Lirien!”

He flinched. Queen Aurinda rarely said his name, and the sharpness of it startled him. She sounded all at once livid and frightened. “What did you see? What happened?”

He couldn’t answer her without his own angry tears falling. “King Neven is gone.”

#

Lirien drifted through the days that followed like a fly trapped in honey. The atmosphere was thick and heavy with grief, and it took great effort to move through it. He felt removed from everything happening around him. Time could not be measured or observed. All words sounded muffled, distant. He didn’t do anything, but things were somehow done.

And when he thought of his mother, he could only think of her in anger: anger for stealing his father away, and anger for the traits she passed on to him. He could hardly stand to look at his own reflection. While his mother had promised he would not see her again, that was a lie. Every time he saw himself, she was there in what she gave him.

His hair, of darkest indigo, glimmered with iridescent shades of blues and greens. His orange eyes shone like the setting sun. His ivory skin shimmered with silvery blue undertones. The small mark just below his right eye, a shining opal fleck, glistened with the hint of a rainbow whenever it caught the light, much like the scales on a fish.

And hidden beneath his flesh, something more disturbing: blood that tasted sweet, blood that was poison. Long ago it was believed siren blood was an elixir of immortality, its taste as sweet and honeyed as the creatures’ voices. Quickly it was discovered anyone who consumed the blood would die, and horribly at that, so the pursuit of siren blood was abandoned, save for those who would use it to kill… if the sirens didn’t kill them first.

Lirien found out about his blood when he was a child toddling about, when he had fallen and hurt himself, and licked at the wound to find it tasted of spun sugar. When he told his father of the strange flavor, it was quickly deemed poisonous, and no chances were taken should Lirien ever draw blood again. Lirien surmised it was yet another reason he was mostly kept away from the world.

The strangeness that existed in him, what clearly was inhuman about him, all came from her. And he couldn’t bear it. He turned the standing mirror in his room against the wall to avoid seeing himself— no, to avoid seeing her, looking back.

His existence was an impossibility. He was desperate to know why he lived, why a siren would spare the life of a half-human baby. As a boy, he had asked King Neven about it many times. Neven always responded with, “I will tell you when you’re older.”

And Lirien, now older, had learned nothing.

But it no longer mattered. He couldn’t dwell on his grief or his bitterness, not when he needed to be strong for his family. His younger brother and sisters would soon return home to Ardeth, and given the Queen’s state at the loss of her husband, Lirien didn’t know what to expect when they arrived.

A gentle but persistent knocking at the door interrupted Lirien’s thoughts, and Queen Aurinda greeted him, alone.

Lirien staggered back a step. “Your Majesty?”

In all the time Lirien lived, he couldn’t remember the Queen coming to visit him. He was something she had to endure, and she stayed far away to endure him as little as possible. She was never cruel to him, and when Lirien had to be in her presence, she was polite and calm. But overall, she kept a cool, careful distance from him, as he was not her child.

Lirien recovered from his shock and bowed to her. As he held the door open to her, he became aware of the state of the room: his unmade bed, the haphazard stacks of books, his lyre resting on a pile of clothes on the floor, and the mirror he’d turned toward the wall.

“Forgive me.” He rushed to pick up his things, but the Queen dismissed him with a wave. She eyed his writing desk, and Lirien quickly pulled the chair out for her to sit. He took his place across from her on the edge of his bed and lowered his head, waiting for her to speak.

It took her some time, though Lirien still had trouble figuring out what time was, exactly. A few seconds were several minutes to him, and he pressed his fingers into his mattress to keep from fidgeting.

He stole a peek at her. She faced his window, staring off to the sea. She was colorless and gaunt. The only vividness left was in her crystal-blue eyes, which stood out against the pink from all her crying.

“You were there, and you didn’t stop it.” Her voice was quiet but unwavering. She tucked a strand of white-blonde hair behind her ear, and then she looked at him, her gaze like shards of ice.

Lirien’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“My husband— the most loving, compassionate man —pitied you and took you in, despite what you are: the consequence of what was done to him by that thing.” Her hand clenched into a fist at her side. “He couldn’t understand that as long as you lived, he would never be free of that creature. That your life bound them together. That someday, she would return. And now, look what has happened.”

Lirien tensed, his heartbeat quickening. He didn’t dare talk back or protest what she said, and so he avoided her eyes.

“No. Don’t do that. Look at me so I know you are listening.”

Lirien obeyed.

“I have but one command.” She reached out, her hand as fast as a serpent’s strike, and seized Lirien by the chin. “If you value your life, you will bring back the King alive. Then all will be forgotten.”

She shoved his face aside as she let go, rising to her feet.

Lirien stood but would not look at the Queen. A panic grew inside of him. He didn’t want her to see it, but he couldn’t keep his desperation from leaking into his voice. “Your Majesty, please, I can’t do the impossible. She dragged him below. There’s no chance he could have survived.”

“I command you to do the impossible,” she said simply. “You have no other choice. If you don’t want to die, you’ll find the King and bring him to me.”

Lirien’s eyes widened. There was no way the Queen would say such things to him unless her grief had driven her to madness. True, she had never warmed to him, never loved him as a mother, but he didn’t expect her to seriously threaten him with death.

Lirien’s voice wavered as his eyes blurred with unshed tears. “Please. Your Majesty. Think of what you are saying. I know you wouldn’t have the heart to—”

“You have no idea what is in my heart.” She left, closing the door hard behind her, and Lirien sank back onto his bed.

What did she think he could do? That he could swim into the depths and pluck his father out, after so much time had passed? That if, somehow, Father was still alive, he could force his mother to give him up?

It was a fantasy to believe that Lirien could save the King, however much his heart yearned to believe it might be true. Deep within him, he knew it wouldn’t happen. Could it?

He had to succeed, somehow. If not for himself, for his brother and sisters— he couldn’t bear for them to mourn another death. As futile as it would be, he would try.

#

By the end of the week, Lirien’s siblings would return from their journey to the neighboring kingdom of Asherin, ruled by two queens, the fierce warrior wives that drew the admiration of many. Every year the children stayed with their aunts to enjoy the cool, mountainous climes away from the summer heat of Ardeth, while Lirien remained behind to look forward to their return.

There was a reason he could not travel with them, nor ever leave the castle. He bore an affliction, a curse, where if he strayed too far from the sea, he’d transform, and that transformation would kill him.

When Lirien was four, still quite small, but old enough to run around wildly whenever he could leave his tower, King Neven pulled him aside. “It was your mother’s warning. Not only are you unable to go too far out to sea, you are unable to venture far from its shores. Your mother showed me what would happen, how you would change… You must promise me, Lirien, that you’ll never go beyond the castle’s outer gate, and stay near the water where you’re safe.”

Lirien promised, but his father’s words— how you would change —echoed and bounced around in his head until he couldn’t stand it anymore. What did he mean? What kind of change?

In his eighth year, when Lirien was older and braver, he decided to test his father’s words. True to his promise, Lirien didn’t cross through any gates. Instead, he went down to the beach and ran along the coast until the castle faded from view. He passed the stone walls of the castle town with its timber-framed houses and thatched roofs, and didn’t stop until he spied the crowns of the pine trees growing atop the sea cliffs. He climbed up the jagged rocks until stone gave way to grass and the large forest of Pinemore stretched out before him.

He walked into the woods, telling himself that at the first sign of trouble, he’d run back down to the beach. After all, it was right there below the cliffs. The sea was so much bigger than the forest, anyway, so vast that it was inescapable. He was taking a risk, but he still felt safe.

He didn’t pay attention to how long he’d been walking or how far he’d gone until his legs started to feel heavy, like his boots were somehow weighted down. Within a few steps, he no longer felt his right foot, and he stumbled from the sudden loss of balance.

He pinched his toes through the top of his boot and slapped at his ankle like he always did to wake his foot up if he sat on it too long, and his fingers met with something far more solid than flesh.

He ripped off his boot and stocking. His foot had turned white like old bone, dappled with strange indentations, and hard as stone. He stared at the change in horror. It looked as though the pores of his skin were collapsing, leaving round perforations behind. The bleaching of color slowly continued up his ankle toward his calf, threatening to soon envelop all of him.

Without another thought he charged back through the woods, leaving behind his shoe, desperate to get back to the sea. It didn’t matter his foot was bare. He couldn’t feel the pebbles, fallen pine needles, or roots beneath him. He ran; he hobbled; he fell. He tried to run again. All the while, the transformation continued.

As he hurried as fast as he could, his heart raced. All of the trees looked the same in every direction. He had no idea where he was.

Then, the sound of rustling leaves and the jostling of branches revealed something coming through the trees right for him. A red fox appeared, the size of a small pony. It looked bewildered at its surroundings and said in the voice of a young girl, “Huh. I wonder why it let me out.” Then the fox noticed Lirien and gave him a humanlike expression, a look of curiosity and concern mixed together. “Greetings, mortal. Why are you crying?”

Lirien was far too frightened to care that he was seeing the impossible. “I’m lost,” he said in between his tears. “I can’t find my way back to the sea.”

“Maybe that’s why I’m here?” She stepped closer to Lirien. “Fae creatures dare not go near the water, but I’ll take you as close to it as I can. Don’t worry. You don’t have to give me anything in return for my help. Now, follow me.”

Another sob escaped him. “I don’t know how much longer I can walk.”

“Hmm. Go ahead and climb on my back.” She lowered herself to the ground, and with difficulty, Lirien scrambled onto her, clutching to her fur. She took off at a rapid pace, dashing in between trees and gracefully hopping over heavy roots. All the while, Lirien felt the hardening climb up his stomach toward his chest.

The fox halted where the trees thinned, where Lirien could smell the water. “Here you are.”

Lirien nearly fell as he made his way off her.

“I have to leave you now,” she said. “I don’t know how long I can stay out here with this much salt in the air. I’m already starting to feel it.” Before Lirien could thank her, she bounded through the forest and out of sight.

Lirien hurried as fast as he could. By the time he reached the cliff above the rocky shore, his right leg had solidified up to his hip bone. He dragged it behind him, and he had great difficulty bending at his waist.

He sobbed hysterically. He still had to climb down the rocks to get to the beach, and he didn’t know how much time he had left before he would lose the left leg and the use of his arms.

He clumsily lowered himself down the rocks, and as he feared, he lost his grip and fell the last quarter of the way down, the softness of his body hitting the stone with a thick smack, and his transformed half with a loud, heavy thunk. To his surprise, his hardened limb didn’t smash to pieces on the rocks; his body stayed sturdy. That side of his body didn’t even hurt from hitting the stone. The other parts of him, on the other hand, surged with pain.

He lay on the hard earth, a thin layer of white sand dusting the top of it, thinking he was close enough to the sea that he’d be safe. And while his body didn’t seem to change any further, his leg remained frozen.

He breathed in and out, his air rushed and heavy, weighted down by his uncontrollable sobbing. Finally, he dragged himself off the ground and plodded over to the shoreline.

He’d had an idea: if he truly were a creature of the sea, then maybe the sea would heal him. He sprawled out on the wet sand and let the gentle beach waves wash over him. It took a long time, but the feeling started to creep back into his waist and leg. He rolled up his pant leg to look, and watched the bonelike hue and texture drain from him slowly, its small perforations disappearing as his skin grew plump and full. The unnatural whiteness to his skin faded and its color returned.

He stayed soaked by sea water until the cold permeated his bones, and trembling, he finally got up and started the walk back to his tower.

He never told anyone what happened to him that day. He never ventured beyond his boundary again. After that ordeal, Lirien learned that the place beyond the castle and sea was truly dangerous, and he would somehow have to content himself with watching and waiting as the years passed.

And so Lirien, at week’s end, watched and waited for his siblings’ arrival. The terrible news had no doubt made its way to them on their journey back home, and he both dreaded and longed to see them in their grief.

On the day they were to return, Lirien traveled through the servant passages to the opposite end of the castle. His father had shown him the routes so he could move freely and relatively unseen if he so wished. It’s not that his existence was a secret to those in the castle; it was that he preferred to avoid the curious stares and hushed whispers that followed him whenever he graced anyone’s presence. Once, when he was younger, he’d heard a group of nobles debate whether he was beautiful or ugly and ultimately determine that he was “just weird.”

The servants were better than the nobles, Lirien had decided. They refrained from gossiping directly in front of him, at least, and were always courteous and prompt when Lirien needed something. But they never interacted with him beyond that. Nobody really did unless they were commanded to.

Lirien encountered no one as he hurried toward the grand entry hall. The servants’ door, too short for someone of Lirien’s height, was hidden along the side of the grand staircase that greeted guests as soon as they entered the chamber. It was one of the castle’s most stunning features, massive in size and elaborately carved, the centerpiece of the entire hall. Enormous figures of matching stone rested on marble pillars, flanking the bottom of the stairs at the start of the handrails. Each featured the three heraldic animals of the royal family: a wild swan in flight, a stag rising on its hind legs, and a serpent curling its body into fanciful loops.

The statues obscured the sight of the servants’ door. Lirien entered the hall with caution, stepping out as quietly as he could. He slid behind a carving of the snake, hunching his back slightly to peer between its coils.

Queen Aurinda waited at the doorway, looking just as she did when she’d visited Lirien’s room— pale and haggard. Armored guards lined the entry, and as the metal-plated oak doors opened, their polearms struck the floor twice to welcome the children home.

The herald announced each of Lirien’s siblings, beginning with: “Princess Nina of Ardeth.”

The Queen’s elder daughter, at age eleven, looked somber like her mother. Her long, straight, pale blonde hair seemed duller, stringier than before. Her warm, peachy skin had drained of color, except for the telltale red puffiness around her golden-brown eyes. She staggered into the grand hall, her pace slow and jerky and completely unlike herself. Lirien’s heart sank. She didn’t look well at all.

She made it to Queen Aurinda, whose face crumpled at the sight of her daughter. The two hugged, and Nina sobbed quietly in her mother’s arms. The Queen remained calm as she caressed Nina, her long fingers drawing a pattern of circles on her back to soothe her.

“Prince Sorin of Ardeth.”

He was the elder of the twins by seven minutes, and seven years old. His focus jumped all over the room, his honey-brown eyes wider than normal, and his wavy gilded hair in a bit of disarray. He looked bewildered, gaping at the castle as if entering it for the very first time. He absentmindedly tugged at the edges of his sleeves as he peered around the hall in all directions.

Lirien ducked down when Sorin’s eyes searched near him, but he was too late. Sorin found him and trotted his way. Lirien waved his hand and put a finger to his lips— don’t come, please be quiet, I’m not supposed to be here —but it failed.

“Brother!” the boy shouted.

Queen Aurinda spotted Lirien at once. She wore no expression. Her face was a mask, frozen and unmoving, eyes unblinking. It was the most unnerving stare Lirien ever received from her. Then, to his surprise, she beckoned him forward, all the while saying nothing.

The hint of a murmur rippled through the hall as Lirien came out into the open, stepping in front of the heraldic animals. Sorin flung himself at Lirien, wrapping his arms around Lirien’s waist with a sob.

Lirien patted his head. “Sorin,” he whispered. “Please, go to your mother. You’ll see me again soon.”

Sorin looked up at him. “No. I want to be with you.”

Lirien hoped Queen Aurinda didn’t hear. “Please, go.” His brother reluctantly unhooked himself and headed over to the Queen, who seized Sorin’s shoulders and pulled him close to her.

“Princess Sonalie of Ardeth,” the herald called.

The last of Queen Aurinda and King Neven’s children, Sonalie was the most composed of all the siblings. Her face didn’t reveal any expression other than the one she always wore— a detachment born of shyness, where she’d avoid eye contact and twirl a long ringlet of yellow hair around her finger.

She was two steps past Lirien when she whirled around and gave him a rapid curtsy. Then she ran off to her mother.

The Queen looked expectantly to the door. “Where is Queen Eira of Asherin? I thought she would be here, given what happened to her brother.”

One of the liveried servants who had traveled with the prince and princesses approached the Queen and gave a grand bow. “Your Majesty, Queen Eira chose to ride separately from the children. Queen Idela fell ill, and Her Majesty wanted to tend to her beloved wife before leaving. She should be here within the next few days or so.”

“Very well.”

Several more servants and guardsmen brought up the rear of the procession, and once they were all inside, there was a final bang from the polearms as the heavy doors closed.

Queen Aurinda threw her shoulders back, then straightened her spine. “Children, come with me now,” she said firmly. “We must talk.” She led them up the stairs, taking Sorin and Sonalie’s hands in her own. Nina looked back at Lirien, giving him a wistful, tired half-smile as she trudged along behind them.

As soon as they were gone, a sudden exhaustion hit Lirien, stealing away his motivation to do anything else but retreat through the passage back to his room.

#

“Lirien,” Nina called him through the door. “You asleep?”

“No.” He was lying in his bed in his nightclothes, unsure of the time, staring fruitlessly out the balconette window. He continued to leave it open, thinking he’d hear the singing once more, even though he knew in his heart he wouldn’t.

He let Nina in. The light from her candle showed warmth and color back in her face, and Lirien was relieved to see her looking better. She lit the rest of the candles in Lirien’s room while he pulled the downy blanket and pillows from his bed. He piled it all on the floor into a towering blob for her to fall into. As soon as the mound was ready, she set her candle on the writing desk and dropped like a stone.

Lirien couldn’t help smiling as one of the smaller pillows flew out on impact. He grabbed it, sidestepping Nina along the way, and climbed back onto his bed, propping himself up against the headboard.

“I’m glad to see you. I was very worried when you first came home. How are you feeling?”

“I mean, I feel awful, but not so bad right now. I just… I can’t sleep.”

“Neither can I.” With the light, Lirien could properly see the clock against the wall: a quarter after two. “Should you be visiting so late?”

“I told the guard I was coming here, and she doesn’t mind. She’s waiting at the foot of the stairs for me.”

Lirien was more concerned with how the Queen would feel, but he didn’t push further. “How are the twins?”

“They’re sleeping in Mother’s room tonight.” Nina let out a long, slow exhale. “Sonalie seems to be doing fine. At least everyone thinks she is, except she doesn’t understand what’s going on. Sorin really wanted to see you tonight, but Mother’s clinging to him pretty tightly. He’s going to come to see you more often, I bet, now that Father’s gone. You look like him.”

“I don’t know about that.” He could only think of how he looked like his mother.

“You are like him. Same short wavy hair, same kind of face. Same nose, same mouth, same cheeks. Same mole in the same spot.”

“I’ll agree with you on the mole. If you can call it that.”

“Yours is like a pretty little fish scale. You know, whenever I see you, I always want to give you a tap there. I wonder why.”

“Thank you for not poking my face whenever you see me.”

“A future queen must learn self-restraint,” she said, repositioning herself on the pillow mound. “Anyway. Your colors are all different, sure. But you’re the same as Father. I don’t know why you don’t see it, especially now that you’re a grown-up. You’re like a mirror image but with watercolors spilled all over it.”

Lirien laughed, the first time in a while.

“At least Father will live on through you. Unless you save him, of course.”

Nina’s words quickly brought him out of his lighter mood. “Did you hear something about that?”

“Yes, Mother talked to us and she promised us you would bring him back.”

Something sank in Lirien as he heard Nina’s words. “It’s too late to save him, Nina. I tried when it was happening. I can’t breathe underwater, and even if I could, I can’t go where he’s gone. When I get too far out to sea, something always pushes me back to shore. Even if my mother’s enchanted him so that he’s still alive down there, somehow… she’s taken him away into the depths. I would die if I followed.”

“I don’t want you to die.” Nina climbed out of the blanket pile and onto his bed to give him a hug.

Lirien patted her back. “I don’t know what to do,” he confessed. “I have no hope of saving him. I don’t know why the queen thinks I can.”

They remained silent for a moment, then Nina spoke. “Maybe you can. You’re a human, but what about the other part? If you can’t chase Father down, bring him to you. You’re a siren. Do what you do best— sing.”