“Well, yes. I admit that he’s got more sense than I would have expected a human to have. But why bother incorporating all these human traditions when the faerie ones were perfectly fine?”
“Likely because Celesta is trying to give Alex a way to remember his home. He left everything behind to stay with her. If you were in his place, wouldn’t you want something to remind you of here?”
Devri sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”
Sienna, now fully invested in the argument, continued. “And besides all of that, this whole idea that the kind of magic—or lack thereof—one has determines their worth is exactly what led to our Court being mismanaged for so long. Stahlmaus wouldn’t have been able to keep Celesta from her crown if not for the deep-seated idea that elves and their Creative Magic are so superior to the rest of us.” Her voice cracked and tears gathered in her eyes again as she remembered Erik’s cruel words at their parting. “If we treat humans as inferior just because they come from a realm without magic, then we’re not any different. In fact—”
A gentle touch from Devri interrupted her. “Enna, I already said you were right. You don’t have to keep convincing me.”
Sienna let out a hesitant, wobbly laugh. “Sorry. I don’t even remember how we got to this topic in the first place.”
“I wanted you to come with me to the Midwinter Festival.”
“Right. I’ll think about it.”
A dazzling smile lit up the Siren’s face, and Sienna hastened to add, “But I’m not making any promises.”
“I’ll take what I can get.” Devri turned from her and looked out over the water, holding a hand over her eyes as she scanned the horizon. “Look! I think Doryss must finally be getting back.” She pointed to the faint outline of a fishing vessel.
Sienna followed her hand, gasping as another shape caught her attention. She grabbed Devri’s arm. “Dev!” She pointed to where limp, dark sails and a blackened hull floated eerily over the waves. Stories of the Flying Dutchman had been around for longer than she could remember, but she had never once seenthe ghostly ship herself. It appeared to be drifting along the surface, accompanying the small fishing vessel but not pursuing.
Devri paled. She turned on her heel. “I’m going to the harbor.”
She was flying across the sand before Sienna could formulate a goodbye. She waited until Devri was out of sight, lifting a silent prayer that all would be well. While she and Doryss had never been particularly close, she cared about him for Devri’s sake. As she continued her walk along the shore, she kept an eye on the dark ship. While the rumors spoke of a terrifying, ghostly captain who delighted in chasing down, boarding, and then plundering ships, it was rare for the Dutchman to actually come ashore.
It would seem strange for Doryss and his crew to be a target. He’s a fisherman, not a merchant. Why would a ghost need fish? And besides, even with all the fear surrounding him, I can’t think of a single one where anyone actually died.
The ship disappeared into the horizon before Sienna arrived at the tide pools that had been her destination. She wound her way between the pools, keeping a keen eye out for pretty shells or rocks to add to her collection. A rocky promontory jutted out into the water ahead of her, the landmark that usually marked the boundary of her ramblings. Drawn by a burst of melancholy nostalgia, Sienna pushed forward, carefully traversing the slippery rocks until she drew near to the cliffs.
With the tide low, she could see the algae-covered edges of the caves that extended inward towards the mainland. When she was younger, Sienna and her father had once gone exploring and found that, though the entrances were covered when the tide ran high, there were certain passages that climbed high enough to remain dry. Though once a frequent haunt, it had been nearly a year since she had returned.
There were simply too many memories trapped inside. Adventures with her father, romantic picnics with Erik, Erik proposing.
Her accident.
Choosing the closest opening, Sienna placed a hand on the slimy, slipper rock and ducked inside, blinking her eyes quickly to help them adjust to the dim light. She only had to bend at the waist to make her way through the opening, but Erik and her father had to crawl through on their hands and knees. She looked over her shoulder at the water line. There were still a few hours left before the caves would be submerged.
After a few feet, the ceiling opened up high enough that she could stand. She let her memories carry her forward watching her steps by the thin beams of light that streamed valiantly through tiny chinks in the walls and ceiling. The sloping floor was still familiar under her feet; little had changed in the last year.
In the cave, anyway.
She passed through a particularly narrow section that widened into a circular space nearly as large as the front room of her cottage. The air smelled damp and musty, and a line of moss crept up the wall, following the path of the sunbeams that filtered in from above. Sienna froze and her eyes widened in surprise as she stepped into the cavern.
Rather than the empty space she expected, wooden crates were stacked in haphazard rows. Sienna approached with slow, careful steps and circled the pile. The crates were all weathered and gray and stamped with the same name: Hollander's Emporium.
Standing on her tiptoes, Sienna tried to peer between the wooden slats on one of the topmost containers but could see nothing in the limited light. She dropped back to her heels and bit her lip, considering.
I could try to pry one open and see what's inside...but is it really any of my business? And what if it's something dangerous? I can't imagine a lot of good reasons for hiding away a bunch of boxes in a cave. For that matter, who would have left them here? And are they still close by?
As the disconcerting thought ran through her head, Sienna quickly backed away and looked over her shoulder towards the dark exit.
I should leave now, in case they come back. I'll tell Father when I get home. Surely he'll have a better idea of what to do.
The journey back through the cave and out the grotto took much less time than her inward trip, and Sienna practically ran the short mile from the tide pools back to her cliffside cottage. Her chest burned from the exertion and her throat felt raw and scratchy from breathing so deeply. She forced herself to slow to a walk and catch her breath before encountering her father. Nothing she had to share of mysterious caches would register in his mind if he were distracted by her labored breathing.
She scanned the lighthouse as she approached. The afternoon was growing late, and the lantern flame was just becoming visible again as the sun began to set. In just another hour or so, it would beam brightly over the water, announcing the presence of land and rocky shoals with a strong, unwavering light. She noted the freshly painted sides with a sense of pride and satisfaction. The lighthouse had been in a state of disrepair when she and her father, Daland, had been named caretakers, and it had taken many long, arduous hours of scraping, hammering, and painting to get it back into working shape.
The cottage attached to the base of the tall, white lighthouse was small but cozy, with white-washed walls and a steep roof. Flower boxes hung under the shuttered windows, which had been opened to let in the mild warmth of the afternoon, and acarefully tended stone pathway wound its way up to the red front door.
