I walked down the stairs carefully, avoiding the areas that I knew would creek under my weight.
I could hear voices from the parlor; my father's low rumble among them. It was difficult to understand the soft conversation from the stairs. But as I got closer to the partially cracked door to the parlor, I caught their conversation.
“...request sounds fairly reasonable, mister Valentine. But if I may, why set such an unusual term to our agreement?”
I could tell that owner of this voice was elderly by the wobble. And I knew the owner was female by the gentle tones. I would pin her voice as a contralto if she was singing, although there was possibility that she would be a mezzo-soprano.
I pulled myself out of my thoughts and concentrated on my father's reply.
“...is a must. She has been expelled from the last two schools we've tried, and no tutor will teach her for more then a few days. My daughter needs discipline, and your project would be the perfect solution. If I am to fund your project and provide a place for it, then she must be a student.”
I held my breath for a moment, then cautiously exhaled softly.
I had known that my father had been upset with my latest track record of three and a half schools and five tutors, but it wasn't my fault that I'd been expelled and that the tutors all ran away after three or four days. I'd been able to keep the last one for an entire week before she had me sing, and the one before that for four days, three hours, and twenty-seven minutes!
But it didn't matter.
It never mattered to Richard Valentine.
Because after a while, all of the tutors had me sing. They just weren't accustom to a teenager not being plugged into music, a teenager who never even hummed. So they'd try to encourage me, under some misguided assumption that I was just self-conscious, or had some kind of inferiority complex. They couldn't understand that I could never sing for them.
Yet I slipped sometimes. It was perfectly understandable that I would slip, because I loved to sing.
It was a natural part of who I was. Singing came easier then breathing. It was in my heart, my mind, even my blood.
“...understand the situation. We have other possible students lined up with similarly dangerous gifts. She will be welcomed and accepted at our school.”
The elderly woman's voice broke my train of thought, and I realized that I had missed a portion of the conversation.
Eavesdropping was not one of my talents.
The next person to speak surprised me, since I hadn't known she was back in town.
“The Siren Estate will be perfect for your school. My great grandfather would be pleased to know that his land was once again the home of a Nihtingale.” My mother's voice rang with an allurement that could be felt even though she hadn't sang in years. Eileen Valentine had only sang once that I could remember in all of my sixteen years.
I had been four, and had sang a child's song to my father. It had been the very first time I had ever sang to anyone, and had almost been the last. My father had fallen under the spell of my voice, and had been driven insane when I stopped singing. My mother had come in and stopped my father from forcing me to sing by catching him in the net of her own voice. My mother's voice was the most beautiful and heartbreaking thing I had ever heard, then and now. She had explained to my young self the dangers of our voices, and how I should never, ever, sing when there was anyone within hearing distance. She had explained that our voices could cause people to live their most desired dreams, or their most feared nightmares and horrifying memories. She had told me of her family, how many had used their gift for ill, and how others had tried to bring happiness through their songs, only to fail every time.
I had made a promise that day, while my mother's song still echoed in my ears, that I would try to never sing for anyone, ever.
I have broken that promise time and time again, and each break tore at my heart, bringing back the echo of her song.
The silence that had followed my mother's comment was finally broken by a new voice, a man's voice. “Does your daughter have your power?” The man asked slowly, though I could hear his normal warmth beneath the coolness that his voice held now.
That was a gift of the Siren; the ability to know a person by simply hearing them speak.
“No. The Song matures with age, becoming one with every Voice.” I could feel the sorrow within my mother, her voice causing the polished wood floor and the darkly stained oak walls to lose some of their color. I knew that the strangers felt even more of the Song then I did, with the wall and half closed door muffling my mother's voice.
“And you have no objections with your daughter coming to Terra, Richard Valentine?” The man asked, his curiosity neatly hidden from his voice. At least to my human father.
“None.” My father's answer came easily, without even a moment's thought. He loved me, but the rebellious attitude he thought I had developed had caused him to lose a little of that love. Now he wanted me out of the house, somewhere far away.
So he would never again hear my Song.
A single tear rolled down my cheek as I turned and silently fled up the stairs to the room I would soon leave forever.
For my father was sending me on a one-way trip.
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