“And what have you come up with?”
“I can’t think of a more worthwhile pursuit than that of duty. Our names will be remembered for generations to come; we are the beginning of a new day. How could we not be okay, knowing the importance of our union?”
Disappointment spreads through my gut, and I wish I could make it stop. What he’s saying is true; I’ve told myself the same thing many times. But I want more than that, more than talk of duty and honor. Those things may be what brought us together, but they aren’t the only things we have room for in this alliance. I have to believe there could be more.
I’ve been quiet for too long. Landon looks at me, and I finally respond. “It is a remarkable thing to think about. But surely duty isn’t the only thing ensuring our happiness. Surely we can hope for other things as well?”
Landon furrows his brow, and it’s the first time I’ve seen a break in his confident composure. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Duty is why we’re together, but we don’t have to limit ourselves to that, do we? We could find true enjoyment of one another. We could find passion, even love. Why not hope for those things?”
“Hope is too fickle a thing.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s too broad. Hope paves the way for wanting things that were never part of the plan.”
His words take my breath away because he’s right, because wanting something more than what’s before me is entirely too dangerous. And I hate that I know that.
I must look upset, because Landon gently lifts my chin, forcing my eyes to meet his. “Don’t misunderstand me, Tana. I believe we’re going to have a remarkable life. I believe it will be satisfying and enjoyable. But I can’t promise you love. I can promise you many other things, stronger things that can bear the weight of shifting emotions and familial obligations. I can promise you that not only will we be happy, but we will also be fulfilled, the kind of fulfillment that can only come from something far more stable than love.”
I nod and try not to let his words hurt, try to accept them for what they are: forthright. “Thank you for being honest with me.”
“There are many things that are out of our control. Being honest with each other isn’t one of them.”
“Then let me be honest with you, too. I understand your position, and I know you’re right, but hope is not something I’m willing to give up. You don’t have to promise me love, but I would ask that you stay open to the possibility of building a foundation on more than duty alone.”
He nods. “You have my word.”
“Thank you.” I turn back to the sea, and my insides relax just slightly. We heard each other, we listened, and that means something. I built Landon up so much before we met, had so many dreams and visions of what our life together might look like, of how he might make me feel, and I hoped for them right away. But we are just two people getting to know each other, and I have to give him the space and time to get there. I have to give myself the space and time to get there.
“Tell me something, Tana,” Landon says, the heaviness gone from his voice. “What would you be doing right now if I weren’t here?”
“You go first,” I say, still stuck on his previous admission.
“There are stables about an hour’s journey east of my home, and my father and I visit often. We ride the horses through the woods and discuss political matters if needed, but often, we simply talk. It’s a nice respite from the normal pace of things.”
“That sounds wonderful,” I say.
“Do you ride?”
“I don’t, but I’d love to learn.” There are horses on the island, of course, but I’ve always preferred to walk.
“Then I will teach you.”
When I think about the mainland, I picture an endless city, brick and concrete as far as the eye can see. I’m so glad to know it isn’t true, that there is a haven Landon visits, that I can visit as well.
“Your turn,” he says. “What would you be doing?”
“Swimming.”
“Swimming? In the ocean? In autumn?”
I laugh at his response. “I love to swim. It’s when I’m happiest.”
“What do you love about it?”
“Everything,” I say. “But the thing I love most is the way the entire world quiets when I’m underwater. It’s as if nothing can reach me there. No expectations or worries or insecurities. I get to just be.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever noticed that,” he says. “Will you show me?”
“Just name the time.”
“How about now?”
I look down at our clothing, at our outfits that make me feel like we’re playing dress-up, and I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than drench them in salt water.
“It’s cold,” I say.
“I can handle cold.” He unties his shoes and slips them off his feet, then pulls off his socks and helps me up.
“My mother will kill me for this,” I say, removing my shawl and dropping it to the ground. I shiver and catch the way Landon’s eyes linger on my bare shoulders.
“You can blame it on me.” Landon slips out of his jacket, then takes my hand and pulls me down to where the waves rush onto the shore.
“I will absolutely be blaming this on you,” I say, taking off my shoes and wading into the water. My heart begins to race, and I quickly scan the surface, looking for a moonflower, but there isn’t one. Being in the water with Landon in the light of the day makes the flowers seem so distant. Not real, somehow. And yet my questions about them still linger. I’m too scared to ask them aloud, to hear answers that don’t fit into my world. I don’t want to tell my mother about them and see how the information shifts her world, either. So I push it all out of my mind and focus on the person beside me, the person who matters far more to our way of life than a near-extinct flower does.
When we’re in up to our knees, Landon looks at me and says, “One.”
I smile. “Two.”
“Three,” we say together, diving into the water and swimming away from the shore. When we surface, Landon is breathing heavily.
“You weren’t kidding about the cold.”
“You’ll get used to it.” I swim next to him and take both his hands in mine. “Ready for the best part?”
“Ready.”
We both take large breaths, then descend below the surface of the water. I watch Landon as he opens his eyes, squinting at first, then getting more comfortable with the salt.
And then I see it—the exact moment he understands what I told him, the way he feels the quiet as if it’s a living thing.
His eyes widen, and he looks around with an awed expression on his face. His short brown hair sways on top of his head, and bubbles rise from his mouth as air escapes from his lungs.
We look at each other for as long as we can stand it, suspended in the perfect silence, hair and limbs spread out around us.
When my chest is aching, I let go of Landon’s hands and swim to the surface. I gasp for air when I pop out of the water, drinking it down like my mother drinks her wine.
Landon surfaces moments after me, and we tread water next to each other as our breathing slows.
Then we do it again, but something catches my attention as we move into deeper water. Seaweed rolls around, violently spinning until it’s pulled away, out into the middle of the Passage. The sand on the seafloor is stirring.
We have to get out of here.
I catch Landon’s gaze and point up, and we both swim to the surface.
“We need to swim back,” I say, already moving toward the shore.
Landon follows, and it isn’t until we’re safely on land that I meet his gaze.
“What was that about?” he asks, looking out over the water.
I catch myself before telling him about the currents. I don’t know if the mainlanders are aware of the damage we’ve caused to the sea, and I don’t know how my mother would react if I made them aware.