But it also feels a lot like sadness.
I don’t know when marrying Landon morphed in my mind from a certainty to a choice, from something I always knew I’d do to something I have to convince myself to do. Landon said he could tell that I’m trying, but I don’t want to have to try. I don’t want to force this life to fit within all the hopes and fears that make me me.
Even kissing Landon—it was nice, and I’m glad I did it. But I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to kiss someone because I desperately wanted to, to kiss someone because I couldn’t possibly go a single moment longer without it.
“What a great night,” my mother says, leaning into my dad. “And what a wonderful idea of Landon’s to invite you to the mainland before the harvest celebration. That will be a very special day for both of you.”
“It will be nice to start learning my way around,” I say. “I’m sure it will be fun learning it with Landon.”
“You must be thrilled,” Mom says, looking at me. “This is what you’ve always wanted.”
“It’s what you’ve always wanted.” I’m shocked that the words come out of my mouth, grasping for them, wishing I could pull them back. They linger in the space between us, heavy and dark and ugly. I want to take them back, apologize and make it right.
But they’re true.
I’m heartbroken that they’re true.
A look passes between my parents, and I wish I knew what it means. For a moment, it feels like they’re in on something I know nothing about. But they don’t look angry or offended. Mom looks worried, but it’s Dad’s face that makes my heart ache. He looks sad. So sad.
“You’re right,” my mother finally says, setting down her drink. “This is what I’ve always wanted. It’s what all of us have always wanted—your father and I, and this entire island. Maybe you don’t get all the choices your peers do, and maybe the weight of duty feels heavy on your shoulders, and for that I’m sorry. But you will be changing the course of history, making a difference most people could never dream of making. You should be proud.”
“I know,” I say, because I do know. I’ve known it every single day of my life. “I know.”
“Good. Try not to forget it,” she says.
She finishes the rest of her wine in a single gulp, then walks up the stairs without another word.
* * *
Several days later, I’m standing on the shore of the mainland, any lingering tension with my mother all but gone now that I’m visiting Landon. The Witchery is bustling with activity in preparation for the harvest celebration tonight, and while I should be with my parents, helping, my mother insisted I come to the mainland instead.
“Have you done much exploring here?” Landon asks, and I pull my gaze from the island.
“Hardly any,” I admit. “I’ve never really wanted to.” The words are out before I can think better of them, and I reprimand myself for being so careless.
“Why not?”
I look at Landon, wondering if I should answer honestly. He’s always been forthright with me, though; I want to trust that I can be the same with him. “I suppose it’s because for my entire life, it has felt like we are trying to earn our place here. Why would I want to visit somewhere that until very recently was still trying to decide if I am worth protecting?”
“Wow,” Landon says, looking down, a break in composure that’s rare for him. “I’ve never thought of it that way.”
“And why would you? You’ve never had to.”
“You’re right,” he says, the words strained.
This isn’t how I intended to start our day together, and I want to make things better, to ease some of the tightness that has settled on Landon’s face. I reach out and gently touch his arm. “Please don’t misunderstand me. I’m happy to be here today, with you.”
“As am I,” he says after a moment, taking my hand in his. “Why don’t I show you around?”
“I’d like that.”
We leave the shore and step onto a sidewalk, the natural world disappearing, replaced with brick roads and buildings so tall I have to crane my neck to see the tops. It’s overcast, and all I can think is that the stone buildings don’t have nearly enough windows to let in the light. How gray and dark it must be inside those walls.
When I look at the mainland from the Witchery, it seems stately, always radiating a kind of energy that is both commanding and dynamic. But being in it, surrounded on all sides by brick and stone, it’s as if there isn’t as much air here, as if my lungs have to fight to get their fair share. I want to love it, want my whole self to come alive in these streets, but it’s never going to be that way.
I tell myself I just need to give it time, need to adjust to the change. But hoping I will love this place even a fraction of how much I love the Witchery is an impossibly high aspiration.
We stop at a café for tea and scones, then sit outside while droves of people pass us on the sidewalks. Landon receives a lot of attention, which he handles with ease, but after a quarter of an hour on the street, I’ve tired of the whispers and stares. I’m glad I’ve seen this happen, though; Landon is well practiced at being gracious and patient, and I know he will be able to help me adapt to his world.
He takes me to a gallery next, a clean, open room featuring artwork on its walls. “Not a very efficient use of space, is it?” I ask, laughing at how few paintings hang on each wall. The Witchery is a small island, and most of our shops are designed to maximize the space. But here, it seems there is more than enough.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s just such an enormous room for so few paintings.”
“It would be difficult to appreciate each piece if you were distracted by the artwork on either side,” Landon says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“Of course. And the art is lovely,” I say, making sure he knows I’m happy to be here. Happy to get acquainted with my new home.
We continue through the gallery, but goose bumps rise on my skin when I see the final painting. It shows four people on their hands and knees in an open field, sweat on their brows and anguish on their faces, clutching the earth. They are surrounded by hundreds of moonflowers.
The plaque beneath the paining reads TO KNOW FEAR.
My eyes fill with tears. The painting is so detailed and realistic, such a severe reminder of our history with the mainland. The island is our home, the only place that has ever been truly ours. But we will never forget that we’re there because the mainland banished magic, that even though the island became our refuge, it still wasn’t enough to stop the fear of the mainland from finding us. We still had to fight for the survival of magic.
I turn away and head for the exit, but there are no trees or waves to comfort me when I step outside.
“I apologize,” Landon says, reaching for my hand. “I didn’t realize the gallery was still showing Pruitt’s work.”
“Why is it called that?” I ask. “To Know Fear. What does it mean?”
“We don’t have to talk about it.”
“I want to.”
Landon sighs. “It is meant to portray the transfer of fear that happened when the witches left the mainland for the island. How after hundreds of years of us fearing magic, it was finally the witches’ turn to know fear.”
Arriving on an island full of toxic flowers must have been terrifying. My palms sweat, and I try to keep my voice even.
“And you have that hanging in your gallery? Out of all the artwork to give an entire wall to, that is the one you chose?”
“Like I said, I didn’t know Pruitt’s work was still on display.”
“Do you fear magic?” I ask, watching Landon closely.
“That painting is from a moment in history, Tana. It isn’t meant to reflect today’s sentiments.”