The music changes, and my mother weaves her way through the garden and onto the lawn. There’s a circular wooden platform with three marble pillars on top set up in the middle where the binding spell will take place. A copper basin glints in the sunlight, resting on the first pillar. On the second is a gold knife, and on the third is a shallow crystal dish filled with water. It has been the same for every witch who has come before me, the only ritual we have preserved from the old order.
If my blood enters the copper basin, mixing with the blood of my ancestors, I am bound to my coven for life.
If my blood enters the crystal basin, spreading through the clear water, I am banished from my coven forever.
I wonder what Landon will think when he sees my blood fall from my finger and into the basin. I wonder if it will scare him or intrigue him, if it will make him second-guess our arrangement or make him more eager to marry me.
I wonder if he will shy away from who I am or accept me fully, power and magic and all. I think back to our conversation on the mainland, and my stomach pinches.
My mother steps onto the platform, and all conversation stops. The witches spread out, fully encircling the wooden stage. My heart beats wildly as she raises her hands.
“Presenting Mortana Edith Fairchild this seventeenth of December for consideration by the new order of magic and all of us therein.”
My father helps her off the platform, and the music stops. I step onto the lawn, my heart so loud I struggle to hear the ocean. I remind myself to breathe. All I have to do is breathe. My legs shake as I walk toward the platform.
The crowd parts, creating a small aisle for me. I walk down it, unable to make eye contact with anyone. I’ve been waiting for this ceremony my whole life, but now that it’s here, it feels suffocating. When I get to the platform, a hand takes mine, helping me up.
Landon.
It doesn’t feel right, him being the one to help me. It should be my parents or Ivy or just me by myself, but I hear the way the crowd murmurs and see my mother’s smile, and I take his hand.
I wish the music would start back up again or the ocean would roar behind me—anything to drown out the blood rushing through my veins, the worries swirling in my mind like the currents. I touch the vial my dad gave me and feel the weight of it in my hand. It steadies me.
I look out over the crowd surrounding the stage, my coven, smiling up at me as I give myself to them forever. It’s such a beautiful thing, this group of witches supporting me, watching as I go through the same ceremony they all went through in years past.
My parents are in the front row, and they look so proud. So content. Ivy stands just behind them, the uneasiness on her face still present. I lock eyes with her and she grimaces, and it threatens to stop my heart.
I desperately want to know what it means, want to jump from the platform and ask what she’s thinking, but it’s too late.
Then there’s Landon, his eyes curious and his stance rigid. He isn’t comfortable here, surrounded by my coven, the first non-witch ever to witness a Covenant Ball. I wish his shoulders would relax and his hands would ease open.
I wish he were a witch.
The thought gives me pause. It’s the first time I’ve ever considered it, that Landon isn’t a witch. He will never understand the most important part of me because he has no connection to it, because the aim of his government has always been to dim the magic inside us. And we’re about to marry.
It takes my breath away, knowing we will never revel in magic together, never challenge the power inside each other. I will move to his home, and my magic will be all but forgotten, a silly parlor game he’ll use to impress his friends.
I shake my head. I’m being unfair. He has never given me any reason to believe that. He has always been honest and open. He has always been kind.
It’s time. I swallow my doubts and prepare to speak the words that will bind me to my coven for life.
I walk to the marble pillars. A gold knife with emeralds and rubies along the hilt shines in the sunlight directly between the two basins. I think about how the earliest witches could have their Covenant Balls at night, surrounded by darkness. How no one required them to step into the light, as if the time of day could erase what stirred inside them.
But here we are. In the light.
I take a deep breath and hold my hands over the knife, preparing to begin the spell. I look between the two basins, and something inside the copper bowl catches my eye. There should be nothing except for the blood of the witches before me, still red and fluid, sustained by magic. But poking through the surface is the top of a perfume bottle with a note that says PRESS THIS. And floating next to it is a single moonflower.