Page 20 of Flowerheart

Even so, the words stung.

“Youmissedme? But you never wrote,” I said. “I thought you hated me.”

Xavier lowered his head, as if he were suddenly fascinated by the swirling grain of the wooden floorboards. “I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t enough.

But it was something. It was a start. A door had been locked fast between us, and now, after so long, he’d started to unlatch it.

“I wish I could have seen you at your initiate ceremony,” I said softly. I imagined him, painfully handsome in a suit and tails, with a white bow tie, golden sparks and flowers filling the air around him as he received raucous applause.

Xavier scuffed the floorboards with his shoe. “You didn’t miss very much. Just a lot of magicians giving speeches.”

I laughed, nervous and light. “You still look away when you lie.”

His eyes met mine. My pulse leapt.

“Well,” he said, “I’m sorry you weren’t there, too.”

Reality was a harsh blow. I wasn’t a noteworthy magician like him. I hadn’t been certified as a magician a year early and then made a member of the Council at so young an age. I was a mess whose magic was killing her father.

My shoulders tensed. Blood thrummed in my ears and mymagic echoed my thoughts,killing her father, killing her father.As I lost my grip on hope, on the brightness of this moment, the room seemed to grow darker, too. A cloud passed over the sun outside, and the enchanted ceiling above us dimmed at the same time.

Xavier took a glance at the magical ceiling above and cleared his throat. “Well, I—I ought to leave you alone.” He retreated to the doorway, gesturing to the wall behind him. “You, er, asked about the lever. It’s the sconce over here. For the, er. For the slide. If you want.” His eyes darted from me to my suitcases to the handkerchief in my grasp. Then—

“I’ll let you get settled,” he said.

I clutched the handkerchief tight. “I thought you said we had work to do.”

“Soon enough. You can, erm, unpack. Or tidy up. Or whatever it is you need to do.” His shoulders hunched, like he was shrinking in on himself, trying to turn invisible. He kept his gaze firmly to the floor and took another step back. “Goodbye,” he said, and hastily shut the door between us.

I stared at the painted-white door and listened to the rapidthumpof his footsteps down the stairwell. Closing my eyes, I imagined the boy I had once known. My closest friend. And just for a moment, he had been that boy again; silly and awkward and shy, listening to my worries. But he was also cold and distant, far too... severe. As if he hadn’t answered my letters simply because he’d stopped caring for me.

Perhaps he’dneverliked me at all. Perhaps he’d only taken me on as an apprentice because he pitied me. Or because he was desperate for my power.

When I was alone, my magic was particularly loud. It wasted no time in hurling insults at me. It flashed images in my mind: the petals falling from Papa’s lips. The tears in his eyes. The blistered, pink skin on his cheek in the shape of my fingerprints.

Each thought was worse than the last.

Wilting onto the floor, I tried and failed to drown out the whispers. The images grew more violent, more vivid. The reality that my father could be dying at my hands. The weight of it all broke me. My lungs strained from holding in sobs, and the harder I tried, the worse I ached, and the louder my magic screamed. It was all too much, and with one breath, I lost all resolve, and then I couldn’tstopweeping. Every time a tear fell, plants bloomed up from between the floorboards. Before long, I was kneeling in a carpet of flowers.

Artemisia—I miss you.

Marigolds—I grieve for you.

Purple hyacinths—I’m so sorry.

5

For a first lesson, my previous teachers often liked to dazzle me with their magic. Madam Ben Ammar had promised me I’d be able to summon fire like she could. Madam Albright had showed me the spell she used to find anything lost. Master Young had made his house tidy itself up all on its own.

When I finally calmed myself and made my way down to the Morwyns’ shop, Xavier handed me a broom.

I frowned at it. “How is this meant to help me bless my father?”

“I’m afraid we have the workday to overcome before we can begin your lessons. After we close up shop, I’ll teach you about controlling your magic. Once you can do that, you’ll be able to bless him.”

He made it sound so simple. A trifle. He turned to the washbasin, his sleeves rolled up as he scrubbed at phials andbeakers. I bristled at his indifference.

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