Page 44 of Flowerheart

“Don’t say ‘cursed,’” I snapped.

His blue eyes widened. “I didn’t mean that, blossom—I’m sorry.”

I wondered if hedidmean it, just a little bit. If he hated how much I worried. If he thought I still hated him like I had when I was younger. If he thought I was wicked like my mother.

“Clara Lucas,” he chimed, singsong, to get my attention. I lifted my head again. “Just tell me this. Are you happy with Xavier?”

I laughed—sort of like how Xavier did: soft and one-note.

“Oh, yes,” I said, the answer spilling out of me before Icould even think about it. I’d laughed and smiled with him more than I had in any other apprenticeship. “He’s horribly shy and afraid of everything. Afraid of himself, like he’s worried he’ll say something foolish at any moment. He blushes more than I do.” I snickered and smoothed the stray hairs of my braid. “He likes to hear about me, about you. And he’ll tell the most ridiculous jokes—we spent ten minutes making puns about potion ingredients one day, and he had the silliest grin on his face....”

Like the one Papa was wearing now. His eyes were like the sky, bright and clear. “You’re fond of him!”

It was as if he’d doused me in cold water. I sputtered. “He’smy teacher, Papa!”

“He was your friend first.”

I sat further back into the sofa. “Things are different now.”

“But you like him?”

“Yes, he’s a kind man. A good friend. A partner.” The word made me think of the dreams we’d had as children, and of our secret, dark promise, marked by the ring on my hand.

Papa counted on his fingers. “Kind. Friend. Partner. All good traits in a husband.”

“Papa,please!”

“If you’re worrying about rushing things, don’t—I married your mother after only a few months.”

Magic fizzled from my stomach straight up my spine. There she was again, in his words, in his memories, in my magic, in my blood. She was an invasive plant, her rootsspreading all throughout my life. Thunder shook the house.

Papa yelped in surprise and clutched at his chest. I leapt up from the sofa at once, carefully draping a blanket over him and feeling his pulse.

“Is it your heart, Papa?”

He shook his head and took a long, calming breath. “Just the thunder. I’m only startled.”

His hand reached for me, and when I took a step away from him, his forehead furrowed.

“Rest for a bit,” I murmured, striding towards the kitchen. “I’ll make you some scones and tea for when you wake.”

From behind me, he called out, “Have I upset you, dear?”

“No, no,” I said, striving to keep my voice light.

Alone in the kitchen, the voice of my magic slithered about in a tight spiral in my head.

You have her power in your veins. You’re too weak to control it. You’ll never save him. You’ll have no motherandno father.

I gripped the side of the table in the kitchen, my arms quaking and tears beading in my eyes. The voice was loud, so insistent and sotrue.But I’d worked hard to tell my magic to be quiet, to use the lessons I’d learned with Xavier and all the others.

You are going to heal your father,he’d said. There’d been such conviction in his voice. His eyes, certain and warm.

He hadn’t been lying. He believed in me.

In the maelstrom of my magic, I clung to this fact as tight as I could.

11

---