Page 90 of Flowerheart

He shook his head, plucking pink roses from their stems and chopping their petals into fine ribbons. “Not until we find the cure.”

I aided him in cutting up the stems and thorns.

“If possible,” I said, “I want to test these next potions on her.”

The knife hesitated mid-chop. “I am reluctant to give the Kinleys hope if there’s none to be found.”

“But youcouldbe giving them a solution.”

His hand touched mine. “Youcould.”

My stomach pinched. The two days I’d been without my magic, I’d felt small and helpless and scared. Now Xavier would feel that way for the rest of his life. “This is your recipe,” I reminded him softly. “If we make a cure—whenwe make it—you’re just as responsible for it as I am.”

“The credit doesn’t matter to me.” He turned back to the cauldron, adding a spoon’s worth of the ice he’d brought in from the ice box. As he did so, fragrant, silvery steam like fog rose from the cauldron. “Father may still care about our family name. But I can’t bear to think of anyone having to live with this burden. I want them to be free from the bonds of Euphoria. I don’t care how.”

I thought, too, of Daniel Watters at the Midsummer festival. He wasourage. And had become so tormented by this potion.

“There’s a boy here in town who’s taken Euphoria, too,” I said. “Can we make certain that he gets the cure? When we make it?”

“Yes. I’ll see to it that the Council knows who to treat.” Xavier glanced at me over his shoulder. “I need you to castover this, please. First, profess something you’re grateful for, to instill contentment in the patient.”

That was simple. I stood before the cauldron, breathing in the calming, grassy air. I had so much to be thankful for. But two words came to mind first.

“Xavier Morwyn,” I whispered, the name hissing and echoing against the cast-iron walls of the cauldron.

He squeezed my hand tight. “Thank you,” he murmured. “Next... next, wish peace and comfort and calm upon the patient who drinks it.”

Magic squirmed under my skin and tugged on my muscles, begging to be released. Shutting my eyes, I concentrated on the ideas I wanted to imbue into the potion.

Control: the thrilling feeling of my magic finally listening to me. Patience: Xavier and I the night before, forgiving one another, loving one another, despite our many, many mistakes. Peace: feeling my skin tingle at being so close to him, standing in a quiet, sunny kitchen with a hopeful future before us.

And above all: confidence.

This potion will fail,growled my magic.

“Now’s not the time,” I whispered. After all I’d learned, after all I’d done to control my power, I knew that I had the strength to be able to create somethinggood.That this potion could be the one to save lives.

I held out my hand over the cauldron, little drops of steam clinging to my palm. Concentrating on the images of control,patience, peace, and confidence, I murmured to my magic as sweetly as if I was telling it a bedtime story. “You don’t need to overexert yourself. I only need a bit of you. Just enough to help settle a patient. There’s so much strength to you, magic. Save some of it for later.”

As Xavier had instructed, I sang the words over the potion, soft as a lullaby, “Control, patience, peace, confidence, control, patience, peace, confidence...” The last word came out as a hiss, and I felt a surge of magic rush through my body and down my fingertips, coming out not as a waterfall but like gentle rainfall. The cauldron clanged as magic jostled it back and forth, but it soon grew still again.

My chest heaved like I’d just summited a mountain. The potion gurgled contentedly, bright green and whispering with magic.

I’d done it. I couldn’t explain it, but I knew, marrow-deep, thatthispotion was the one we needed.

Behind us, the door to the kitchen creaked open. Papa was wearing his old red dressing gown, rubbing his eyes almost theatrically. “Something smells delicious. I don’t suppose it’s breakfast?”

Xavier paled. “Oh, er, no, Mr. Lucas, but I’d be happy to make you something, if you’d like—”

“He’s teasing,” I translated, giving his arm a squeeze. I grinned back at Papa, who watched our little interaction with a smug look on his freckled face. “We’re hard at work,Papa. Is it all right if we use the kitchen for potions?”

Papa chuckled and held up his hands in surrender. “By all means. Carry on, Your Greatness.”

He slipped out the door, and I beamed. Tonight, that title would be mine at last.

Xavier’s finger traced my cheekbone as he brushed a stray curl behind my ear. I caught his hand, smiling. “This potion is the one,” I said to him.

He paused. “What?”

---