Page 91 of Flowerheart

“We need to deliver this one,” I said.

“I—are you certain? What if we show up and it doesn’t—”

“Confidence, Xavier. That’s what the strength of this potion relies upon.” I pointed at the cauldron. “I have no doubt. This will work.” I squeezed his hand. “It’s different this time. The two of us together. My hope, your hope—”

“My hope doesn’t make a difference. I don’t have magic,” he whispered—as if I’d forgotten.

I drew his hands to my lips, kissing his knuckles. “I think it makes all the difference.”

His brown eyes shone like amber in the sunlight; shone with a sort of optimism that was so rare for him.

He had faith in us.

“Let’s go,” he said.

So that we would not have to portal unceremoniously into Emily’s bedroom, we decided on a more traditional meansof transportation. Within minutes, we hired a hansom cab and were on the road to Iverton, my potions case on my lap. Xavier reached for my hand, and I didn’t let it go until we arrived.

The Kinleys’ house, they’d said, was the one adjacent to the town bakery. We found it in no time—a quaint little brick building next to a shop with beautiful pastries on display in the window. I knocked on the front door, waiting so intently I did not even breathe.

To my right, Xavier had gone as white as chalk.

“It’s going to be all right,” I promised him.

He nodded frantically, locks of his long black hair falling against his face. “I know, I—it’s hard, that’s all. I caused all of this.”

I reached out, weaving my fingers with his. “We’ll set things right. I know it.”

The door swung open. Mr. Kinley stood before us, his apron dotted with chocolate and berry juice and his hands dusted with flour. Like the both of us, there were circles around his eyes.

“Your Greatness,” he murmured. “How—how can I help you?”

I took a step forwards and shook Mr. Kinley’s hand. “Good morning, sir. We’re sorry to bother you. It’s about your daughter and her condition—we would like to test a possible cure on her.”

Mr. Kinley stepped aside with wide eyes, his hand againsthis heart. “Yes, yes, of course!”

Xavier grimaced at the hope beginning to dawn on Mr. Kinley’s rosy face. “We must be clear, this is experimental.”

Mr. Kinley’s lips pursed. “Well... I suppose it’s worth a try, anyhow. Will it hurt her?”

I shook my head. The potion’s ingredients were all made to soothe. Even if the potion failed, there wouldn’t be any negative side effects. “No, sir.”

The baker nodded and stepped aside, allowing us into his home.

It was sunny and warm, with colorful quilts thrown over rustic, wooden furniture, and the smell of fresh bread wafting over from the shop next door.

“How has she been?” Xavier asked softly.

“Asleep, nearly constantly. We wake her to give her food, and she’s keeping it down, thankfully, but... she’s so hollow. It’s like... it’s like she’s gone.” Tears beaded in the corners of Mr. Kinley’s eyes.

Xavier bowed his head. “I am so sorry, sir.”

We stepped through the sitting room into the small corner bedroom we’d so recently visited from Xavier’s shop. The drawing desk, the quilt on the bed, the dent in the wall—a room once filled with life, with color. But today, it was dim and quiet.

Sitting beside the bed was a small man with deep brown skin. Emily lay under the covers, her eyes shut. Her hands rested limply atop her cream-colored sheets, and she scarcelymoved as the man spooned broth into her mouth. As Xavier had promised, none of the dandelions on her skin had grown back—to an outsider, she was just a young girl, fast asleep.

Mr. Kinley laid a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Your Greatness, this is my husband, Adam. Adam, this is Master Morwyn and his assistant.”

Xavier held up a hand, his face tinged with a blush. “It’s actually the opposite. I’m assisting Miss—Madam Lucas.” We exchanged a look—I hadn’t been initiated yet, but I supposed such technicalities would have to be ignored. “She’s the one who brewed the potion we hope will cure Emily.”

---