Chapter Four

Despite Papa’s protests, I spent the night on the floor beside his sofa. I lay awake watching his chest rise and fall, worried more blossoms would grow. Sometimes he would reach for me over the edge of the sofa, attempting to pet my hair or give my shoulder a squeeze—but I inched away from him and instead turned to the spellbooks I’d piled on the floor beside me.

The oldest ones contained information on blessings. Da Ponte’s Guide to Healing Incantations claimed, This type of spell is the most difficult of all. Simply practicing the recitation of a blessing will not suffice. One must be a master of their magic in the utmost.

A master. Despite my years of training, my long nights of studying, the tears I’d shed over failed potions—I wasn’t one. I might never be.

The words swam together, taunting me as much as my magic. And then, somehow, the pages that were once bathed in white moonlight turned pale gold with the dawn.

Someone knocked on the door.

Dizzy and exhausted, I wobbled to my feet, whirling for a moment to check on my father. Seven azaleas still bloomed from his chest. And even in sleep, he clenched his fists and held his breath, his brow beaded with sweat.

I slid to the door on stockinged feet and opened it to find a witch’s shop, decorated with pale pink flowers and plush carpets. Two people stood in the doorway, and at the sight of the woman, my heart soared.

Madam Ben Ammar was breathtaking, with deep brown skin, eyes the color of ebony, and long black curls that spiraled around her head and down her back. And she was as kind as she was lovely. When we had last parted, she had cried. She’d said that she didn’t think I was a bad student. That she was confident that another teacher might be able to help me where she could not. She was the only teacher who hadn’t blamed me for my magic’s outbursts. What would she think of me three years later, still a failure?

I gripped the door tighter to keep from embracing her. If Papa was still under the adverse effects of my touch, I could not allow my magic to get too close to her, either.

Her eyes were soft and full of pity. “Hello, dear,” she said.

I smiled up at her. “I can’t believe you’re here—they said you were working on some investigation!”

She nodded, her long black skirt swishing as she crossed the stoop. “Yes, but when Master Morwyn sent a note to the Council about your situation, I snatched up your case as quick as I could.”

Relief washed through me. If I had to deal with more Councilmembers, I was thankful there would be one who actually liked me.

The witch gestured to the person tailing her—young and thin, with large, round glasses, golden-brown skin, and scarlet hair tumbling down to their shoulders. “Clara, Robin is my apprentice. They will be tending to your father while you are away with Master Morwyn.”

Robin stuck out a hand with a dimpled smile. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Lucas. Madam Ben Ammar speaks very highly of you.”

A lie, my magic whispered. “Thank you, Robin.” My whole body trembled as they robustly shook my gloved hand up and down.

The three of us approached where Papa lay. I bent close to him, careful not to let even the end of my plait touch him.

“Are you awake, Papa?” I asked.

He pried his eyes open, his hand fast against his chest. “Yes, dear, I’m—” At the sight of the two others, he started, scrabbling to sit up.

Madam Ben Ammar bowed her head in greeting. “No need to fret, Mr. Lucas,” she said. “We’re here to help.”

He opened his mouth to reply but was again interrupted by his own coughing. He grimaced and made a retching sound into his hand. When he drew it back, two pink petals rested on his palm.

Fear gripped my heart. “I don’t understand,” I said. “Master Morwyn gave him an expectorant, and I haven’t touched him again, haven’t said anything curse-like. . . .”

Madam Ben Ammar bit down on her full lower lip. “Your magic is volatile, pet. It follows no rules, not even your own. I suspect it’s done your father no good being so close to it.”

I stepped farther away from Papa. He sighed and balled up his fists in the ivy-green blanket. “It’s not your fault. It’s as she said—your magic isn’t you. I suppose it just decided it didn’t like me.”

“It’s foolish, then, if it dislikes you of all people.”

“Mr. Lucas.” The sweet sound of Madam Ben Ammar’s voice helped draw me from the storm of worries continuing to brew within me. “Robin here is in their final year of apprenticeship and will therefore be tending to you at all times. They may ask some silly questions and take superfluous notes, but it’s all part of the apprenticeship process. I think the world of them, and I know they’ll take great care of you.”

Robin was much more delicate in shaking Papa’s hand.

Madam Ben Ammar turned to me, her face soft and comforting despite her commanding height and sharp features. “Now then, go get your things and we’ll be off to Master Morwyn’s.”

From my room, I took my humble potion case and carpetbag, the same ones I’d taken with me to my first apprenticeship. I’d left home five times for my training over the years. This time, the farewell ached even more.

The first time I had left for an apprenticeship, I’d laughed, I’d smiled; I’d told Papa to stop turning into a puddle over me. Now I was the puddle, tears streaking my cheeks even though I’d only be an hour away.

Staring down at him, I wanted to kiss him goodbye, or say something lovely—but the thought of magic twisting my own words frightened me. Furthermore, the secret of the pact I’d made with Xavier sat heavy and hard in my middle.

I’d always told my father everything in my life: at age twelve, when I’d been madly in love with Ada Framingham. In primary school, when I’d slapped a girl for calling us poor. When I had cried in Xavier’s arms over my long-gone mother. To keep a secret from Papa, especially one so important, made me feel unclean.

But Papa smiled up at me, his face bright as sunshine in spite of his bloodshot eyes and heavy breathing. “You’ll do wonderfully,” he said. “And I’ll see you on Saturday.”

“I love you,” I whispered, hoping that I could stave off any more wicked magic if I spoke softly.

“Clara,” said Madam Ben Ammar, “Master Morwyn told me he’d given you his card. Could I have it, so I can take us to him?”

I withdrew his golden card from my pocket and gave it to the witch. She took a few steps from me to an empty space near the window. Extending her arm, a delicate jet of flame bloomed from her fingers. The smoldering card fluttered to the floor.

Golden smoke billowed from the floorboards. When it began to clear and the whispering of the fire ceased, Xavier’s door—scuffed but reattached after I’d broken it down yesterday—stood in our living room.

I turned to Papa one last time. He waved farewell. And I ducked through the doorway before he could see my face crumple with more tears.

In my rush yesterday, I hadn’t noticed that the inside of Xavier’s shop was just as lovely as I remembered it from my childhood.

It was fragrant with the smell of cloves, bergamot, and cinnamon. Drying flowers hung from hooks on nearly every wall, some bleached by the sunshine filtering into the storefront. At the back of the shop stood a wooden workbench, piled high with bottles and cauldrons and mortars and pestles. The honey-colored cabinets behind the table had windows that displayed row after row of potions and powders of every color. Somehow, the shop seemed just as big as it had when I was a little girl. And it certainly wasn’t as fearsome or dour as the outside of the house made it seem.

Xavier stood in the potion-making area at the back of the shop, among the petals and stems and little jars of salve on the countertop. A cloud of steam rose from the cauldron behind him. Upon hearing us enter, he lifted the white apron from around his neck, slung it over the counter, and approached us in one fluid motion, like a dancer.

In less than a day, he’d changed yet again. Gone was the unkempt boy making dangerous promises last night. A prim, professional wizard stood before us.

He’d cast off his traditional black coat, and the sleeves of his pure-white shirt were rolled to his elbows. He still wore the black vest and trousers of a certified wizard, as well as a black cravat fixed in place with the same gold sun pin that Madam Ben Ammar wore as a brooch.

“You’ve got shoes today,” I remarked. They were black, too, and so finely polished that I would have believed him if he’d told me they’d been carved from marble.

He bowed his head in greeting. “You’ll notice I also have a door.”

I grimaced, glancing at the toes of my own shoes, caked in dirt. “I’m sorry about that. Hopefully you’ll be able to keep my magic in check.”

“Yes, we all hope so,” said Madam Ben Ammar. The ice in her voice alarmed me, but when I peeked at her, I found that her look of consternation was not directed at me but at Xavier.

His cordial look faded as she neared him. Moments ago, he’d appeared mature for his age—but before her imposing height, he was just a boy.

“Would—would you like to sit down for some tea?” he offered, pointing a gloved hand to a little salon to the right of him.

“No,” she replied. “Master Morwyn, I was surprised to see that you had so magnanimously taken on Miss Lucas. That you, of all people, chose to oversee a case of such responsibility. Do you think that you can handle magic that an experienced magician cannot?”

My mouth hung agape. Even in my silliest mistakes, she had been kind and forgiving to me. Now, Xavier looked as though he stood before Death herself.

“I do not pretend that I’ll be able to tame her magic by myself, and I would never claim to be more skilled than you in any aspect, Your Greatness,” he murmured.

“Then what are you playing at? What do you have to gain from her?”

Her accusation left me as shaken as he appeared to be. He did mean to gain from training me, but why he wanted my magic, I still couldn’t understand. I found myself drifting behind Madam Ben Ammar—to shield myself from him or from her own wrath, I wasn’t sure.

“You and I made the same vows,” he said to her. “It’s our purpose as magicians to take care of others. If it’s in my power to help Miss Lucas and her father, I want to do so.”

“I honor that purpose with all of my might, young man. Can you say the same?”

I gasped and then bit down hard on my lip to keep quiet. Xavier shut his eyes and sighed softly instead of a proper reply.

“Now, then,” she said, “I’d like a final word with Miss Lucas, alone. If you’ll excuse us for one moment.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but in a whirl, Madam Ben Ammar opened the door once more and shepherded me through, this time onto Xavier’s porch. She closed the door behind her and laid a hand against my shoulder.

“Clara,” she said, “in light of your father’s condition, the Council is delaying any action regarding your magic. They’re going to wait and see if you can perform this blessing.” She smiled—but only barely. “It’s my hope that performing such complicated magic will help restore the Council’s faith in your capabilities. They may decide to leave your power untouched.”

She sighed. My body tensed.

“However,” she said, “I want you to be prepared, should you be . . . unable to bless him.”

My breath caught tight in my chest. Magic thrashed against my ribs and hissed at me, He’s going to die; he’s going to die!

I shook my head to rattle the thoughts out of my brain. “I—I can’t. I can’t think like that.”

The faintest idea of a world where the Council called me a criminal and left me powerless, where I had no one, where my father lay dead because of my magic . . .

“All right,” she cooed. She lowered her head, her gaze meeting mine. “I promise I’ll do everything I can to help you and your father. And I want you to know that I will be here for you. No matter what.”

Thinking of my little family and of the wild magic I’d inherited—it picked away at the wound that had broken open in my heart ever since I’d hurt Papa.

“This . . . this dangerous magic. Is it like hers?” I whispered. “Imogen’s?”

“I only know your mother by reputation. But . . . her magic is powerful, yes.” A line formed between her eyebrows. “Clara, I know you didn’t mean ill against your father. The Council understands you have extenuating circumstances. We want to help you.” She touched the puff of pale blue fabric on my sleeve. “You aren’t like her. We know you’re faithful to our cause.”

I chewed the inside of my lip and kept my eyes trained on the deep brown wood of the Morwyns’ porch. Yes, I was faithful to the laws of the Council of Magicians, but what did that matter? My magic would have its way, regardless of what I wished.

Madam Ben Ammar wrung her hands. “Have—have you heard from your mother? Has she attempted to contact you at all since last we spoke?”

“No.” Thankfully. Just thinking of her caused my magic to prickle in my chest.

“You’d tell me if she did?”

I frowned. “Yes, of course, madam. Why? Does this have to do with your investigation? Has she done something?”

Madam Ben Ammar tipped back on her heels, glancing into the window beside Xavier’s front door. She leaned close to me.

“A new potion is circulating, much the same as her poisons did five years ago.” She bowed her head, her eyes meeting mine. “If Imogen tries to talk to you, or if you hear anything of this potion—Euphoria, they call it—I want you to call on me at once.”

She reached into the pocket of her black gown and held out a light blue card. “Keep your eyes open and be cautious. People who’ve taken Euphoria are quite easy to spot. The potion makes them delirious with artificial happiness. And we’ve found victims who have started growing dandelions on their skin.”

Nausea rolled through me like a wave.

“Imogen’s coven continues to evade the Council,” she continued, “no matter how careful we are in our investigations. We fear that they may be spying on us.” Her eyes flashed. “The Council also wants to keep the public from knowing too much about this potion just yet. We don’t want to raise demand for it. So you’ll keep any talk of it between the two of us, won’t you?”

Another secret to keep from Papa. “All right,” I told her, gazing down at the card, a little rectangular piece of sky. “Do you think she would contact me?”

Madam Ben Ammar lifted a shoulder. “She’s unpredictable. But you are about to come of age. In truth, I—” Her voice broke, and she cleared her throat, smoothing the wrinkle-free front of her black gown. “I fear that she would seek you out as an apprentice.”

The very idea was absurd, verging on offensive. I shoved the card into the pocket of my skirt as if to silence the doubt now blooming in my mind. Even if she did want me, I’d refuse. I’d fight. “I want nothing to do with her.”

She squeezed my free hand through my thick gardening gloves. “Good girl. And truly—if you need anything, simply call on me.”

Madam Ben Ammar opened the door for me and let me through. Xavier had retreated to his spot beside the counter, his foot tapping and his arms folded. I supposed he had grown out of eavesdropping.

“Miss Lucas will be sure to report to the Council if she sees anything . . . out of place,” said the witch as she stood in the doorway. “She will be watching you closely.”

“I will?” I peeped. Was I to be some sort of spy for her? Was Xavier even worthy of such suspicion?

But he just bowed to her. “Understood.”

She smiled to me, said, “Goodbye, Clara,” and snapped the door shut behind her.

We turned to one another with wide eyes.

“What did you do to offend her?” I asked.

His hair flopped over his eyes as he lifted my bags. “A great many things, I’m sure. Now, then, let’s reacquaint you with the house.”

With a tilt of his head, he gestured to the kitchen, warm and bathed in morning light. “The kitchen and shop area, as you’ll recall. You’ll help me sort and label the potion ingredients there. As for food, you’re welcome to anything in the pantry—”

Despite the storm clouds in my mind, a fanciful memory made me clasp my hands together in excitement. “Does the magic cupboard still work?”

He laughed. “It does. Shall we check it?”

I nodded and he set my bags back down. Following in his footsteps, he led me to a cupboard next to the washbasin. It was pale white, not honey-colored like the rest of the kitchen’s storage.

“It seemed so high up when we were young,” I murmured. Now Xavier didn’t have to reach very far at all as he twisted the knob of the little white door.

The cupboard was empty, except for two small chocolate bonbons, wrapped neatly in white paper. I gasped delightedly.

“I suppose it knew I’d be having company.”

When we were children, all five of us together, we’d beg his mother to open the magic cupboard for us. There were always treasures hidden inside, little sweets or toys or even books the size of a child’s palm.

“Who built the cupboard again?” I asked as I unwrapped my bonbon. “Your grandfather?”

“My grandmother.” When he smiled, his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Every Morwyn who has magic adds something to the house. Father enchanted the bookshelves upstairs, Great-Grandfather made the staircase, Great-Great-Grandmother made the ceiling in the tower room . . . on and on for six hundred years. And Grandmother wanted something that would delight the children who’d live here.” He dropped the second chocolate into my gloved hand. “Here, you can have mine.”

He breezed past me, sweeping up my baggage again. I gaped at how quickly he’d brushed aside the memories, but was startled into moving by his call. “Come along!”

I scampered behind him and kept my chocolate in my cheek like a chipmunk. “What did you add to the house?” I asked his back.

“Nothing yet. I’ve not had the time.”

That sounded like nonsense to me. Xavier used to babble excitedly about how, when his turn came, he’d make a room that spun until you got dizzy, or a floor that let you jump three feet in the air. For him to be so uninterested now was entirely uncharacteristic.

“If it were up to me,” I said, “I’d make a room with an orchard. And you could pick fresh berries every day for tarts.”

He snickered. “What if the door opened into a different bakery every day? So you could get berry tarts all you wanted.”

I could almost picture us as children, grabbing up as many pastries as we could carry. “For free, of course?”

“Of course.”

Down the hall from the potion shop was a large dining room. Six matching chairs surrounded an old mahogany table.

“I have supper at around seven,” he said, “but you don’t need to eat with me, if you don’t want to.”

Papa and I didn’t have a dining room; we just sat at the little table in the kitchen. Or, more typically, we ate the food while we were still preparing it. Neither of us was patient when hungry, and we got such a thrill from trying new recipes and sharing them with one another that we hardly ever made a dish pretty enough to put on a plate. The memories left a sad, sour taste in my mouth. I nibbled on the second chocolate to try to disguise the ugly feeling.

Next, Xavier led me up the stone spiral steps, lit dimly by sparse windows and sconces. More memories rushed back, this time of the surprise that this staircase held.

“Which sconce is the secret lever?”

“Up near the top,” he said. “By the tower, remember?”

“Right,” I murmured. “Can we—?”

“Not right now. We have a great deal of work to do, Miss Lucas,” said Xavier, stepping out onto the second floor.

There were six doors along the corridor, and the olive-green walls were dotted with multiple paintings in differently shaped frames.

In the nearest, a young man stood tall behind a sofa, where his three sisters sat. His black hair was short and neatly combed. His eyes were clear and free of fatigue. He wore a defiant smirk, his chin held high.

“When was this done?” I asked.

“About two years ago, I think.”

I hummed a thoughtful note and tipped my head at the painting. How was it that his painted eyes seemed more vibrant than they were in real life?

“You’ve changed so much,” I said.

“Adolescence is a marvel.” His voice was flat. He pointed the bags towards a set of double doors made of deep brown wood. “Here, I’ll show you the library.”

I longed to linger in the hall, to reminisce, to ask him more questions. With the breakneck pace of this tour, I was inclined to think that he was avoiding all talk of our past. Or at least, any conversation with me. I took one last glance at the portrait before dashing after him into the library.

Bookshelves lined the walls, with a rolling ladder propped against one of the shelves. In the middle of the room, two desks faced one another. Three armchairs and a sofa circled one corner of the library. The whole place felt empty.

“How long has your family been gone?” I asked.

“Three months.”

My heart lurched. “And they left without you?”

He crossed his arms and smoothed a fold in the rug with his toe. “Well, I’m standing in front of you, so evidently—”

I groaned. “I meant why. Why are you here when they’re abroad?”

Xavier straightened a pen lying on the desk before him. “I have work to do here.”

My brow furrowed. “What could be so important that you’d separate yourself from your family?”

“My work is extremely important. What I’m doing can change lives. Save lives.”

My work. Not our work.

I selected a scarlet book from one of the shelves and delicately pushed aside page after page. This book, as well as most of the others, had been written by Morwyns of old, containing their personal wisdom on casting magic. Potions to cure warts or remove cataracts. Spells for peace. Protection charms.

“Do you hear from them, at least?” I asked. “I’ve not seen them since we were children.”

“They write me frequently. They’re doing very well, and they’re much happier in Álbila. Mother thought it was too dreary here, anyway.” He joined me by the bookshelf and absently shifted a book from one row to another. “Leonor has gotten much better at guitar. Dalia finds the Albilan boys very exciting. Inés has taken up painting.”

They write me frequently.

There was that small, bitter grievance within me again, like a pain that only came when it rained. “Do you write to them?” I asked.

He pursed his lips. “As often as I can. I’ll be sure to tell them that you’re here now. They’ll be thrilled.” He gave the spines of the books on the shelves a little pat. “Anyhow, these books bear a great deal of knowledge on old magic; blessings and curses and the like. You can come here to study whenever you want. You’ll learn more from the books than from me, I’m certain.”

I shut the book and held it by my ear with a smirk. “Well, the books don’t seem to be as adept at conversation as you are.”

He dropped his gaze to the floor. “I suppose human company is preferable.” He about-faced and marched out into the hall. “I’ll show you your room.”

I placed the book on a nearby table and followed him. Just as I crossed through the doorway of the library, I heard a fluttering sound behind me, like a bird taking flight. I whipped my head back to see. The crimson book I’d placed aside had lifted itself up, zipping through the air like a cardinal, and lightly placed itself back on its perch on the shelf. I smiled, remembering. Xavier and I used to play in this library, seeing whose book could fly back to its shelf the fastest.

“Miss Lucas?” Xavier called. He was waiting for me in the stairwell.

“Why do you call me Miss Lucas?” I asked as we ascended. “Do you insist I call you ‘Master Morwyn’ or ‘Your Greatness’?”

“Well, I—it’s proper. We aren’t children anymore.”

“‘It’s proper,’” I echoed. “It’s just the two of us here!”

It was beginning to feel like he’d completely forgotten that little boy he’d once been. Skipping rocks, racing down dusty roads, giving me tight hugs when I grew jealous that he had a mother. That was Xavier. This person was the all-important and respected wizard, His Greatness Master Morwyn.

Up one more flight of winding stairs, we reached a small landing with a single pale door, the chipped paint exposing bits of wood. He twisted the pewter handle and held the door open for me.

I faintly remembered this room. It was round, with stone walls painted white. There was a birch table with a chair and a mirror. A bed was draped in a quilt dappled in pink, orange, and yellow diamonds. Beside it stood a nightstand with a stub of a candle left in the candlestick, and hanging over the bed was a bundle of dried flowers. There was one round window over the length of the bed, and another on the opposite curve of the wall. A little embroidery hoop was affixed near the window, embroidered with drooping flowers and messy script declaring Welcome to the lodger. Above, the domed ceiling was pale blue, covered in real, wispy clouds that drifted past and then evanesced into nothing.

“I’m sorry to put you in the guest room,” he said in a small voice as he set down my valise and carpetbag. “My family’s rooms are technically available, but—”

“It’s beautiful,” I said.

It was nothing like my room in Williamston, cluttered full of memories and books and always smelling of vanilla and sugar from the kitchen across the hall. But it was charming, and seeing the desperate, timid look in his eyes, I made sure to show him the most genuine smile I could muster.

I craned my neck, peering out the window. Lime-green hills spread across the horizon like ocean waves.

I gasped as a memory struck me. “We used to play pirates here!”

Xavier’s brows rose. “I remember. You were always the captain.”

Not anymore. I opened my carpetbag and removed the apron I’d folded into a tight roll. “Now you’re at the helm,” I said. “We should start our lessons. No good in wasting time chattering.”

“How did your father fare last night?” he asked.

I pressed the apron hard against my chest to combat the groaning, tugging feeling of my magic. Your fault, your fault, your fault.

“He isn’t doing well, I’m afraid,” I said. “Madam Ben Ammar has her apprentice taking care of him, but . . .” I let the rest of my thoughts dissipate into thin air. “I hate to think of it. That even being near my magic could poison him, somehow.” My stomach fell. “What if—what if it hurts you, too?”

“You’ve lived with your father all your life and hadn’t hurt him so far. And I believe you’ll be ready to bless him in a few weeks.” Xavier shrugged, as if this was all perfectly normal and manageable. “I should be perfectly safe for so short a time,” he said. His confidence verged on naivete. Dread and fear coiled in my stomach and made my lip tremble even more.

Just like yesterday, a handkerchief entered my line of sight. Xavier offered it with a weak, apologetic smile. “Now, here. Cry as much as you like.”

I snatched up the handkerchief, my cheeks burning. “I—I thought expressing emotions exacerbated one’s magic.”

“It releases it, yes. But if you don’t express your power somehow, it’ll build up and become even more dangerous. So crying, it’s—it’s good, you see.”

In all my years of training, I’d never heard such an idea. Papa had once said if someone wrote down everything I said in one day, they’d fill a library twice over. But now I was speechless.

“I, er . . . I missed you,” he said.

My head jerked up.

His cheeks had turned red, the same as when we were children and his mother fussed with his hair in front of me. Seeing him blush, and knowing that I was the cause, made my stomach flutter.

Even so, the words stung.

“You missed me? 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 my magic 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 rapid thump of 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’d never liked 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’t stop weeping. 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.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***