“Papa will help you find a seat,” I said. In the back of my mind, the whispering of my magic started up again, growing in intensity every time my gaze flitted to Xavier’s.
His eyes were so beautiful. I’d forgotten.
“Miss Lucas?”
His voice was warm and gentle as spring air, marred only by the coldness of his address. I’d always been Clara; in our earliest letters he’d even called me “my Clara.”
Xavier meekly pointed at my hair. “You’ve got some . . . some flowers.”
My hands flew to my frizzy, bright orange plait, where large pink camellias had indeed started to grow.
Almost every night, Papa used to read to me from an old book that had belonged to my mother—Waverly’s Botany Defined. The book had no story; it was just illustrations of plants with their names, their origins, how to grow them, and what they meant. After years of repetition, the cadence of the flowers’ meanings was etched into my mind.
Pink camellias, I could hear him say in his honey-bright voice. For lasting affection.
I let out the calmest laugh I could manage while I grasped for any excuse that could spare me some dignity. “Oh! Oh, yes, I grew them on purpose. I thought they’d look nice.”
Xavier pressed his lips together and dropped his gaze to the floor. “They do, Miss Lucas. Look nice. The flowers. I—”
“Master Morwyn?”
Xavier leapt at the title, one I’d only ever heard his father be called. It was odd, I thought, that his parents hadn’t come with him, when they too were members of the district.
Across the little room, Master O’Brian frowned at us. “Do you two know each other?”
Xavier frantically shook his head. The wound in my heart ached and deepened. “Yes, we were, erm, friends, when we were younger, sir, but we haven’t spoken in a great many years. It shan’t be an issue, I assure you.”
I wished to shout that it was Xavier’s fault we hadn’t spoken in so long and that it certainly was an issue, but the magic burning under my skin and the muttering Councilmembers reminded me of more pressing matters.
Xavier tipped his head to me once more in a little bow and ducked into the sitting room. Before the Council could see me, I ripped the camellias out of my hair and dropped them to the floor.
Papa was quick to greet Xavier with a cry of delight and a pat on the back so firm it made the young wizard flinch. They argued for a moment about whether Papa could give his seat to Xavier, and then if they should offer it to me instead, but ultimately, Xavier leaned against the far wall, as though he was as much an outsider in this group of great magicians as I was.
I offered tea to every Councilmember. Each shook their head, except for Xavier, who accepted a large, misshapen mug with a meek “Thank you.”
“Your hospitality is much appreciated, Miss Lucas,” said Master O’Brian as I set the tray on the table once more. “Though, I think it would be better for all of us if we were to begin with our business.”
“Have you decided to certify Clara?” Papa asked brightly.
Heat flared in my cheeks, and for a moment, I regretted asking him to sit in on such a serious meeting.
“No, sir,” said Madam Albright. “In fact, the Council is greatly concerned that Miss Lucas is unable to be certified altogether.”
A chill sliced through me. “Madam—Madam Ben Ammar seemed to disagree,” I said. My favorite teacher had been forced to give me up, but at least she hadn’t marked me a failure—she wrote to me even after we parted and expressed her confidence in me. “W-where is she? I’d imagine she’d want to attend such an important meeting—”
“Madam Ben Ammar is currently leading an investigation in the name of public safety.” Master O’Brian held up a hand. “She has made her opinion known to the council in the meantime. But the fact remains, Miss Lucas, that we’ve never seen a magician like you before. A witch whose magic doesn’t obey her.”
“It obeys me sometimes,” I offered, wringing the fabric of my pale blue skirts in my fists. “I’ve made a few potions. For colds, and sore throats, and for arthritis—”
“Your temper set my kitchen on fire,” said Madam Albright.
My cheeks warmed. “That was years ago.”
Master O’Brian sighed. “We have a rather extensive record of your magic’s . . . eccentricities. It’s clear this is a persistent problem.”
Every gaze in the room was upon me, pointed and scalding as hot pokers. Worse still was that when I looked to Xavier, the boy who should have encouraged me, there was pity in his eyes.
“We’ve decided to present you with some options,” continued Master O’Brian.
A dark silence passed over the sunlit room.
“Options . . . for teachers, you mean?” Papa asked.
Master O’Brian was quiet.
The cold in me spread.
You’re going to get what you deserve, whispered my magic. You’re no better than your mother.
“Please, sir, go on,” I said, overly loud in an effort to drown out my magic and push aside any inkling of her.
Master O’Brian glanced at his fellows before saying, “The first option is a binding enchantment—”
“No.”
I lifted my head, gaping at Xavier’s interruption.
“It would only lessen her magic,” Master O’Brian told him.
“Yes, but not without cost,” Xavier insisted. His gaze met mine, his brown eyes wide with desperation. My heart skipped, and I hated it for doing so. “It would make spellcasting very painful.” He looked to Master O’Brian imploringly. “Please, Your Greatness; it’s reserved for criminals. Miss Lucas has done nothing to deserve such a spell.”
I imagined my magic being smaller, obedient, contained; and me, overcome with pain if I were to brew even a little potion. I couldn’t do much healing that way—and the thought of the Council placing a spell like that on me, one meant for criminals, made my stomach turn.
“And . . . what was the other option, Your Greatness?” I asked.
A silver-haired wizard was the one to answer. “We could neutralize your magic.”
At the back of the room, Xavier had grown very pale, like he might be ill.
My heart knocked against my breast. “Neutralize?” I repeated.
Master O’Brian nodded. “Remove, Miss Lucas.”
Remove. I pressed a hand against the magic buzzing within my ribcage, imagining them ripping it out of me, tearing out my very heart.
“You—you can’t,” I breathed.
“It may be for the best,” said Master O’Brian.
Madam Albright nodded furiously. “We fear your magic could harm someone. And then there’s the matter of your mother. If she were to try to use your power for her own ends . . .”
“Her mother left before Clara could even remember her!” Papa insisted.
Mother. That word. Bright and destructive as lightning. My magic coiled tight, and there was a loud pop. The pale pink teapot exploded, scattering bits of porcelain and nearly, nearly splashing Madam Albright with hot tea. With a scream, she staggered out of her chair, glaring at the spill and then at me.
I rushed to the table, mopping up the tea with my apron. “Forgive me,” I said, “I didn’t ask it to—”