“Your feelings?” She braced her forearms on the table, looking me up and down as if I were a puzzle she wanted to piece together.
“Yes, my feelings,” I said, exasperated.
“The rosemary bush,” she said, shoveling in another spoonful of stew.
“What about it?” I asked, swirling the last dregs of Remi’s masterpiece in the wooden bowl.
“You were upset last night, and your garden suffered for it,” she said plainly. My heart pinched at the nonchalant way she summarized so easily the thing I hated the most about myself.
I stayed silent, appetite completely squashed.
“Yes, I suppose so,” I said somberly, and Hesper looked earnestly concerned for me. I went on. “When my heart is whole, the magic is at its best. I have to tug at it, and sometimes, I don’t know—”
“It’s all right, Clara.” Hesper reached for my hand and gave it a gentle pat. “It isn’t entirely uncommon for some magics to have a backlash.” I looked down at where her hand rested on mine; she gently pulled away.
“As I was saying…” I pulled the flowerpot close to me once more, diverging away from whateverthatwas. “The magic, for whatever reason, is tied to my heart. If it—my heart—is whole, the magic works.” I refocused on the flower, pulling on the thread between the little life that was left inside the pot and me.
“If it is not whole, it’s like magic is emptied out of me.”And it will be gone soon, no matter the state of my heart.The already withered flower stem began to crack, the tiniest hairline fracture running through the poor thing.
Shite.
I had the ability to give life, yes. But I could bring death just as easily. Always a kernel of shame I carried with melike a brand. Even during my most triumphant harvests, I’d remind myself that if I didn’t keep my heart safe, I could cause more ruin than anything else. Moss gave me the good parts of magic; I fought the darker parts of myself. The ones that so easily came out of me like thorns on a rose.
Hesper watched it all. Whether she’d picked up on the infinitesimal crack that appeared on the stem, I didn’t know. If she did, she didn’t say anything. Her face remained casual, her posture relaxed.
I, on the other hand, unraveled.
Hesper wordlessly pushed my nestleberry latte closer to me. I gladly took a sip, letting the sweet liquid coat my senses. A little bit of caffeine and sugar could do wonders for my mood.
“Do you think you could make that flower grow right now?” she asked cheerily.
I looked at her in utter disdain. “What in the hells do you think I’ve been trying to do this entire Goddess-damned time? Butsomeonekept interrupting me.”
She laughed and shrugged her shoulders.
The truth was, I didn’t know if I could grow the flower right now. I had a better chance of crumbling it into dust. But Hesper sat in front of me, and I wanted to show her that I could dosomething. She’d just spent the morning watching me ruin a bush and grovel for folk to live in my cottage. I wanted to be useful.
So I closed my eyes, grasping onto the anger, the confusion flowing through me and pushing away the dark grief that lingered right next to it. I pictured the withered flower in mymind and then the magic, like small arrows shooting into it. Growing it with love would have been better, but anger could do for today.
I could grow nothing with listlessness, but anger was different. It invigorated, stoking the ever-burning flame I tried to keep tampered down within me. There was something to latch onto with anger, and while it wasn’t as potent as more positive emotions, it still had a kick. Sometimes, it was the only way I could reach for my magic and take hold.
I pushed everything I had into firing off those shards of life into the damn thing.
Slowly, achingly slowly, the magic gave just a little. A small pulse in my chest, like a drop in a pond. Barely anything, but it was enough. I knew it was enough. Not to grow my typical harvests, not enough to do anything with Gristle’s seeds, but it was enough to force life back into the minuscule flower in front of me.
I opened my eyes.
A flower. A living flower. A grape hyacinth, in fact. One of my very favorites with its bright purple buds and gentle scent. But this one went from deep purple to raging red right at the very edges, as if my anger colored the very essence of the flower.
I wanted to jump up and down in celebration.
Hesper looked on, her brows knit tightly together.
“Have you ever tried out your magic in other ways?” Her question popped my momentary joy, sending me plummeting down to the depths.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, throwing my hands up in the air. “Is this not enough? Do you want some greatshow of magic? Because you’re not going to get that from me. Ever. This is all I can give.”
“Clara, I’m saying what you did was remarkable,” she interrupted.
