“No, I just don’t like to share things that aremine.”
I shove at him playfully, sitting up to assess the damage to the glasshouse.
“You really did a number on this place, Hawthorne.” He grabs my clothes from the side, setting them in front of me as he stands and pulls his pants on. He reaches past me and lifts an overturned pot, setting it back on the bench as if the glasshouse wasn’t just my personal smash room hours before. Rowan clears his throat, looking over at me.
“You should rest, Elodie.” Reality comes crashing down in an instant, the warm air of the glasshouse once again suffocating.
“I can’t, Rowan,” I say to him. “I need to keep trying, I’ve got one more attempt. I plan to try out a few different things. You don’t need to stay. You need rest too.”
“Nice try, but I don’t think so, Hawthorne.” He pulls on his cloak, heading for the door. “I’ll be back shortly with coffee and food. The kitchen should be open about now.” He doesn’t wait for my protest, just slips out into the grey, early morning light, leaving me alone with the massive task of cleaning up my mess. The glasshouse feels unnervingly quiet without the low vibration of his voice. My gaze catches on the pile of cloaks on the floor.
My fingers trace the line of my collarbone.
Feeling the phantom pressure of his lips where he had placed desperate kisses along the sharp bone. My skin still feels electrified, sensitive still under my clothes.
Rowan had done what he said he would.
He ruined me for anyone else.
He had claimed every inch of me, and I’m not sure it’s something I could ever forget.
My legs still feel slightly unsteady, my body aching with pure ecstasy. Sweeping away the last broken pot, I hear the faint sound of footsteps behind me. I blush at the mere sight of him, as he gives me a knowing grin. Setting the food down onto the workbench, the smell of fresh pastries and fruit warming me like a physical hug. For a second, he says nothing and just watches me, as if checking for any fragility he’d seen earlier. He hands me a mug of coffee as I reach to grab it instantly. He leans down, pressing a slow, firm kiss to the centre of my forehead.
“Eat,” he says, sitting himself down at the bench and tucking into the array of breakfast foods.
“So…” He turns to me, still chewing his food. “I was thinking, you said this Sam guy taught you a lot about plants and that sort of stuff?”
“He did, why do you ask?”
“Well, what would he tell you to do if he were here?” I think on it for a while before smiling,
“I think he would probably tell me to stop being so distracted by the High Warden and focus on the task at hand.” Rowan quirks a brow in amusement,
“Well then, I would probably disagree with him,” with a wink, he states, “Sometimes, distractions prove necessary.” I roll my eyes in jest, turning back to my food.
“He always used to say the same thing over and over. I ignored him after a while. He would go on and on about these plants. I never really took the time to listen, to be honest.” I admit, what I’d give to have him here to help me.
“What was it he always said?” Rowan asks.
“The best plants always bloom after a tragedy. I never understood what he meant, really. Or why he always used to say it.” Taking a long sip of my coffee, I cradle the mug in my hands for warmth.
“I wonder if he would still agree with that here. I mean, what kind of tragedy could hit a plant in a world without fire?” The sentence hangs there for a while, neither of us answering. A world without fire.
Fire.
“Oh my God. Rowan.” I say, placing my mug down with a slam.
“It’s fire.”
He frowns. “What do you mean? We don’t have fire here, I told you that.”
“Exactly,” I say, rising from the chair and pacing once, then stopping, my thoughts snapping into place. “You have all the elements here except fire. Earth, wind, water, but no fire.”
“Look, I don’t pretend to be an expert in these sorts of things, but I don’t see how that helps the seed,” he says carefully
“The great fire,” I press. “When was it?”
“Centuries ago,” he replies. “Long before my time,”
