Flowerheart

by Catherine Bakewell

Genres: YA Wizards & Witches; YA Romance

Synopsis

“Flowerheart is like a garden in full bloom: vibrant and sweet, whimsical and wondrous.” —Allison Saft, New York Times bestselling author of A Far Wilder Magic

Perfect for fans of Margaret Rogerson and Tamora Pierce, this standalone YA debut is a stunning cottagecore fantasy romance about a girl with powerful and violent magic which she must learn to control—or lose everything she loves. 

Clara’s magic has always been wild. But it’s never been dangerous. Then a simple touch causes poisonous flowers to bloom in her father’s chest.

The only way to heal him is to cast an extremely difficult spell that requires perfect control. And the only person willing to help is her former best friend, Xavier, who’s grown from a sweet, shy child into someone distant and mysterious. 

Xavier asks a terrible price in return, knowing Clara will give anything to save her father. As she struggles to reconcile the new Xavier with the boy she once loved, she discovers how many secrets he’s hiding. And as she hunts for the truth, she instead finds the root of a terrible darkness that’s taken hold in the queendom—a darkness only Clara’s magic is powerful enough to stop. 

Release date: March 14, 2023

Publisher: HarperCollins

Print pages: 352

Sample

1

 

Gladioli for courage. White carnations for luck. Hellebores for peace.

Though I’d filled the sitting room with flowers and wrapped myself in their sweet perfume, I could not forget the Council’s warning.

Miss Clara Danielle Lucas, representatives of the Most Esteemed Council of Magicians will pay you a visit today at ten o’clock.

My heart beat in rhythm with the clock, ticking ever closer to the hour.

I threw the windows open wide and let in the delicious summer air. The magic within me hummed delightedly as I stood in a sunbeam. And then, after a moment of calm, it whispered, The Council has no use for a witch like you.

My hands clenched in the fabric of my sky-blue dress. I hated the taunts of my magic, but this time, I feared it was right. I could not help but think of other witches my age, picking out white gowns and trying on elbow-length gloves for the induction ceremony and the ball. Finally beginning the careers to which they’d devoted their lives.

And I thought of Xavier Morwyn. My dearest friend from my childhood had been certified a year ahead of schedule. He was running a shop alongside his parents. He helped people; he made miracles. He’d become all that the two of us had dreamed we could be.

I wondered if he ever thought of me. Or if he knew what a disappointment I had become.

The kitchen door creaked open, and Papa pushed his way through, holding tight to a tray of three teapots and an assortment of mismatched cups. His blue eyes glimmered with hope—a fire within him that never seemed to go out, no matter how many times I’d failed.

“Don’t you fret,” he said. He set the tray on our low, weathered table and navigated through a maze of chairs—every one that we owned, since we didn’t know how many Councilmembers to expect—until he reached me, clapping his hands against the puffs of fabric at my shoulders.

“You’re the most talented young witch I know,” he continued. “I’m certain they’ll recognize that.”

On most days, his confidence in me was sweet and refreshing—but today, it was as cloying as a bowl’s worth of sugar in my tea.

“The Council isn’t known to make house calls for good news, Papa,” I murmured. Magic pulled my muscles tight and quickened my heart and whispered relentlessly, Failure, failure, failure.

It drew out my memories, lit a spark to fuel the burning shame in my chest. The time I’d set Madam Carvalho’s curtains

 on fire. The fit of laughter that had caused lilies of the valley to grow up through Master Pierre’s floorboards. My magic had taken the power of my own anxiety and twisted it until it broke all of Madam Ben Ammar’s potion bottles.

Behind Papa, something rattled and clinked, like a strange musical instrument. One of the teapots had begun to wobble to and fro, threatening to spill its contents. I glowered and marched over to set my hand hard against the pale pink lid. Sometimes my magic frightened me—other times, it simply annoyed me.

Please, I begged it, please behave yourself.

There was a soft knock on our front door.

My plait whipped against my throat as I whirled back towards Papa, wide-eyed. “Will you stay here for the meeting?”

His freckled brow furrowed. “But dear, I’m not magical—”

“Please.” The word was small, like I was just a child.

He nodded, stepping towards me to squeeze my hand.

As I faced the door, my magic dug its claws into my heart. With all my might, I concentrated on being brave. An ounce of fear would be all my magic needed to wreak havoc on our little cottage, right in front of the Council. Buckle the buttercup-yellow door. Send clouds of pollen from the flowers into the air. Shatter our windows.

I could not let that happen.

With a deep breath, I reached for the doorknob—but the door was already creaking open.

Where my front lawn ought to have been was a dimly lit chamber with marble floors and ceilings. A foot away from me stood a witch all dressed in black, as was traditional, with the golden sun pin that marked her as a Councilmember. Her cold blue eyes made my shoulders tense. I remembered that stare so well—and the lectures that always followed.

“Miss Lucas,” said Madam Albright, my very first teacher.

I grimaced and bowed my head to her. “It’s good to see you again, Your Greatness.”

She sniffed and wiped the front of her black silk gown like I’d sullied it somehow. Papa hurriedly offered her our “best”—only—armchair.

Next, a wizard stepped through the doorway, sweeping a silk top hat off his head.

“Miss Lucas,” said the wizard, “I’m Master O’Brian.”

I curtsied. Magic hammered against my breastbone. “Welcome, Your Greatness.”

I let him step through, and at once, Papa set about shaking the wizard’s hand and finding him a seat.

Another wizard filed into the room, and then a witch, and then another, until there

were eight of them, dressed in their austere black gowns and suits. As I bent in curtsy after curtsy and welcomed each magician, Papa scurried into the kitchen to find a stool.

I looked back at the group of magicians—a small murder of crows, the lot of them—and my mind stirred. What sort of judgment have they come to bring me?

All I could do was hold tight to the doorknob and to old lessons on how to calm my magic. Focus on your breath, my teachers had said.

I inhaled deeply and drew the door closed—

A shiny black shoe stuck itself into the crack of the door.

“Sorry,” came the voice of a young man—a voice I knew.

With a frown, I pulled back the front door.

My thoughts scattered about like leaves in the wind.

Xavier Morwyn.

As a child, I had always found him comely, but now, to my great chagrin, I found that he had grown to be very handsome. He was taller than before; we used to look one another in the eye, challenging each other to stare the longest without blinking. Now his hat nearly brushed the lintel. His once neatly trimmed hair now hung past the stiff white collar of his shirt. He was paler than I remembered, too, and there were dark circles around his brown eyes, like he hadn’t slept in many, many nights.

He slowly removed the top hat from his dark hair, pressing it to his heart.

“Hello,” he said softly.

If we had been children, we would have embraced each other, laughing and chattering away and picking up right where we’d left off.

Perhaps we still might have done so now if he had ever bothered to write me back. If he hadn’t ignored me for five long years.

And now, of all days to visit, he’d chosen this one.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

A blush painted his pale cheeks and spread to his ears. “Oh, er, they called a meeting of all the Councilmembers in the district.” He pointed to the golden sun pinned to his black cravat.

Envy pricked my heart. We were nearly the same age. There was nothing truly different between us; I should have been practicing magic. Instead, he was here with his peers to bear witness to my failures.

I offered him a stiff curtsy. “Welcome, Your Greatness.”

He winced and opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to think better of it. Instead, he bowed and stepped over the stoop, hanging up his hat with the others. I shut the door behind him and, turning back, found that he was still standing in the entryway.

“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—”

“This is precisely the sort of behavior we fear!” snapped Madam Albright. She frowned at Master O’Brian. “She’s nearly of age, for heavens’ sake, and she has no control!”

“A broken teapot is not the same as poisons and illicit potions,” said Papa.

My hands trembled as I delicately placed the ceramic shards back onto the wooden tray. Hatred boiled within me. Mother. A ring. Some books. A lifetime of rumors. A box on our stoop the day I’d turned sixteen—a box that I’d thrown away as soon as I’d found it.

The wretched magic she’d passed down to me.

Focus on your breath. The recitation in my head was beginning to sound more like a plea.

“Althea,” said Master O’Brian in a calm voice, “we cannot compare young Miss Lucas to a criminal, not even her own mother.” He held out a steadying hand towards Papa. “We don’t suggest these solutions to punish Clara. We fear her magic could hurt someone. Or worse.”

I’d never let that happen. Perhaps I was weak for being unable to control this magic of mine, but I would never allow it to cause true harm to someone.

“There must be another way,” I said. “I—I’ll find a way to train it.” I took a shuddering, steadying breath. “Please give me some more time. If—if everything had gone right, I would be preparing to become a witch on Midsummer. Maybe something can change before then.”

Xavier only watched me. I wanted to beg him to speak, to help me, to tell me if he’d thought of me at all these past five years.

The witches and wizards around me exchanged glances. Some murmured to each other in tones too low for me to hear. They thought me wicked, uncontrollable. No better than the mother I never knew.

The Council needed to know that I wasn’t like her.

“Being a healer is all I’ve ever wanted,” I told them. “When I was little, I saw the Morwyns save a man’s life.” I remembered it so clearly, how we’d hidden behind the sofa in the sitting room and watched as his parents performed a miracle. The man, barely able to breathe; his lips, turning blue; his wife, weeping. Xavier had held my hand so tight.

“Madam and Master Morwyn used their magic together,” I recalled. “With their potions, with their enchantments, they saved him from the brink of death. The joy that filled that room after . . . I knew I wanted to do something that important. That powerful. All I want is to help people.”

I shut my eyes, drowning out the world, the Council, the thought that my magic would retaliate if I took one wrong breath.

The silence in the room was grim.

“I’m sorry, Miss Lucas,” said Master O’Brian. “We need your decision.”

Bile rose in my throat. It was a choice between two poisons. Between a life with no magic at all, and a life where this wild gift of mine would hurt me with every spell I cast.

I thought of my mother, who’d defied the Council, who’d fled from them, who’d carved a reckless path for herself. I was not like her. I intended to help people. To heal them.

No matter the cost.

With a shaky breath, I nodded. “The binding spell,” I said.

Papa grabbed my arm. “Clara, no!”

“I am entirely opposed to this,” Xavier shouted over the murmurs of the Council.

“You’d see me powerless, then, Master Morwyn?” I shot him a glare and squeezed my hands to keep my scalding magic at bay. “If it’s pain or a life without magic, I choose pain.”

“It’s not your decision to make, Morwyn,” said the silver-haired wizard. He jerked his head towards me. “She thinks she can endure it.”

Doubt bloomed within me the more they spoke of the binding spell.

Xavier stepped forwards again, setting aside the mug of tea and pressing his hand to his heart as he faced Master O’Brian. “Sir, surely there’s another option—”

“I would be slow to speak, Master Morwyn. You’ve been rather cavalier in your contributions to the Council thus far,” said Madam Albright snippily. Xavier flinched.

Master O’Brian clapped a hand on Xavier’s shoulder, as if he were the one receiving bad news. “We will respect Miss Lucas’s decision.” Turning back to me, he smiled. “So you truly wish to be a healer, no matter the consequences. I think that’s very brave, young lady.”

I gave him a perfunctory curtsy. Within me, my magic was screaming.

“How soon will the binding spell be performed?” Papa asked.

“It’s quite powerful. I’ll need more Councilmembers. But we should be ready by tomorrow evening.”

My heart lurched. “Tomorrow?”

“Yes.” Master O’Brian fetched his hat from the coatrack and placed it back on his head. “In the meantime, I’ll do my best to find you a teacher who can complete your training once your magic has been bound.”

I imagined it stewing within me, angry and biting and loathing me for having diminished it. Every pain a spell would cause me would be its own act of vengeance. I prayed it would be worth it.

If I’d had my wits about me, I would have thanked Master O’Brian for putting more effort still into trying to find me a teacher. I’d have wished him farewell and curtsied. But I stood there, numb.

Master O’Brian led the queue of wizards back to the front door. He drew it open, and once more, the marble Council chambers lay beyond. The witches and wizards filed out, some deigning to wish us farewell.

And after the rest of the magicians had left, Xavier lingered in the entryway, worrying the brim of his hat with his pale fingers. He was looking at me. Being near to him felt like it had when I’d visited my old schoolhouse yesterday. There was a fondness, yes, but grief, too, and the imposing sense that I no longer belonged there.

“I’m sorry about all of this,” Xavier said, his voice so very gentle. He cast a glance back to the doorway leading to the Council chambers. “I—I must go. But I would like to see you again, Miss Lucas. Under some better circumstances.”

“Come along, Master Morwyn!” called Madam Albright.

Xavier jumped at the sound of his title, and then reached out a hand for mine. I cautiously gave it to him, anger and confusion and sorrow and delight warring within me.

He gave my hand the faintest kiss. He had done that as a boy, copying the prim etiquette of his wizard father.

“Goodbye, Clara,” he said, and before I could register it, before I could ask him why he opposed the Council’s spell, why he’d stopped writing me—why he was acting as though he never cared for me at all—he slipped through the entryway, shutting the door behind him.

2

When I threw the door open again, the Council chamber was gone. There was only the colorful garden that Papa tended and the oak tree I’d climbed as a child. It was as if the Council, their meeting—Xavier—had been nothing but a dream.

But it was no dream, and soon my magic would be tightly, painfully bound.

I ran outside, sheltering myself beneath the oak’s branches. I squeezed my eyes shut, held my palms out to the sunlight, and breathed in the perfume of summer: flowers and dew and earth.

Some people believed that magic came from the sun, spilling into the ground and bringing life. It was why our magic wove together so beautifully with nature. When I was like this, basking in a summer morning, it felt like I was back where I belonged.

Perhaps if I tried hard enough, I’d come up with some sort of plan to convince the Council to keep my magic intact for one more week, one more day, one more moment. . . .

Far away, softer than an echo, sounded the faintest clap of thunder...