Barron spreads his wings, and with the letter clutched in his beak, he soars from the room. Once he’s gone, the headmistress closes the door with another brush of magic.
“So, Miss Wilder.” She leans back in her chair and removes the spectacles from the bridge of her nose. “Care to tell me why you’re here?”
“Not particularly,” I whisper, choosing to stare at one of Barron’s feathers sitting atop her desk rather than looking into her sharp blue eyes.
She lets out a small but unsurprised sigh. “I suggest you tell your side of the story before whichever professor sent you here arrives to tell me themselves.” With an arch of her brow, she lifts her teacup and takes a delicate sip.
I picture Professor Fleur’s teary eyes, the anger twisting her face when she saw that I’d decimated her precious midnight lotus flowers. She’s going to have a whole lot to say when she gets here after class.
And I realize the headmistress has a point.
“I was in my Exotic Flora class . . .”
Headmistress Moonhart tips her head.
“And it was hot as hell—”
“Language, Miss Wilder.”
“And the weeds wererefusingto budge, and I accidentally uprooted an entire flower, and then...”
The heat curling through me. The flames. The smoke rising from the exotic little flowers as they succumbed to the fire.
“And then I accidentally... set fire to a flower. Well, an entirebedof midnight lotus flowers.”
Headmistress Moonhart’s eyes go wide, a furrow forming in her forehead. Then she shakes her head and lets out a breath. “Tala loves those flowers,” she says softly, but I’m not sure she intends for me to respond.
“I didn’t mean to, I swear. It just...happened.”
Like all my accidents. Like setting fire to the bed curtains last year. Like almost burning the library down. Like themany instances of setting my books aflame only to hurriedly smother the flames and hope no one smells the smoke.
The headmistress sets her teacup down. “This isn’t the first accident you’ve had this year.” Her fingertips find her temple. “Goddess only knows how lucky we are that the library didn’t go up in flames.”
Why’d she have to go and bring that up? As if I’m not already thinking of the last time I was in here, the sharp scolding I received, the earful I got about all the irreplaceable ancient tomes and how priceless they are.
“At least flowers can be regrown,” I grumble, still striving not to meet the headmistress’s eyes.
“Yes, they can. But that’s not the point. Thepoint, Miss Wilder.. .”
She pauses until I finally meet her gaze.
“Is that your fire is erratic, not under your control. It’s a danger to you and all the other students.” Her eyes soften as she regards me. “And you recall what we discussed last time you were here?”
Again, how could I forget?
“Yes,” I grumble. “Expulsion.”
The word tastes rancid on my tongue. Papa would be so disappointed in me. I worked so hard to get here, and I’ll never forget the day my acceptance letter arrived, the tears of joy and pride in my father’s eyes, the little bit of wood dust caught in his beard from whatever project he’d been working on that day.
I can’t get expelled, no matter what.
“Then you know it’s imperative you get your magic under control,” Headmistress Moonhart continues.
“I’m trying. I promise I’m trying.” My fingers twine tighter in my lap. “But... it’s not working.”
I’ve tried meditating with Maeve in the mornings, have tried breathing exercises and visualization and cold baths and everything else that’s been suggested to me. It still doesn’t work. I’m too quick to temper, and my flames are even quicker. They have a mind of their own and enjoy listening to authority about as much as I do—which is to say, not at all.
The headmistress hums thoughtfully. She stands from her desk, and her long plum gown looks soft and silky as butter as she walks to the window and looks out at the autumn landscape. The sunlight turns her blue eyes an even paler shade.
