Girl of Flower and Flame

Chapter One

On the first of April, the fog cleared on the moors and the flowers reawakened after a harrowing winter.

Despite Madam's warning against magic, the lure of the pansies, the trilliums, and aconites were too sweet to resist. The tingle started from the base of Eulalia's feet, sweeping up the length of her, to the tips of her slender, brown fingers.

With a brush of her fingertips along their petals, the flowers would unfurl, like a stretching pangolin after a nap, and shiver beneath her touch. It had become harder to resist the lure of her true nature with each passing spring. Though Madam would surely have her head if she found out she'd been using her magic.

It was a just rule if any, but in her seventeen years, Eulalia Sparrow had never seen a bird afraid to use its wings.

Birds were meant to fly and fly she would.

Besides, she was always surefooted and careful as was Rowan.

"Up to your old tricks again, Eulalia?" said Rowan.

Eulalia, too, trembled as he slipped his roughened hands beneath her own. With both of them working together, the trillium grew to twice its size, its petals whitening, and its center a hale and hearty pink.

She giggled.

"That's it," said Rowan, his warm breath tickling her ear. He always knew where to find her, though she was deep in the woods. Maybe it was always that way with kindred hearts. Eulalia gazed up at him, his thick, dark brows pulled low, brown eyes squinting in concentration, then finally his mouth, as full and as sweet as a ripened berry. Born in the spring, just like her, his brown skin always smelled like the dampened earth.

"Where's my morning kiss?" she purred, leaning into him.

He didn't look away from the flower, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Eulalia waited, pouting, knowing he teased her for her impatience. In Rowan's presence, she'd forgotten the trillium, her skin alight where his hand caressed hers; even still, after all the years they'd been together.

His gaze cut away from the flower to her, his smile deepening. "Even the strongest seed needs time to bloom, Eulalia," he said, his voice deep and velvety, stirring her insides to pulp.

"The seed has nothing to fear if the root is strong." She went up onto her toes and nipped his bottom lip, her arms slipping around his waist.

Rowan groaned against her mouth. "Now who's teasing who?"

Eulalia smiled. There was no one around to hear them. They very well could kiss all they wanted, but with the spring came the heat and with the heat came the delirium, the frenzied yearning. They had to be careful around each other, which was easier said than done. She took her hand away, trembling like one of her flowers after she'd finished with it. Behind them, someone cleared their throat.

Eulalia and Rowan sprung apart, ruddy cheeked and chests still heaving.

Tut's gaze was disapproving, but he always looked a bit distasted, his puckered lips bunched to one side of his face, as if caught mid-whistle, or like he'd had sour fruit. He had a shovel slung over one shoulder, and still Eulalia couldn't bear the sight of the tangled, dark hair that stuck out beneath his shirt. She focused on his eyes instead, mesmerizing, stunning blue, unusual. But mostly all of Tut was properly disheveled. That hadn't changed with the years, neither had his dislike for Eulalia and the other children of Hampstead House.

"Madam sent me to find you," he said, and turned on his flat heel with a limp now—which had come with the years.

"What for?" Eulalia hurried behind him, with Rowan on her heels.