Bring Forth a Fire (Book 1)

Nine - Tongues of Flame

         
I was considerably quieter at breakfast the next morning, and Grandmother, with her keen powers of observation, noticed right away.

"Emma, are you feeling quite right? You seem very...subdued." Her tone was slightly different. She seemed almost concerned, if I wasn't mistaken.

"I'm all right, Grandmother. I have quite a few things on my mind, is all." That was certainly true. The Order, my father's journal, the Naturals, Benedict Huntley, and the list went on and on.

"Would some fresh air help? I have been meaning to take a trip down to the flower market anyway."

"The flower market?" I echoed, knowing I must have sounded quite distracted. "What for?"

"It is always so stuffy in here after winter." Grandmother fanned her face delicately. "And some flowers would certainly brighten up the rooms, do you not agree?"

I nodded, but said nothing. My mind was still racing with everything that I'd read, and I was unable to get Benedict Huntley's expression of thinly veiled triumph out of my head. He knew something we didn't, I was sure of it. And perhaps the most disconcerting part of that was the power it gave him.

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The market was a heady rush of colours and smells that I was unused to after the stuffy interior of my grandmother's house. I trailed after her for only a short time before finding myself hopelessly separated from her, and just when I believed I would wander forever in this maze of flowers, my eyes caught a familiar head of blond hair along the next row.

"Sebastian?" I stood on my tiptoes to peek over the top.

He spun round on his heel so quickly he almost toppled over, eyes wide in momentary surprise until they met mine. "Emma! Fancy seeing you here. I was almost thinking we'd have to meet secretly in the woods again."

"The same to you," I said, now relieved that I was not completely alone. "What brings you here? Surely you aren't here alone."

"No, I'm not. It's my mother," he sighed. "She was quite specific about the things she wanted...certain bulbs that I've forgotten the names of now."

"And where is this mother of yours?" I gave my surroundings a quick scan, met at every turn by a profusion of flowers. I was thankful in that moment that I did not have a pollen allergy.

"Don't have the foggiest idea," he said with a sigh. "She could spend hours here, in a perfect world. I might have separated myself from her on purpose to give myself some time to think."

"That seems a very common tactic today," I said, thinking of Grandmother. Had she noticed I was missing yet? "That reminds me...I've discovered something you need to see."

"Certainly." His brow furrowed. "Is it about you?"

I shook my head. "No, I...I couldn't risk bringing it along. It has to do with my father."

"Your father? What about him?" He seemed concerned, and I wondered what could have been going through his mind at that moment.

"I found some of his old journal entries, from his Order days. Remember what Huntley said about my father's suicide? I went out to the old manor my father and I used to live in...and I came across this portfolio that he used to carry with him all the time. I think it may help us wring out the truth."