Iris released a shaky breath, her knees threatening to buckle as the strain of such prolonged, precise magic took its toll. She glanced across the gathering and found Lady Rivenna watching her, the older woman’s customary reserve softened by unmistakable pride. Rivenna inclined her head in a small, deliberate nod that conveyed more approval than any effusive praise might have.
“That was magnificent,” Rosavyn said, reaching Iris’s side and taking her hand. “Truly extraordinary. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Indeed,” Charlotte said, hurrying over to join them, her smile wide. “Four different scenes simultaneously? I thought you said you would only be attempting two!”
“Thank you,” Iris replied, her cheeks warm with pleasure and exertion, her heart slowly returning to its usual rhythm.
As the tea service began, Iris sank gratefully into her chair at the table shared by the Rowanwoods and Starspuns, allowing the easy chatter of Lady Rivenna’s grandchildren to flow around her. The tension that had preceded her display had dissipated, replaced by animated discussions. She noticed with satisfaction that the invisible boundaries between tables had begun to dissolve, with several of the younger fae naturally striking up conversations with the younger human guests.
Iris smiled to herself, exhausted but deeply content. Her magic had been well-received, her guests were mingling across social boundaries, and Lady Rivenna’s approval meant more than she cared to admit. If only …
She pushed the thought away firmly. Today was a triumph, regardless of who was or wasn’t present to witness it. She would not allow Jasvian’s absence to diminish what she had accomplished. Instead, she would savor her success, holding it close like a cherished memento of what she had built for herself in this world that was slowly beginning to make space for her.
Chapter Forty-One
The morning aircarried a particular sweetness that seemed reserved exclusively for the earliest hours, when dew still clung to grass blades and the world had not yet fully awakened. Iris, sitting on the cushioned window seat of her alcove, inhaled deeply. The leaves of the cascading vines stirred around her with a soft rustle, accompanied by the soft chirping of birds greeting the day. From the kitchen, she could hear the playful giggles of kitchen pixies preparing for the morning’s tasks, the sound carrying through the open door across the main floor of The Charmed Leaf.
Despite her exhaustion from the previous day’s event, Iris had risen early as usual, unable to break the habit even when a well-deserved morning of rest beckoned. This quiet time had become precious to her—a moment of stillness before the tea house hummed with patrons and conversation. She cradled her cup of ‘Autumn & Pine’ between her palms, inhaling its fresh, spiced aroma and feeling the steadying magic flow through her.
With the Bloom Season drawing to a close, she found herself looking forward to quieter days at The Charmed Leaf. Lady Rivenna kept the tea house open year-round, though with fewer patrons during the autumn and winter months whenmost of the elite retreated to their country estates. The prospect of uninterrupted study and deeper learning beneath Lady Rivenna’s exacting guidance filled Iris with quiet anticipation.
Her thoughts drifted to the conversation with her grandparents the previous evening. After returning from her triumphant tea house event, they had requested her presence in the drawing room to discuss the imminent sale of Starspun House. According to their solicitor, the sale of both the Bloomhaven residence and the country estate would suffice to satisfy her father’s creditors and secure a modest home on the outskirts of town. With her parents settled in their distant residence on the isle Iris had grown up on, the new dwelling at the edge of Bloomhaven would house only Iris, her grandparents, and a single servant—a significant adjustment from the spacious elegance of Starspun House.
“It will be small, of course,” her grandmother had said, her voice admirably steady despite the sheen of tears she had repeatedly blinked away. “But it shall be adequate for our needs.”
Though her grandmother had spoken without dramatics, Iris had recognized the true weight of what remained unspoken. This would mark their definitive fall from society’s graces—the final, irrevocable step in the Starspuns’ decline. That it would occur at the season’s end rather than its beginning offered small comfort, a chance to retreat with minimal fanfare.
What her grandmother had carefully avoided mentioning was their uncertain future beyond securing a modest dwelling. Even a small home required maintenance, and with only a fixed, modest income from an old family trust untouchable by creditors, their situation remained precarious at best.
Iris’s gaze shifted to the letter resting on the table beside her notebook—Lady Rivenna’s looping script informing her of a substantial increase to her stipend, ‘in recognition of yourexceptional progress and the undeniable success of yesterday’s gathering.’ The timing suggested Lady Rivenna had anticipated precisely such concerns, and Iris felt a surge of gratitude for the perceptive tea house matriarch. Perhaps this increase would prove sufficient to maintain her grandparents in some semblance of comfort, preserving the last vestiges of their dignity.
Iris sipped her tea and reached for her quill, jotting down several notes about potential new blends—perhaps a ‘Summer’s Farewell’ with dried sunbloom petals and crystallized honey to capture the season’s fading warmth, or a more whimsical ‘Gossip Repellent’ with bitter foxroot and sweetmint that might prove popular among certain patrons seeking respite from Bloomhaven’s relentless social commentary.
Her hand stilled as she contemplated the weeks ahead. A familiar sadness brushed against the edges of her contentment. Thoughts of Jasvian were never far from her mind, despite her best efforts. Yet even this lingering melancholy could not diminish her quiet satisfaction. She had found her place here at The Charmed Leaf. The prospect of sharing cramped quarters with her grandparents in their modest new home did not trouble her, not when she had this sanctuary where she truly belonged.
A flicker of movement on the page before her caught her attention. Words were materializing—no doubt some opinionated comment from her notebook regarding her tea blend ideas. Except the handwriting …
I see you remain an unconscionably early riser, Lady Iris. Some habits, it seems, prove resistant to sensible reformation.
Iris sat up so abruptly that her tea sloshed dangerously close to the rim of her cup. This was Jasvian’s handwriting. Her pulse hammered wildly as heat rushed to her face. If he was sending enchanted messages, he must be nearby.
She hastily placed her teacup on the table as her gaze lifted toward the ceiling and the study above it where Jasvian had always sat when sending her these notes before. But that was impossible. She would have noticed him entering the tea house. Unless he had somehow arrived even earlier than she had?
Returning her gaze to the notebook, she discovered that it had added its own comment beneath Jasvian’s familiar script:
Lord Brooding returns at last! Oh, this shall be entertaining indeed. I do hope you shall inform me later of all that transpires between the two of you.
Iris ignored the comment. With trembling fingers, she retrieved several scraps of paper from the back of her notebook and hastily wrote:
And you remain an unconscionably astute observer, Lord Jasvian. Is spying on unsuspecting tea apprentices your new favorite pastime?
Her magic responded instantly, the paper folding itself into a delicate envelope that darted through the window. She leaned sideways and watched its path, attempting to discern its destination, but it vanished from sight too quickly.
She turned back to the notebook, rubbing one hand anxiously up and down the side of her neck as she awaited Jasvian’s?—
Hardly spying when the subject in question places herself in full view of any passerby with functioning vision. I merely happened to notice.
Quickly, she leaned toward the window again, peering intently in every direction. But he was nowhere in sight. She rose from her seat, clutching the notebook in one hand and her quill in the other, and began to move through the tea house, scanning for any sign of him. On another fresh scrap of paper, she scribbled:
