Finally, with a subtle shimmer, a ribbon of fabric matching the deep blue of her gown and threaded with the same sparkling silver lifted itself from the hem of her skirt. It flowed through the air and wove itself around the gathered paper stems. With graceful precision, it spun and looped, pulling the flowers together before knotting itself into a large, elegant bow, completing the illusion of a perfect, formal bouquet.
The finished creation drifted gently toward the High Lady, stopping at a respectable distance. Silence fell over the ballroom. Iris held her breath, her heart pounding so loudly she was certain everyone must hear it. She managed an awkward curtsy, unsure of the proper protocol for offering her creation to the High Lady.
A court attendant stepped forward, carefully gathering the paper bouquet in his arms, and Iris realized with a flush of embarrassment that of course the High Lady would not accept a gift directly from her hands. Especially not from the hands of a half-breed.
The High Lady examined the paper creation with polite interest. “Most unusual,” she remarked without touching it, her voice carrying effortlessly through the silent ballroom. “We have not witnessed such a manifestation before.” She returned her gaze to Iris. “Welcome to society, Lady Iris Starspun. May your magic continue to grow throughout the Bloom Season.”
It was a standard greeting, Iris knew, offered to every debutant regardless of the impression they made. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had somehow fallen short. The High Lady’s tone had been perfectly proper, neither overly impressed nor dismissive, but lacking any genuine warmth or interest.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Iris replied, her voice mercifully steady as she executed another curtsy before backing away from the dais. The herald called the next name, and the crowd’s attention shifted to the young man who must have just stepped through the ballroom doors.
Released from scrutiny, Iris felt her composure begin to crumble. Her chest tightened, and each breath seemed insufficient. She needed air, needed to escape the crush of bodies and the weight of judgment. Frantically scanning the ballroom, she spotted an arched doorway leading to what appeared to be a side terrace or garden.
Without a backward glance, Iris made for the exit, weaving through the crowd with as much dignity as she could muster while fighting the urge to run.
Chapter Five
The night aircaressed Iris’s face like a balm, cooling her flushed cheeks as she stepped onto the terrace. She moved deeper into the shadows beside an enormous copper urn containing an enderwood plant, grateful for the relative solitude after the overwhelming crush of the ballroom. Above, stars glittered against the velvet darkness, their light competing with the enchanted lanterns that floated at regular intervals throughout the garden.
Iris leaned her head back against the wall, drawing in slow, deliberate breaths while beside her, the enderwood plant reached out a few of its silvery tendrils and caressed her hand. “Not now,” she whispered, her chest still heaving as she absently pushed it away. The vine persisted, wrapping gently around her wrist with a surprisingly comforting touch. After a moment, she gave up trying to discourage it. At least something in this wretched place didn’t shrink away from her.
As her heartbeat steadied, voices drifted through the open doorway from just inside the ballroom. Two men, speaking in the cultured accents of Bloomhaven’s elite.
“Come now, Jasvian,” said a warm, good-natured voice, “even you must admit this one shows promise. Oh! Look at that ice display! Impressive, don’t you think?”
Through the open doors, Iris could hear gasps of appreciation from the crowd.
“Impressive?” The second voice—which she presumed belonged to the aforementioned Lord Jasvian—was deeper, touched with what sounded like irritation. “Hadrian, you’re far too easily pleased. An ice sculpture is hardly worth remarking upon. Almost as tedious as that weak manifestation of dream magic from the youngest Brightcrest. I almost fell asleep during her display. And did you see that paper-folding nonsense? A child could do better.”
Heat flooded Iris’s cheeks, her spine stiffening even as the enderwood’s leaves brushed her skin in gentle, soothing strokes.
“Ah, yes. The Starspun girl.” The first gentleman—Lord Hadrian, was it?—cleared his throat. “Given her particular circumstances …”
“Her circumstances are precisely my point. The Starspuns have brought shame to one of our oldest bloodlines bydilutingit, and clearly it shows in the inferiority of the girl’s magic. I hardly think it’s worthy of presentation to society.”
Iris’s vision blurred with tears of rage and humiliation, but what burned most was that thisLord Jasvianwas only voicing what she herself had been thinking all along. That her magic was inferior, useless, unworthy. But to hear it spoken aloud, with such casual cruelty … Her fingers curled into fists. She had half a mind to step out and give him a piece of her?—
“You can’t deny it was unique,” Hadrian said, interrupting Iris’s thoughts of confrontation. “Better than watching another fire-wielder singeing the curtains or a weather-worker making it rain indoors.”
“Unique doesn’t make it useful,” came the cold reply. “The Rowanwoods have been shaping the lumyrite industry for generations. That’s proper magic—magic that builds societies, creates wealth, serves a purpose. But paper flowers? It’s bad enough having half-breeds diluting our bloodlines without them showing up during the Bloom Season to make a mockery of proper fae magic.”
“Well, at the very least, she has nice …” Hadrian trailed off, appearing to search for some redeeming quality Iris might have. “Eyes,” he finished weakly.
“Eyes,” Jasvian repeated. “Herhuman mother’seyes, you mean?”
“Yes. You have to admit they’re … interesting. Upturned and a touch … elegant.”
A sound of pure derision cut through the night air. “There is nothingelegantabout that girl. She’s as plain as the paper she folds.”
Iris took a step from behind the urn, ready to charge back inside and confront the opinionated man, but the enderwood tightened its grip and tugged her roughly backward. “Ow,” she hissed. Since when did plants display such strength?
By the time Iris managed to untangle herself from the surprisingly tenacious enderwood, her wrist bore delicate indentations from its grip. “Thank you for your concern,” she muttered to the plant, which rustled in what she could have sworn was satisfaction.
She marched back into the ballroom, scanning the crowd for the two lords whose voices she’d overheard, but they appeared to have moved on. Just as well—her anger had cooled enough to recognize that causing a scene would likely only confirm society’s worst assumptions about her.
“There you are!” Her mother appeared at her elbow, looking slightly flustered. “I’ve been looking everywhere.”
Iris swallowed the angry words that still crowded her tongue. “I apologize for disappearing, Mother. I … needed some air. The presentation was a little overwhelming.”
