How remarkably coincidental that you ‘happened to notice’ at precisely this hour on precisely this morning. The statistical improbability is truly staggering.
The note folded itself and zipped away between the tea house tables. Had it shot upstairs? She’d lost sight of the exceptionally swift missive almost immediately. She ascended the stairs, almost tripping over several of them as she attempted to keep her eyes on the notebook while climbing. She had just reached the landing when Jasvian’s reply appeared:
Perhaps I’m conducting a study on the correlation between sunrise hours and apprentice productivity. My preliminary findings suggest inverse relations.
Iris pushed open the study door, her heart pounding, only to find the room empty. No sign of Jasvian anywhere. Disappointment washed over her. She leaned against the doorframe for a moment, gathering her composure before responding:
Fascinating research. And what does your study reveal about the correlation between sending cryptic messages and avoiding direct conversation?
The note transformed into a neat little envelope and flew swiftly out the study window. Iris rushed across the room, dropped her notebook on her desk, and pressed her palms to its surface while leaning forward as far as she could. But the enchanted envelope was, predictably, already lost to view.
With a huff of frustration, Iris straightened and lifted the notebook. Jasvian’s reply appeared a few moments later:
That data remains inconclusive, though I hypothesize it relates to the pleasure derived from watching a certain apprentice’s expressions shift between annoyance and curiosity.
Despite her growing frustration at being unable to locate him, the word ‘pleasure’ ignited a confusing flutter within her. She turned and leaned against the edge of the desk as she wrote:
Where are you? You must surely be somewhere nearby.
She waited this time, chewing impatiently on her lip instead of attempting to follow the note’s path through the air. When Jasvian’s reply appeared, however, it was but a single word:
Indeed …
Iris’s mouth fell open, a sharp exhalation of breath escaping.
Are we playing hide and seek now, my lord? I would have thought such games beneath your dignity.
She pushed away from the desk and hurried back downstairs, reaching the main floor as Jasvian’s response materialized:
Not hide and seek. Perhaps a treasure hunt. Though I find myself uncertain whether I qualify as the hunter or the treasure in this particular scenario.
Iris rushed into the kitchen, her pulse racing. The air hummed with the usual morning bustle, but a swift scan confirmed Jasvian was not among them.
Neither hunter nor treasure would send cryptic notes rather than presenting themselves properly. I begin to suspect you’re not in the tea house at all, but somehow orchestrating this from afar to torment me.
She poked her head into the pantry, but of course he was not hiding in there. Her eyes scanned the kitchen again, pausing briefly on the windows and the open back door, but he was nowhere.
Torment? Such a harsh assessment of what I had hoped would be a pleasant morning correspondence. Though I confess, you look rather fetching when vexed, even from a distance.
She paused, her breath heightened, rereading the words as she took a few unsteady steps forward. Then she wrote:
You can see me. Where are you?
She stared at the page. Stared so intently she feared it might?—
Look up, my beautiful Iris.
Her breath caught, and a shiver danced through her at the words. She lifted her gaze to the open back door of the kitchen, then beyond it into the garden. There, past the rows of herbs and flowers, leaning against the edge of the fountain with apparent nonchalance, stood Jasvian. His tall figure was illuminated by the early morning sunlight, a notebook in his hand and the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
Iris’s heart gave a sudden, distinct lurch. She placed her notebook and quill on the windowsill and stepped out through the kitchen door into the garden, her feet carrying her forward along the path between the herbs and flowers.
Jasvian returned his notebook to the satchel resting at his feet and straightened as she approached. She could see now that he looked tired, with faint shadows beneath his eyes that suggested long nights of little sleep. His dark hair was slightly longer than when she’d last seen him, and something in his expression had changed—a softening of his customary severity.
“Lady Iris,” he said quietly as she reached him, her steps slowing to a halt.
“Lord Jasvian.” She was proud of how steady her voice remained despite the trembling of her hands, which she clasped tightly before her. “You’ve returned.”
“I have.”
