Rivenna settled into her seat once more and reached for the teacup sitting in front of her. Only the tea leaves remained, having formed a delicate pattern at the bottom and around the sides after she’d completed the usual ritual of swirling and turning the cup over earlier that morning.
This was her annual reading of Bloomhaven’s fortune. The cup had spent the night collecting dew drops from themagnificent elderfae tree that stood at the town’s center, which Rivenna had then used to brew tea at first light before carefully pouring most of the liquid onto the tree’s roots. Then she’d placed a protective charm over the cup to preserve the pattern until she could properly interpret it after the morning rush of the season’s first official day had passed.
Now she studied the arrangement of leaves, searching for meaning in the swirling patterns and hoping to get a sense of the upcoming season. But the message remained vague, as though the leaves were teasing her with half-formed shapes and elusive hints. She was just turning the teacup in an attempt to view the patterns from a different angle when a pink petal drifted down and landed at the bottom of the cup.
Rivenna lifted her sharp gaze toward the enchanted ceiling. Why she, the most skilled practitioner of the nearly forgotten art of tea leaf reading, should require a nudge from her own tea house was beyond her. Was it trying to let her know it disagreed with her interpretation? She returned her eyes to the teacup in her hands and discovered, with a start, that the petal had turned a pale cream color.
“Did I just hear the youngest Titterleaf requestingliquid luckin her tea?” Lady Amarind Thornhart swept up to the table, her arrival announced by the rustle of her flower-strewn skirts. She maneuvered her voluminous attire into a chair, bumping the table repeatedly in the process. “Rather desperate, wouldn’t you say?”
“She should know we don’t brew such nonsense in this establishment,” Rivenna said without looking up, her eyes still on the suspicious cream petal. She lifted it carefully between her thumb and forefinger, narrowing her eyes as she turned it this way and that. It had not only changed color but texture as well, having taken on the thin, crisp feel of paper.
She placed the petal on the table beside her saucer and peered into the teacup once more. Hopefully her protective charm had been enough to keep the pattern from being disturbed.
“Hm!” Amarind let out a most undignified snort. “And did you see that? Lord Bridgemere just tried to impress Lady Fawnwood by adding some silly sort of enchantment to her tea, and now it won’t stop refilling itself. It’s overflowing all over their table.”
Continuing to frown at her teacup, Rivenna murmured, “Yes, well, I do admire his commitment to lowering expectations early in the relationship.”
“True, but themess?—”
“Do not fret. I’m sure the kitchen pixies will be along shortly to clean it up.”
“What intrigues have I missed, my dears?” A breath of lilac-scented air heralded Lady Lycilla Whispermist’s presence. Her chair obligingly scooted out to welcome her and she sat, completing the trio of Bloomhaven’s most formidable matrons.
“Nothing too scandalous,” Amarind said, “though I do believe that’s a Brightcrest seated at the table beneath the hanging teapot.”
At that, Rivenna’s head snapped up. It couldn’t be. A Brightcrest wouldn’tdareto set foot in her tea house.
“Oh, my mistake,” Amarind said with a tinkling laugh that fooled absolutely no one.
Rivenna narrowed her eyes, finally focusing on her friend. The morning light caught the rich, dark cocoa of Amarind’s skin, highlighting the elegant bone structure that had made her one of Bloomhaven’s renowned beauties in her youth. “You did that on purpose.”
“Well of course I did,” Amarind said. “How else am I to obtain your attention?”
“Notby mentioning one ofthem.”
“I bumped into your grandson on the way here,” Lycilla said brightly to Rivenna in a clear attempt to break the tension. “Jasvian. He apologized, of course, but was otherwise as antisocial as ever, rushing off muttering something about getting back to his desk with barely a greeting.” She patted the lower part of her elegantly arranged purple hair, ensuring not a strand had fallen out of place. “How will he ever find himself a wife if he doesn’t stop for even a moment’s pleasant conversation?”
“The mines have devoured his attention ever since Evrynd’s passing,” Rivenna said, sounding a little stiff. She understood the weight of responsibility her eldest grandson must feel, knowing he was now tasked with keeping the family lumyrite mines operating in perfect order.
“Oh, yes, of course. Forgive me.” A shadow passed over Lycilla’s normally serene features, and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat, a subtle reminder of the shared sorrow they all carried for Rivenna’s late son.
“But Rivenna, my dear,” Amarind said carefully, “are the lumyrite mines not dormant now for the duration of the Bloom Season? Do the miners not require their period of rest, and must the lumyrite deposits themselves not lie undisturbed for the prescribed interval? To allow?—”
“Yes, yes,” Rivenna interrupted, her annoyance growing. “Indeed that is so, but Jasvian has other matters that require his attention. The management of our various estates across the realm, accounts that have been neglected, correspondence that has piled up—all matters he was obliged to set aside while attending to the mines before the Bloom Season commenced.”
“And how fares Rowanwood House since your family’s arrival?” Lycilla inquired delicately, her tone suggesting yet another clear attempt to steer the conversation toward calmerwaters. “I understand they’ve only just settled in for the Season?”
With a weary sigh, Rivenna replied, “My family has scarcely been in town for five minutes, and already they plague me about taking on an apprentice. As if I haven’t managed perfectly well these past decades.”
“They plague you thus every Season,” Amarind observed.
“Indeed they do,” Rivenna agreed, her mouth tightening. “And I grow exceedingly weary of it. When the right person presents themselves, both the tea house and I shall know. Not a moment before and certainly not because my grandchildren deem it time.”
“Excuse me, my lady?” A polite voice interrupted them, and Rivenna’s gaze slid from Amarind to land on the girl with soft brown skin and wide hazel eyes. She held a tray in her hands, upon which sat several used teacups. “The first round.”
“Thank you, Lucie. Right here.” Rivenna slid the Bloomhaven teacup and saucer to one side and patted the empty space in front of her. Lucie set the tray down, then executed a swift curtsy before retreating.
“You still have that younghumanworking for you?” Amarind hissed.
