The interior of the tea house appeared quite different in the early morning light, devoid of patrons yet humming with subtle magic as if taking a deep breath before the day began. Windows gleamed, tables sat perfectly arranged, and the faint aroma of fresh-baked goods mingled with the earthy scent of brewing tea.
Lady Rivenna emerged from the kitchen on the far side of the tea house, dressed in a deep emerald gown that somehow managed to appear both elegant and entirely practical. “Ah, Lady Iris. Punctual. Good.” She beckoned with one hand. “Come. There is much to see before we open.”
“Good morning, Lady Rivenna,” Iris said, hurrying to reach the older woman. “I’m eager to begin.”
Lady Rivenna stopped in the center of the main floor, her silver hair catching the morning light that spilled through the windows. “The Charmed Leaf is more than it appears,” she began, her voice taking on a subtle cadence that suggested she was imparting something of great importance. “You see tables and chairs, walls and windows. But what we truly have here is a carefully cultivated ecosystem of magic, social currents, and information.”
She gestured toward the far corner, where a cluster of plush chairs surrounded an oval-shaped table. “That area is favored by the elder ladies of Bloomhaven. Lady Thornhart, Lady Whispermist, and myself, of course. From there, we observe everything while appearing to observe nothing.”
Iris followed her gaze, trying to see the tea house through Lady Rivenna’s eyes—not as a mere establishment but as a strategic vantage point.
“The central tables,” Lady Rivenna continued, indicating the heart of the room, “are for those who wish to see and be seen. Young lords and ladies hoping to make an impression. Familiesshowcasing their offspring. The recently betrothed flaunting their good fortune.”
She moved toward the opposite wall, where several semi-private alcoves had been created through clever arrangement of trailing plants and decorative screens. “These nooks are for more discreet conversations. Business negotiations, delicate social maneuvers, the occasional minor scandal being carefully managed.”
“Is every seat so deliberately assigned?” Iris asked, fascinated by this invisible orchestration.
Lady Rivenna’s lips curved. “Not assigned, precisely. But the tea house has its ways of encouraging certain patterns. The chairs throughout the establishment become remarkably uncomfortable for those carrying gossip with malicious intent. Tables have been known to wobble mysteriously when occupied by guests plotting social sabotage. And tea has a peculiar tendency to go cold very quickly when consumed by anyone who has spoken ill of the Rowanwood family.”
Iris failed to suppress a smile at this last revelation. “And do you arrange all this yourself? Through magic?”
“The tea house itself plays a part,” Lady Rivenna replied. “Over the decades, it has developed … preferences. Habits. A personality, you might say. My role is to interpret and occasionally direct these tendencies.”
She then gestured toward a smaller alcove nestled against the eastern wall, where honeysuckle vines cascaded from the ceiling, partially obscuring the space from casual view. Beyond the natural curtain of greenery sat a small round table with a single chair. A window seat lined with plush cushions faced the side street, and a small shelf—seemingly floating against the wall without visible support—held several well-worn leather-bound books.
“That,” Lady Rivenna said with unmistakable fondness, “is my private alcove. The true heart of my observations. I sit there quietly, alone with a pot of tea, and simply listen to what the tea house has to tell me. No one else ever sits there.” Her gaze settled meaningfully on Iris. “Until now. This alcove will become yours as well.”
“Oh, are you certain?” Iris stammered, taken aback by the intimacy of this offering. “I’m sure I could sit somewhere else, perhaps at one of the?—”
“You will never understand the true workings of The Charmed Leaf,” Lady Rivenna interrupted firmly, “if you don’t seat yourself in that alcove daily and simplylisten.” She beckoned Iris to follow once more. “Now, to the heart of our operation.”
Lady Rivenna extended her hands before her, and the kitchen doors swung open at their approach, revealing a bustling scene of organized chaos. Steam rose from copper kettles, the air sparkled with tiny motes of magic, and several small creatures darted between workstations. A cloud of flour hung suspended over the central worktable, within which Iris could just make out a tiny, industrious figure.
“This is where the true magic of our tea blends and culinary delights takes place,” Lady Rivenna declared. “Here we have our hearth sprites—” she nodded toward several faintly glowing beings tending the fires, some adjusting the iron cranes that held simmering pots over the open hearth, while others stoked the embers beneath a cast-iron stove “—kitchen pixies who maintain our equipment and assist with preparations—” several blue-tinged beings sat polishing silver tea services on a table alongside the back wall “—and of course, Orrit.”
The flour cloud parted momentarily to reveal a scowling, stout little creature no taller than Iris’s hand, his ruddy face and expressive eyebrows coated in fine white powder. A brownie, Irisguessed, though it was difficult to tell with the amount of flour that covered him.
“Orrit has been with us since the day The Charmed Leaf opened,” Lady Rivenna explained. “He is the master of our legendary scones. No one touches his dough, his ovens, or his secret recipe.”
The brownie harrumphed, clearly displeased by the interruption but apparently too busy to spare more than a skeptical glance at Iris before returning to his work.
“Don’t mind his gruffness,” Lady Rivenna added. “He takes his art seriously.”
Iris watched the kitchen’s harmonious activity unfolding, and then—between one blink and the next—the scene shifted. Suddenly she was looking at a different configuration—the same kitchen but filled with unfamiliar faces, save for one. Orrit remained at his workstation, but now he was playfully tossing a cloud of flour into the air while a small dark-haired girl sat on the edge of the worktable, swinging her feet and laughing with delight.
Iris blinked, and the scene returned instantly to its original form. What strange trick was this? Some whisper of the tea house’s unique magic?
“Lady Iris?” Lady Rivenna was watching her with a curious expression. “You seemed momentarily elsewhere.”
“I apologize,” Iris said, shaking her head slightly. “It’s just … there’s so much to take in.”
At that moment, a quick flash of heat at her ankles made Iris gasp and jump backward. She looked down to see a tiny hearth sprite darting away, trailing sparks and giggling as the hem of her dress began to smolder. She yelped and hastily batted at the fabric to extinguish the burning fabric before it could properly catch alight.
“Good thing, my dear,” Lady Rivenna said, “that you wore a practical dress as I suggested.” Her eyes gleamed with amusement. “But yes, as you were saying, there is indeed much to take in. And you have yet to meet Saffron and Lissian, both of whom shall be in shortly. But for now, let me introduce you to—ah, Lucie! Perfect timing.”
A girl entered through the back door carrying a basket of fresh herbs, and Iris recognized her immediately as the serving girl from her first visit to the tea house. She couldn’t be more than fourteen or fifteen years of age.
“Lucie, this is Lady Iris Starspun, my new apprentice.”
