“You promised,” one of the women was saying, her actual voice barely a whisper while the plants carried her words clearly to Iris. “You swore you would stop.”
“My dear sister,” the man replied with fake joviality, “you worry too much. The investments are completely sound?—”
“That’s what you said about the pegasus racing scheme,” the other woman cut in. “And the enchanted jewelry venture. And now you expect us to believe?—”
A leafy tendril brushed Iris’s cheek, as if seeking approval for sharing these secrets. “You’re listening,” she murmured, partly in awe and partly in horror. “You’re listening to everything.”
The implications were staggering. How long had the plants been gathering intelligence? How many secrets had they collected over the years? Iris had heard it said that Lady Rivenna always seemed to know everything that happened in Bloomhaven, and now she understood how.
She continued to watch the arguing trio, and then … somehow, the scene before her seemed to shift, as if another image was trying to overlay itself on top of reality. For a moment, Iris saw the same table but with different people seated there, their faces indistinct but their postures speaking of similar tension. Then that image faded and another took its place—thesame spot but at what must have been a different time of day, sunlight slanting differently across the table, the chairs arranged in a new pattern.
A burst of laughter shattered the strange vision, and Iris blinked rapidly as reality reasserted itself. “Did you do that?” she murmured out loud, but the vines didn’t answer her.
Iris’s gaze swept across the room until she caught Lady Rivenna’s eye. The older woman gave her a knowing look, and Iris realized that Rivenna was well aware of what Iris had just discovered. With unhurried grace, Lady Rivenna made her way toward the alcove, slipping behind the curtain of vines to join Iris in the sheltered nook.
“You have discovered the tea house’s greatest secret,” Lady Rivenna said, settling beside Iris on the window seat.
“The plants—they’re conveying conversations from across the room,” Iris said, keeping her voice low. “Is it … ethical? To listen to private exchanges without consent?”
Lady Rivenna’s expression grew solemn. “We are custodians of these secrets, Lady Iris, not their exploiters. Unlike those wretched gossip birds that squawk every tidbit to the highest rooftop, we hold these confidences sacred. The information gleaned here is to be used wisely—to guide, to prevent disaster, to create harmony where there might otherwise be discord. Never for vindictive purposes or personal gain.”
“But still,” Iris pressed, “how can you justify?—”
“Think of it as a responsibility,” Lady Rivenna interrupted. “One of the reasons I have never before chosen an apprentice is precisely this—I needed someone with both the wisdom and moral fortitude to be entrusted with such power.”
“But you don’t even know me,” Iris said, bewildered. “How can you possibly trust me with this?”
Lady Rivenna studied her for a long moment, her eyes reflecting the dappled light streaming in through the window. “Isensed something in you the night we met at the Opening Ball. Even before that, the moment you walked into this tea house …” She gestured to the trailing vines surrounding them. “I believe the tea house recognized you before I did.”
Iris laced her fingers together in her lap. “Are the whispers of the vines your only means of gathering insight? Does reading the tea leaves not play a role in this? I’ve heard they reveal glimpses of what’s to come. An old practice meant to divine the future.”
“The tea leaves do not show the future with certainty,” Lady Rivenna replied. “Rather, they hint at what might come to pass. Combined with the tea house’s whispers, these readings allow me to make informed judgments about where and how to … nudge circumstances in favorable directions.” She rose, smoothing her emerald skirts. “Continue listening, Lady Iris. The tea house has much more to teach you.”
As Iris listened and watched, time slipped by as effortlessly as steam rising from a freshly poured cup of tea. When she finally thought to glance at the ornate clock on the wall, she started. How had nearly two hours passed? The morning rush had given way to the pre-luncheon lull, and the quality of light streaming through the windows had shifted completely.
“Lady Iris?” She turned to find Lucie beside her. The serving girl dropped a quick curtsy. “I beg your pardon for disturbing you, but Lady Rivenna thought I might show you more of the tea house gardens before my midday break.”
Lucie led her through the bustling kitchen, where a fae woman whose skin possessed a definite orange tinge moved between the central work table and two of the ovens, her steps appearing to be perfectly choreographed to weave between the hearth sprites and kitchen pixies. “That’s Mama Saffron,” Lucie whispered to Iris. “Our pastry chef. She presides over all manner of confections and baked delicacies outside of the scones. Oh, and that’s Lissian,” she added as a pale, almost translucentfigure emerged from the pantry carrying several jars of tea leaves and moved toward the brewing station.
The creature was shorter than both fae and humans, with wavy white hair arranged in a loose braid that reached all the way to her waist. Tiny flower buds were woven into the braid, and she wore what appeared to be a garment woven from morning mist and scattered petals that floated around her graceful form.
“Lissian prepares most of the tea served within these walls, though always in deference to the tea house itself, which, I have been assured, maintains the final authority on what shall be served to each patron.”
“I don’t believe I’ve ever encountered such a being before,” Iris remarked in a hushed tone. “Is she a nymph?”
“Indeed, my lady. A tea nymph, to be precise.”
Iris almost laughed before realizing Lucie was entirely serious. “A tea nymph?” she repeated. “I had no idea such creatures existed.”
“I believe they’re exceedingly rare. From what Lady Rivenna has said, these beings are particularly attuned to the essence of tea leaves and herbs. Lissian dwells in a secluded corner of the garden here, and it’s considered an honor that she has chosen to make her residence at The Charmed Leaf.”
As they crossed the kitchen toward the back door, Iris glanced at Lissian at her brewing station, which was nestled against a wall where the same vines that adorned the main tea house floor crept and twined. The nymph ran her slender fingers over the leaves, tilting her head as if listening to something. Then, with a nod, she lined up three teapots and began removing the lids from jars of various ingredients.
Outside, hints of lemongrass, mint and lavender mingled with the scents of other herbs and flowers. The garden gnomes Iris had glimpsed earlier were now fully engaged in their work,their pointed hats bobbing as they moved between rows with miniature watering cans and trowels. Nearby, a trio of garden pixies flitted around a cluster of exotic star-shaped blooms, coaxing the petals to open with delicate taps of their fingertips.
There was nothing here that Lady Rivenna hadn’t already shown her earlier that morning, and it occurred to Iris—belatedly—that this little visit to the garden with Lucie might be the result of one of the older woman’s carefully arranged social orchestrations that Iris had unknowingly stepped into.
“The garden gnomes and pixies are forever at war,” Lucie said before Iris could decide whether to be amused or exasperated at being drawn into one of Lady Rivenna’s subtle machinations. The younger girl pointed to where a gruff-looking gnome was shaking his trowel at a tiny figure hovering just out of reach. “The gnomes focus on what they call the ‘proper work’—turning soil, pulling weeds, ensuring correct drainage—while the pixies manage what they consider to be the more sophisticated tasks.”
