“And in the company of a half-breed, no less,” another added with feigned horror. “Though I’m not sure who’s lowering themselves more by the association.”
Iris felt her cheeks flush, but Charlotte straightened her shoulders and spoke without turning around. “How fortunate we are to be reminded that magical cosmetics cannot disguise a complete absence of manners or basic decency.”
Iris bit her lip to suppress a laugh, then spotted a stack of delicate paper pamphlets on the corner of a nearby table—each one detailing various magical products and their proper application. She reached out with her magic, feeling that familiar awareness of all the ways the paper wanted to fold. One pamphlet separated itself from the stack and floated toward her, creasing itself rapidly along invisible lines.
Within seconds, a beautifully crafted paper fan took shape. It drifted to hover before Iris, then began to wave itself back and forth, creating a soft breeze that caressed her face. “How charming,” she said with exaggerated sweetness, angling herself so that the fan partially concealed her face. Then she caught her own reflection in the mirror—cheeks delicately flushed, eyes dramatically enhanced, paper fan fluttering coquettishly—and burst into laughter at the ridiculousness of it all. “I must look absolutely absurd,” she said, still giggling.
“Absurdly beautiful,” Lucie corrected, her own laughter joining Iris’s.
“The fan is a particularly nice touch,” Charlotte added. “Very dramatic.”
As their laughter subsided, Iris noticed one of the fae girls staring at them with undisguised hostility. “Who is that?” Iris asked quietly, inclining her head slightly toward the glaring girl. “The one with the golden hair. She seems particularly cold.”
Charlotte glanced over, then quickly returned her attention to the mirror. “Mariselle Brightcrest,” she replied in a low voice. “Youngest Brightcrest daughter. Honestly, the entire family is awful.”
“Brightcrest,” Iris repeated, a memory stirring. “I believe I encountered a Lady Brightcrest shortly after my family arrived in Bloomhaven. She greeted my father outside the tea house. Though ‘greeted’ might be too generous a term.”
“Probably Lady Clemenbell, Mariselle’s mother,” Charlotte said. “Your father would know her from when he used to come to Bloomhaven every Season. Before—” She cut herself off with a cough, darting a quick glance in Lucie’s direction. “Be that as it may,” she continued, “the Brightcrests and the Rowanwoods have been feuding for generations.”
“Indeed, Lady Rivenna cannot stand them,” Lucie added. “Something about a business venture gone wrong decades ago? Though I’m sure it must have been more than that. And now that you’re her apprentice …”
“I suppose that makes me doubly objectionable in their eyes,” Iris concluded.
“Triple, if we’re counting,” Charlotte said with a wry smile. “Half-human, Lady Rivenna’s apprentice, and now fraternizing with two entirely human girls in public. How utterly scandalous.”
Despite her discomfort, Iris told herself not to be affected by these fae ladies and their hostile glances and comments. For the first time since arriving in Bloomhaven, she had begun to feel the first hints of genuine belonging, even if it was only in the company of two human sisters and a shop full of magicalcosmetics. “Let them stare,” she declared, lifting the magical fan to cool her flushed cheeks. “I’m having far too much fun to be bothered.”
“That’s the spirit,” Charlotte agreed. “Now, shall we try the Dappleberry Balm? It gives you freckles in whatever shade perfectly compliments your natural complexion.”
“Oh yes, let’s!” Lucie reached for a small crystal pot containing a pearlescent substance. “It always gives me golden freckles, and they’re simply delightful.”
“What about this?” Iris picked up a small obsidian jar nestled among other jars in a basket.
Charlotte peered over her shoulder at the label. “Midnight Veil. ‘A mysterious kohl that deepens the gaze and enhances one’s natural perception of magical auras.’ Oh, I believe I’ve heard of that one. Some ladies refuse to use it. They say the main ingredient is imported from the realm of the dark elves.”
“I must point out that they are simply called ‘elves,’” Iris remarked.
“The entire notion is ridiculous, whether they’re called elves or dark elves,” Lucie said, lifting the jar to examine it more closely, “We cannot even be certain elves exist at all.”
Iris’s laugh caught in her throat. “Are you …” She trailed off, realizing Lucie was serious. “You doubt their existence?”
Lucie regarded her with evident skepticism. “Have you yourself ever met one?”
“Well, no,” Iris admitted. “But I’ve read numerous scholarly works concerning them. My former home had a university with a most extensive library, volumes on every subject imaginable. There were entire volumes dedicated to elven culture and magic.”
“And these learned authors—had they seen elves?” Charlotte asked, her lips twitching with amusement.
“I … well …” Iris faltered. “I’m not certain, but the documentation was most thorough. Detailed illustrations, accounts from historical sources?—”
“So there exists no true evidence,” Lucie concluded, now visibly suppressing a smile.
“That reasoning would suggest the High Lady herself doesn’t exist merely because you’ve never had tea with her,” Iris countered, though she could not maintain her serious expression.
Lucie tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I don’t believe I’ve ever actually seen the High Lady.”
Iris was laughing now. “Very well. Perhaps I shall arrange an expedition to that distant continent and return with an elf as proof. Then I shall invite both you and the High Lady to tea. Would that satisfy your skepticism?”
“Only if you persuade them both to wear Midnight Veil kohl,” Charlotte replied solemnly before all three of them dissolved into giggles once more, Iris’s paper fan fluttering animatedly beside them.
