The shop’s bell tinkled again as the door opened, and Iris glanced up reflexively. She froze, her fan stuttering in mid-air before dropping a few inches. “Mother?”
“There you are!” The silver bell chimed again as Matilda Starspun swept into the shop, dressed in a gown of dove-gray silk embroidered with tiny silver flowers. “I went to the tea house, but Lady Rivenna said I would find you here. I informed her you wouldn’t be returning today. Your grandmother requires your presence at the Whispermist garden party. We were supposed to leave twenty minutes ago.”
Iris’s stomach dropped. She’d completely forgotten about Lady Lycilla Whispermist’s afternoon garden party—a small and carefully curated affair Iris’s grandmother had insisted was an honor to be included in. “I’m so sorry,” she began, “I was just?—”
Her mother’s gaze swept over the scene—the open jars of cosmetics, the shimmering powders dusting the glass counter, the two human girls at Iris’s side. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she lifted a gloved hand to her temple, as if warding off a headache. “There isn’t much time,” she said briskly, lowering her hand. “You’ll need to return home at once to wash that off and change into something more suitable.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I forgot about?—”
“You can’t afford to forget things like this, Iris,” she continued in a low tone, stepping closer. “Your father and I supported the tea house apprenticeship because Lady Rivenna’s patronage could be valuable, but finding a suitable match must remain your priority.”
Iris fought back a fresh wave of frustration. As if she could forget for one moment the pressure to secure their future through marriage. “Yes, Mother. Just let me tidy up?—”
“Oh!” Charlotte stepped forward, setting down the jar of Midnight Veil kohl. “Don’t worry. Lucie and I will ensure that all is left as we found it upon our arrival.”
“Thank you,” Iris said, grateful for her friend’s help. “Mother, may I present Miss Charlotte Fields and Miss Lucie Fields. Charlotte, Lucie, this is my mother, Matilda Starspun.”
Her mother’s lips parted, then closed again, a half-formed word dissolving into silence. An odd expression flickered across her face, but it was gone too quickly for Iris to decipher it. “Fields,” her mother said carefully. She cleared her throat and added, “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”
The sisters curtseyed, but Iris noticed that neither of them would meet her mother’s eyes. “My lady,” Charlotte said quietly.
The air in the shop felt suddenly heavier, charged with something Iris couldn’t name. Her mother’s fingers worried at the edge of her glove—a nervous gesture Iris had rarely seen.Charlotte and Lucie remained perfectly poised, but their former warmth had been replaced by a careful neutrality.
Iris’s gaze darted between the three of them, and understanding dawned. They knew each other. Or knewofeach other. The certainty settled in her chest, though she couldn’t begin to guess how or why. If it had only been Charlotte and Lucie’s reaction, Iris might have dismissed it as natural curiosity about another human woman who’d married into fae society. But her mother’s response suggested something deeper, something personal.
“Is everything all right?” Iris ventured.
“Of course, darling!” Her mother’s voice was too bright, her smile too wide. “We really must hurry though.”
Charlotte merely nodded, her eyes fixed on some point near the hem of Iris’s mother’s dress. “It was lovely to meet you, my lady.”
The silence that followed felt heavy with words unsaid, until the fae woman who had occupied the space behind the counter suddenly appeared at their side, breaking the strange tension. “Would you like me to wrap anything for you today, Lady Starspun?”
“No, thank you, we really must go,” Iris’s mother said, her voice slightly too high as she answered for Iris.
“O-of course,” Iris stammered, her mind still racing to make sense of the strange undercurrents in the room. She glanced at her new friends, noticing how they all seemed to be carefully avoiding her gaze. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yes,” Lucie said. Her smile returned, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Both she and Charlotte were watching Iris’s mother once again, curious expressions on their faces.
Iris stepped past them and followed her mother toward the door, pausing just long enough to snatch up her gloves from the silver tray where she had left them. Then she stepped into thebright afternoon sun, pulling her gloves back on, her mind filled with questions she didn’t know how to ask.
Chapter Thirteen
“She simply should not have been allowedto attempt weather magic there,” Lady Fawnwood remarked, shaking her head. “Those new tapestries were ruined beyond repair, and the poor cellist was absolutely drenched.”
“The girl clearly requires more instruction before attempting public displays,” Lady Whispermist agreed, delicately selecting a tiny frosted cake from the tiered silver tray. “Though I understand her eagerness to demonstrate. Weather manipulation has always been considered quite impressive.”
The sunlight filtering through the canopy of trees cast dappled patterns across the pristine white tablecloth. Lady Whispermist’s garden party was an elegant affair set amid immaculately groomed flower beds where enchanted blooms changed color with the passing breeze. Several small groups of ladies were scattered throughout the garden, arranged in perfectly composed clusters.
Iris and her mother and grandmother had somehow found themselves at the table near the central fountain, sitting with the elder Lady Whispermist herself—Lady Rivenna’s lilac-haired friend. Also at their table was Lady Fawnwood, a woman ofsimilar age to Iris’s mother, and Lady Featherlock and her two daughters, who seemed to have little to say.
“You must admit, though,” Lady Fawnwood said, leaning forward slightly as she lowered her voice, “that it was a relief when that cellist stopped playing. The screech?—”
A sudden flapping of wings interrupted her, and two gossip birds swooped low over their table, sending the ladies into a flurry of protective movements.
Perfect, Iris thought, watching as Lady Whispermist attempted the impossible feat of simultaneously ducking away from the birds while keeping her teacup perfectly level.Because this gathering wasn’t uncomfortable enough already.
Lady Featherlock swatted ineffectually at the air with her lace handkerchief. “Shoo! Shoo, you wretched creatures!”
