In the ensuing commotion, Lady Fawnwood’s plate tilted precariously as she leaned away from the diving birds. Her slice of strawberry cake performed a graceful arc through the air before landing on the immaculate grass beside her chair.
One casualty already, Iris noted, fighting to keep her expression appropriately concerned rather than amused.A noble sacrifice in the war against avian rudeness.
The gossip birds, having successfully created their desired chaos, settled triumphantly on a decorative floral hoop suspended from a low-hanging branch directly above their table. They preened for a moment before simultaneously opening their beaks. “Tea house apprentice Iris!” they squawked in perfect unison, their voices carrying across the garden. “Tea house apprentice Iris!”
Lady Whispermist frowned. “What on earth?”
A wave of cold washed over Iris, her fingers stiffening against the fine porcelain of her teacup as warmth drained from her face. This was it. The start of the horrified reactions from proper fae society that Charlotte had predicted.
“Tea house apprentice!” the birds repeated before taking flight once more, narrowly missing Lady Featherlock’s elaborate hat as they departed.
A confused silence settled over the table as the ladies straightened their posture and rearranged disturbed napkins. “Did they say ‘tea house’?” Lady Featherlock inquired, her thin eyebrows drawn together in puzzlement.
“I believe they said ‘apprentice,’” Lady Whispermist added, adjusting a displaced hairpin. “Though what they could possibly mean …”
All eyes turned curiously toward Iris, who felt as though she had been transformed into a specimen upon a naturalist’s display board. If she hadn’t already been hoping for the uncomfortable garden chair she was seated upon to perform a spectacular feat of magic and swallow her whole, she was certainly wishing it now.
Before she could formulate a response, her grandmother cleared her throat pointedly. “As it happens,” she announced, her voice carrying that distinctive note of triumph that Iris had come to recognize, “Lady Rivenna Rowanwood has indeed offered Iris the apprenticeship at The Charmed Leaf, and we are absolutely delighted that she accepted. She began her training this very morning.”
A sudden, profound silence fell over the table. Lady Fawnwood’s teacup froze halfway to her lips, while Lady Featherlock’s cake fork clattered against her plate before she hastily recovered it. Lady Whispermist’s eyes widened to a degree that might have been comical under different circumstances. Clearly Lady Rivenna had not yet informed her friend of this development.
“The apprenticeship?” Lady Fawnwood finally managed, carefully setting her teacup back onto its saucer. “At The Charmed Leaf?”
“Indeed,” Iris’s grandmother confirmed. “Lady Rivenna approached us personally with the offer. She said the tea house itself selected Iris.”
Another beat of shocked silence followed, during which Iris could almost hear the thoughts racing behind their carefully composed expressions. She kept her own face neutral, though she felt her mother stiffen beside her.
“How … unexpected,” Lady Whispermist finally said, her voice slightly higher than normal. She cleared her throat delicately. “That is to say, what a singular honor.”
“Yes, quite singular,” Lady Featherlock echoed, having regained her composure. “Many families have hoped for such an opportunity,” she added, her tone carefully modulated to hide what Iris suspected was profound disapproval. “Lady Rivenna has always been so particular.”
“Indeed she has,” Iris’s grandmother agreed, either oblivious to or deliberately ignoring the underlying current of dismay. “She recognized Iris’s potential immediately.”
“And what a wonderful opportunity for you, dear,” Lady Whispermist said to Iris, her smile slightly strained at the edges. “The tea house is such a central institution in Bloomhaven society.”
“Thank you,” Iris replied politely. “I’m honored by Lady Rivenna’s confidence.”
“And how fascinating that Lady Rivenna would choose an apprentice with such unconventional talents,” Lady Fawnwood remarked, recovering enough to add a hint of acid to her tone. “I have always thought paper folding to be such a charming pastime for children.”
Iris kept her expression carefully neutral. “Lady Rivenna believes my abilities have unique applications,” she replied, then took a measured sip of her tea.
“And how lovely for you,” Lady Whispermist said to Iris’s mother, speaking to her directly for perhaps the first time since they’d arrived. “Your daughter finding such a useful occupation.”
Iris’s mother smiled thinly. “Indeed. Iris has always possessed a keen mind and diligent nature. I have no doubt she will excel in any endeavor she pursues.”
“One expects a certain traditional background for such a prestigious position,” Lady Fawnwood observed, her gaze sliding meaningfully to Iris’s mother before returning to Iris. “But perhaps times are changing.”
“Perhaps they should,” Iris’s mother replied, her tone still perfectly pleasant though Iris could practically feel the tension radiating from her. “Magic manifests where it will, regardless of tradition.”
An uncomfortable silence fell over their table. Nearby, a trio of garden sprites darted among the rosebushes, encouraging particularly vibrant blooms to unfurl. Their giggles filled the awkward pause.
“I must say,” Lady Whispermist remarked, clearly attempting to redirect the conversation, “the enchanted foxgloves are particularly stunning this year. My garden gnomes have incorporated a new moonlight harvesting technique that has enhanced their luminescence.”
“Your gardens are always exquisite, Lycilla,” Iris’s grandmother agreed, seemingly grateful for the change of subject. “The integration of traditional and innovative magical horticulture techniques is most impressive.”
As the conversation turned to safer topics, Iris watched her mother and grandmother carefully avoiding each other’s gaze. The tension between them remained palpable, a silent current running beneath the polite exchange of pleasantries. Her mother’s back remained ramrod straight, her posture perfect butclearly uncomfortable. Her grandmother, meanwhile, seemed determined to announce Iris’s accomplishments to anyone who would listen, though her motivation appeared less about pride in Iris and more about establishing the continued relevance of the Starspun name.
“Lady Iris,” Lady Whispermist said, reclaiming her attention, “I understand you’ve had one or two, uh,memorableencounters with Lord Jasvian Rowanwood since your arrival in Bloomhaven.”
