“That was Lady Starspun, was it not?” Hadrian asked, watching the young woman’s retreating form.
Jasvian barely registered the question, too preoccupied to muster a proper response. He frowned, his gaze sweeping the crowd as he searched for the source of the unstable magic that had been prickling at the edges of his awareness for the past few minutes.
“I heard your grandmother has made her the apprentice at the tea house,” Hadrian continued. “Quite unexpected. Mother thinks it’s a dreadful scandal, of course, but it’s made me look at Lady Starspun in a new light. She must be quite the impressive young lady if your grandmother chose her. It certainly speaks to her character, does it not?”
A noncommittal noise emerged from Jasvian’s throat. He did not think particularly highly of Lady Iris’s character, but the last time he’d expressed his honest opinion about her in a public setting, it had ended with a chandelier exploding above his head. He thought it prudent to keep his exact thoughts to himself.
Besides, there was that sense of volatile magic to be concerned about. It was growing dimmer now, but?—
“Don’t you think she’s rather lovely, Jasvian?” Hadrian pressed.
Jasvian cleared his throat and attempted to focus on his friend. “I believe I made my opinion quite clear at the Opening Ball.” The unsettling magical disturbance was fading now, which brought him some relief. It had possessed a distinctive quality quite unlike the tempests he monitored in the mines—his ability was specifically attuned to the volatile magic that gathered around lumyrite deposits—but still a possible cause for concern. Most fae mastered basic magic in childhood, and even those still adjusting to their newly awakened abilities rarely lost control to the degree of the erratic surge he had just sensed nearby.
“Do you think she seemed distressed?” Hadrian continued, clearly not noticing Jasvian’s distraction. “I wonder if I should go after her, offer assistance …”
Before Jasvian could respond, Rosavyn pushed past him in a flutter of skirts, followed closely by a young woman he recognized as Charlotte Fields—the older sister of his grandmother’s human serving girl. And they were headed in the same direction as Lady Iris. His jaw clenched. It was bad enough that Rosavyn insisted on maintaining her inappropriate friendship with the Fields girl, but now it appeared she was openly associating with Lady Iris as well?
He took a step forward, fully intending to remind his sister about the importance of appropriate social connections, but a cheer went up from the crowd as the first race ended. Spectatorssurged forward across the lawns, their excitement amplified by streams of magical light that burst from the finish line and scattered across the sky. The winning pegasus landed gracefully on the platform that had materialized to receive it, wings trailing golden sparks as its rider acknowledged the applause.
Then Jasvian caught sight of another pegasus—the third or fourth to land on the platform—and went very still. Even from a distance, there was no mistaking that particular landing style. Perhaps not noticeable to anyone else, but Jasvian had seen it too many times during childhood races around the Rowanwood country estate.
“Excuse me,” he said shortly to Hadrian. “There is something I must attend to.”
He made his way through the crowd toward the receiving yard where riders dismounted after races. Some of the pegasi were led to special cooling-down platforms, while others were guided toward the enchanted stables where weather wisps maintained perfect conditions for the magnificent creatures. The riders themselves dispersed to the Recovery Pavilions—a series of open-sided, airy structures where trainers offered immediate performance assessments and sponsors mingled discreetly with their favored competitors between races.
But the rider Jasvian sought had—unsurprisingly—slipped into one of the private preparation rooms. He followed, his anger building with each step, and threw open the door without knocking. “Have you completely lost your senses?” he demanded.
Evryn turned, still pulling off his racing gloves. He didn’t appear surprised to see his brother. “Ah, Jasvian. Come to lecture me about proper behavior again?”
“How did you convince the real rider to swap places with you this time?” Jasvian demanded, shutting the door firmly behind him. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? I am doingeverything in my power to look after this family, and now I must worry about you getting yourself killed by illegally participating in the races?”
“Oh please.” Evryn tossed his gloves aside. “I’ve been riding since before I could walk. And fatalities are quite rare these days.”
“We discussed this. You promised it was finished.”
“I will not be bested by a Brightcrest!” Evryn’s composure cracked. “Especially not a?—”
“Brightcrest?” Jasvian repeated. “Alaryn Brightcrest is partaking in this lunacy as well? While his new wife and unborn child await him at home?”
Evryn released a snort, almost amused but not quite. “Please, brother,” he said, turning away to place his racing gloves on a nearby table, “do not embarrass yourself by meddling in affairs about which you comprehend nothing.”
Jasvian stared at his brother for a long moment, jaw working. Then he turned on his heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. The nerve of Evryn! As if Jasvian did not have enough to worry about with ensuring safety in the mines, with Rosavyn’s delayed manifestation, with the esteemed legacy of The Charmed Leaf at risk now that his grandmother had chosen such an unsuitable apprentice. And now illegal pegasus racing! Was he the only one who understood what responsibility meant?
Their father had taught them that duty came before personal indulgence, but apparently Jasvian was the only one who had taken this lesson to heart.
Chapter Sixteen
Iris stoodoutside the drawing room of Starspun House, her hand hovering over the doorknob. The butler had informed her that both her parents were inside, his tone suggesting something unusual in their afternoon seclusion. She drew in a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions that had propelled her all the way from the racing grounds.
The revelation about her father and Charlotte’s aunt thundered through her mind.Second choice. The words had lodged themselves in her chest like shards of glass. Had her mother always known? Was that why she had gradually yielded more and more of herself, afraid that any resistance might drive her husband back to his first love?
Iris steadied herself against the wall. With one final deep breath, she turned the handle and stepped into the drawing room.
Her parents sat side by side on the settee, their postures unnaturally rigid against the plush upholstery. Her mother’s fingers moved mechanically through the air, guiding enchanted golden threads that wove themselves half-heartedly through an embroidery hoop, the pattern losing its cohesion as her attention clearly wavered. Beside her, Iris’s father held a newspaperspread open across his lap, though his unseeing gaze suggested the words might as well have been written in invisible ink. They both looked up as she entered, their expressions shifting in perfect, alarming synchronicity.
“Iris,” her father said, straightening. “We were just about to send for you.”
“I have something I wish to speak with you about,” Iris said, her prepared speech suddenly evaporating from her mind.
