“What else would one call an establishment that serves tea for coin?” Ellowa’s voice dripped with condescension. “Though I suppose for someone of your background, such an association might seem elevated.”
Jasvian’s fingers tightened on his glass. The Brightcrest sisters had always been vicious—indeed the entire family had built their fortune by exploiting the vulnerabilities of others—but their targeted cruelty toward Lady Iris seemed excessive even by their standards.
“You do realize,” Mariselle continued, stepping closer to Iris and forcing her to turn and face the younger sister, “that you’re merely a novelty? A shiny new curiosity that has temporarily captured attention. But the enchantment will fade, as it always does.”
“Indeed,” Ellowa agreed. “Soon enough, Lady Rivenna will realize her mistake. Your magic is hardly worthy of notice,let alone worthy of inheriting something as significant as The Charmed Leaf. And as for Lord Hadrian’s attentions?” She let out a cruel laugh. “Surely you don’t believe they signify genuine interest. Men of his standing marry within their class. They may dally with …unusualspecimens, but they do not offer them permanent positions.”
“How unfortunate,” Iris replied, her tone carefully measured, though Jasvian could detect a tremor beneath the surface, “that you measure your own worth solely by the advantages your bloodline affords you.”
Ellowa’s expression hardened. “Better to have advantages than to be a half-breed interloper with delusions of acceptance. You will never truly belong in our world, Lady Iris. The sooner you realize that, the less painful your inevitable fall from grace will be.”
A surge of anger shot through Jasvian like an ember flaring to life, burning away all restraint. Before he could reconsider, he found himself striding to the maze entrance, thrusting his glass at the footman, and saying, “I believe I’ll enter after all.” He stepped inside, jaw clenched and fists balled at his sides. The oppressive closeness of the hedges set his nerves on edge, but fury propelled him forward despite the unease gnawing at him. He followed the sound of voices, turning a corner before finding himself face to face with the three women.
Iris’s eyes widened in surprise, while the Brightcrest sisters had the grace to look momentarily discomfited. “Lord Rowanwood.” Ellowa recovered first, her features rearranging themselves into a scowl. Neither the Brightcrests nor the Rowanwoods endeavored to hide their true feelings for one another. “How unexpected to encounter you in the maze.”
“Indeed,” he replied. “Whatisn’tunexpected is the sheer lack of decorum spilling from the mouths of two Brightcrests.”
Ellowa drew herself up indignantly. “We were merely having a private conversation.”
“Is that what you call cornering a fellow guest with petty insults and transparent intimidation?”
Mariselle’s cheeks flushed. “We were simply ensuring Lady Iris understands her position in society.”
A stab of guilt pierced Jasvian’s conscience as he recalled his own similar words to Iris at their first meeting. Had he not attempted to do the very same thing? He pushed the uncomfortable thought aside.
“Her position?” Jasvian raised an eyebrow. “As Lady Rivenna’s chosen apprentice and the sole heir to one of the oldest magical bloodlines in the United Fae Isles? That position?”
“None of that changes the fact that she is a half-blood,” Ellowa hissed.
“And that,” Jasvian replied, voice sharp as cut crystal, “does not change the fact that the tea house has been waiting for someoneworthyof its legacy. A standard no Brightcrest could ever hope to meet, regardless of how pure they claim their bloodline to be.”
Ellowa lifted her chin, fire evident in her gaze. “Well?—”
Mariselle grabbed her sister’s hand, cutting her off with, “We should rejoin the party. Mother will be wondering where we’ve gone.”
“A wise decision,” Jasvian agreed.
With one last venomous glance at Iris, the girls swept away, their identical golden heads disappearing around the corner.
For a moment, silence hung between Jasvian and Iris. The surrounding hedges seemed to lean inward slightly, as if curious about what might happen next. The narrowing pathway made Jasvian’s heart quicken, his chest beginning to feel oddly tight.
“I did not require your intervention,” Iris said finally, her voice tight. “I was handling the situation perfectly well on my own.”
Jasvian narrowed his eyes at her. “Of course. I should have allowed you to continue ‘handling’ their social evisceration with such admirable stoicism.”
“What do you care?” she demanded. “Have you forgotten that you happen to agree with their sentiments?”
“I would never agree with aBrightcrest.”
“Oh, I see,” Iris said, a short, bitter laugh escaping her. “This was merely another skirmish in your ongoing family feud. You couldn’t resist the opportunity to remind them of their place. How foolish of me to imagine you might feel a genuine inclination to defend my honor.”
“There you go again,” Jasvian exclaimed, “twisting my every word and intention. I cannot even defend you without earning your scorn!”
“Because it isyoudoing the defending! You have said the very same things to me?—”
“Do not compare my comments to the vicious taunts of two jealous young?—”
“Why not?” Her eyes filled with a challenge. “How was it different when you questioned whether my magic was worthy of presentation to society? When you called me a ‘half-breed’ as if the word were poison on your tongue?”
