The accusation landed with uncomfortable precision. “I spoke without proper consideration,” he admitted stiffly.
“How convenient,” Iris retorted. “So we may cast whatever poisonous barbs we wish, provided we later acknowledge our words might have been ill-chosen? Is that how nobility justifies its cruelties?”
“What else can I do?” he demanded, hands spread helplessly at his sides. “I cannot go back and erase my words.”
“You should not have spoken them in the first place!”
“Indeed, I should not have!” he agreed. The hedges rustled ominously, responding to their heightened emotions. Jasvian forced himself to take a deep breath, all too aware of the enclosing space around them. Sweat began to collect on his brow. “This is pointless. I should not have interfered.”
“On that, at least, we can agree,” she said in a shaky tone.
He should leave. His breathing was growing increasingly shallow and the air within the maze seemed thick and stifling. But he suddenly became acutely aware of how close the two of them were standing, of the faint scent of orange blossom that seemed to follow her everywhere, and he could not seem to will his feet to move.
“I cannot tell,” Iris said, her voice barely above a whisper as she regarded him with weary resignation, “if you truly regret your words or if you’re merely scrambling to defend yourself. All I know is that whenever we’re near each other, we inevitably part in anger. Perhaps some forces in nature are simply not meant to coexist in harmony.” She stepped around him with careful precision, as if avoiding even the merest brush of contact, her lavender skirts whispering against the hedges as she disappeared around the corner.
Jasvian remained frozen for several moments, watching the space where she had been. Finally, he followed, tugging at his cravat, desperate to escape the confines of the maze. Once outside, he gulped the evening air, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, breathing deeply as he watched Iris rush across the garden toward the house.
Then it struck him—a violent surge of uncontrolled magic crackling through the air like lightning before thunder. Unlike at the pegasus races where the disturbance had built gradually, this eruption came without warning. The sensation pulsed outward, unmistakable to his trained senses, and this time, as he watchedIris disappear into the house and felt the sensation begin to dim, he was almost certain of its source.
“I see you’ve managed it again, my boy.” His grandmother slowly approached him.
“Managed what?” he asked tersely, still watching the house where Iris had disappeared.
She sighed, moving to stand beside him as they both gazed in the direction Iris had gone. “For all your skill at calming tempests underground, you seem determined to stir one up every time that girl steps into your presence.”
And to that, Jasvian had no response. Mainly because he feared she was right.
Chapter Twenty
Iris hurried through the Thornharts’grand house, barely registering the ornate gilt frames housing portraits that seemed to follow her with disapproving eyes, or the enchanted tapestries where woven figures shifted to whisper to one another as she passed. Her vision blurred with unshed tears, heart hammering against her ribs as she sought any exit that might allow her to escape without notice.
The confrontation in the maze had left her raw, exposed in a way that felt unbearable. The Brightcrest sisters’ cruel words echoed in her mind—half-breed interloper with delusions of acceptance—a sentiment distressingly similar to those Lord Jasvian himself had expressed when they met.
And yet, he had defended her tonight. Why? Merely to spite the Brightcrests? Or had he truly meant it when he’d supported her position as Lady Rivenna’s chosen apprentice?
And why did it matter to her what Lord Jasvian Rowanwood thought? The man was insufferable, arrogant, and infuriatingly proper. She shouldn’t care about his opinion. Yet some treacherous part of her had sparked with hope at his intervention, desperately wanting to believe he’d acted out ofgenuine concern rather than some familial rivalry she still did not understand.
“Ridiculous,” she whispered to herself, rounding a corner too quickly and nearly colliding with a footman bearing a tray of miniature tarts shaped like acorns. She muttered an apology and pressed onward, seeking an escape route that wouldn’t place her in full view of half the gathering.
As she hurried down a less populated corridor, an odd dizziness overcame her. The hallway seemed to fold in on itself and then reappear, revealing another version of itself, and then another and another, multiple images layered atop one another like sheets of translucent paper. In one version, the corridor was empty; in another, it teemed with laughing guests; in yet another, the wallpaper appeared completely different while an elderly gentleman she didn’t recognize crossed the corridor with the aid of a walking stick.
Iris pressed her palm against the wall to steady herself, breathing deeply as the images flickered and merged. This was the same strange phenomenon she’d experienced at the pegasus races. She’d forgotten all about it in the wake of discovering her father’s history and her parents’ abrupt departure. But now it had returned with alarming intensity.
She blinked hard, willing the overlapping scenes to dissipate, but they persisted. A figure approached from the end of the corridor—or was it three figures? No, one woman in three different dresses, all occupying the same space. Iris took a stumbling step backward.
“Iris!”
The voice—blessedly familiar—cut through her disorientation. The overlapping scenes wavered, then settled into a single reality as Rosavyn hurried toward her. “Rosavyn,” Iris breathed, relief washing over her. “I looked for you earlierbut couldn’t see you anywhere, and then my grandmother dragged me out to the garden.”
“I only just arrived. Mother was being particularly fussy about—” Rosavyn broke off, her expression shifting to concern as she took in Iris’s distress. “What’s happened? You look positively haunted.”
“I just—need to leave,” Iris whispered haltingly. “Without my grandparents seeing. Withoutanyoneseeing. I just … I need a moment. Or perhaps a dozen moments. Somewhere else. Can you help me?”
Rosavyn’s eyes lit with understanding and something that looked suspiciously like mischievous delight. “Can I help you escape a suffocating social gathering? My dear Iris, I’ve been sneaking out of events like this since I was old enough to walk. And I’m well acquainted with the layout of the lower levels of the Thornhart residence, given my grandmother’s friendship with the elder Lady Thornhart. I’ve endured many a tea in this house.” She took Iris’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Come with me.”
Without waiting for a response, Rosavyn tugged Iris down a side corridor and through a small door concealed behind a decorative screen. They emerged into a narrow servants’ passage where Rosavyn immediately adopted the purposeful stride of someone who belonged there.
“Keep your chin up and move with confidence,” she instructed in a hushed tone. “If you carry yourself with purpose, anyone who sees you will assume you have every right to be wherever you are.”
