“Let’s try this one,”Iris murmured, carefully adding three drops of veilwater to her latest blend. The liquid shimmered as it fell into the porcelain teapot, creating tiny ripples that glowed momentarily before fading into the amber brew.
Though the sun had barely risen, the kitchen at The Charmed Leaf already hummed with early morning activity. Hearth sprites darted between copper kettles, coaxing flames to the perfect temperature, while the scent of baking scones mingled with the more exotic aromas of Iris’s experimental tea blends.
At the center of the kitchen stood the main worktable, conspicuously divided by a thick red line painted directly onto the wood that morning by Orrit. On one side stood the brownie, the tea house’s master of scones, surrounded by precisely arranged baking implements and ingredients. His tiny form was nearly obscured by a cloud of flour as he kneaded dough with remarkable vigor.
On the other side, carefully respecting the boundary, Iris had arranged her collection of jars containing various tea leaves, petals and roots alongside a variety of teapots with different magical properties. Several different kinds of measuring spoons added subtle influences to her ingredients, while enchantedscales measured not just weight but magical potency. Timing crystals of various colors were arranged in a neat semicircle, each one designated for a specific ingredient’s optimal steeping time.
“I still can’t believe I dragged myself out of bed before the sun,” Rosavyn said, stifling a yawn as she reached for another slice of honey cake from the basket she’d brought. “Only a true friend would sacrifice breakfast at home to check that you were well after last night’s drama.”
“And I’m eternally grateful for your sacrifice,” Iris said, carefully stirring her latest blend.
“As you should be,” Rosavyn replied around a mouthful of cake. She swallowed. “Though one should not thank their true friends by attempting to poison them with vile tea concoctions.”
“We must all start somewhere.”
“That last one,” Rosavyn said, wrinkling her nose, “tasted like it started at the bottom of a drain.”
“Rosavyn!”
“I’m sure you’ll improve quickly!” Rosavyn assured her, then added in a low tone, “Though I don’t believe the tea house selected you for your blending skills.”
“I heard that,” Iris muttered, squinting at the page of notes Lady Rivenna had left for her along with all the tea ingredients and brewing supplies. The purpose of this morning’s experimentation was to create a blend that might keep Iris’s newly discovered ability from overwhelming her.You need to find something that stabilizes the visions, Lady Rivenna had instructed the night before.A blend that allows the possibilities to unfold individually rather than all at once, and perhaps only when you wish them to, rather than whenever your emotions run high.But since Rosavyn didn’t know about the visions—and Iris didn’t feel ready to explain them—it was easier to pretend these experiments were simply part of her apprenticeship.
“You’re aware that you could return home for breakfast, are you not?” she said to Rosavyn as one of the timing crystals began to glow a soft emerald green, indicating that the steeping time was complete. “No one is forcing you to taste my ‘vile tea concoctions.’”
“Oh, but this is far more fun,” Rosavyn replied brightly. “Even if my tongue may never forgive me.”
Iris pretended she hadn’t heard that last bit. She lifted the teapot and gently swirled the contents while consulting the various loose pages of notes from Lady Rivenna. Apparently it mattered whether the swirling was clockwise or counter-clockwise. She set the teapot down and leaned over her notebook—placed safely out of Rosavyn’s view behind a stack of books—and lifted her quill to make note of the fact that she had swirledclockwise.
Below this, the notebook’s elegant script appeared:
I note you’ve chosen the ‘energizing’ direction rather than the ‘calming’ one. Are you certain about that?
Iris ignored the notebook’s commentary, since what was done was done. Its position behind the books meant that she could glance at it occasionally without drawing attention, and so that her notes—or, more specifically, her notebook’s replies—would not be visible to anyone else. Lady Rivenna hadn’t explicitly forbidden her from showing it to others, but the notebook’s connection to the tea house’s deeper magic made Iris cautious about revealing its existence.
“This one’s ready,” she announced, lifting the teapot and pouring over the mesh strainer that was enchanted to catch physical elements while allowing magical essences to flow through. The tea that filled the tasting cup smelled faintly of damp earth. “Anchoring root, clarity flowers, and veilwater.”
Rosavyn accepted the cup with theatrical wariness while Iris poured a second cup for herself. She watched as Rosavyn tooka small, cautious sip, then immediately made a face like she’d bitten into something rotten. “Stars above! That’s—” Rosavyn grabbed her water glass and took several desperate gulps. “That tastes like someone bottled a swamp fog and added a spoonful of pond scum.”
Steeling herself, Iris tried her own cup. The moment the liquid touched her tongue, she understood Rosavyn’s reaction. It was what she imagined drinking warmed marsh water might be like. She managed to swallow her sip with only a slight grimace, her determination stronger than her taste buds.
“Too much anchoring root, perhaps?” she suggested, reaching for her water.
“Too much everything,” Rosavyn insisted, still trying to rinse the taste from her mouth. “Definitely toss that one.”
“I can’t,” Iris said quickly. “I need to keep samples of each for Lady Rivenna to taste.” The truth was that she needed to keep them all for later testing, when the visions returned. One of these blends might work, even if it tasted terrible.
Iris carefully poured the remaining tea into a small labeled vial and set it aside with several others. She glanced surreptitiously at her notebook and froze. New words had appeared on the page in an elegant script that did not belong to the notebook:
Lady Iris, I trust you have recovered from last night’s events?
Her heart gave an odd little flutter that she immediately blamed on too much experimental tea. If Lord Jasvian was sending enchanted messages to her notebook, that must mean he was nearby. She glanced up at the ceiling, imagining she could see him settling behind his desk in the study upstairs.
“Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Rosavyn asked, reaching for another honey cake.
“What? No, I just—” Iris fumbled for an explanation. “I was consulting my notes. I realized I forgot to add elderleaf to that last blend. No wonder it tasted horrible.”
She placed a finger on the notebook, as if to check this imaginary note about the elderleaf, and found more text appearing beneath the first line:
