P.S. My creative chaos is simply the natural state of productive experimentation. Some of us do our best work when we’re not constrained by excessive tidiness.
“I’m actually hopeful for this one,” Rosavyn said, eyeing the steaming cup with cautious optimism. “After all, they can’tallbe terrible, can they?”
Before Iris could reply, she caught sight of a new message appearing in her notebook:
Tea blending experiments. I should have guessed. The ghastly odors wafting through the floorboards are quite distinctive. Are you deliberately creating concoctions that smell like a garden gnome’s unwashed boots, or is that merely a happy accident resulting from your ‘creative chaos’?
Iris’s lips twitched in amusement.
How utterly rude, the notebook commented.Though he does have a point about the odours.
“Iris? Are you listening to me?” Rosavyn’s voice broke through her thoughts.
“Sorry, what did you say?” Iris asked, guiltily focusing on her friend.
“I said this one tastes almost like a summer garden with just an edge of dirt.” Rosavyn peered at her suspiciously. “But you’re clearly somewhere else entirely. Are you feeling all right? You keep getting this strange, distant look.”
“I’m fine,” Iris assured her. “Simply … concentrating on the next blend.” She kept aside a sample—labeling it ‘Dirty Summer Garden’— before checking the admittedly disordered pile of pages with Rivenna’s notes written across them, and then eyeing the array of ingredients. “Hmm … let’s try this jar curiously labeled ‘spiced leaves’ along with some pine needles and a bit more of that honey. With the copper pot. I haven’t used that one yet.”
“Sounds delicious,” Rosavyn said dryly.
Iris got to work weighing the correct magical potency of pine needles while Rosavyn opened the jar of spiced leaves and then popped a spoonful of starlight crystal honey directly into her mouth. “That’s meant to be for the tea,” Iris murmured disapprovingly, though her mind was half-occupied with composing her next message to Lord Jasvian.
“Someone needs to check that the flavor is still good.”
“As if it might have changed in the two minutes since I used it last?”
Rosavyn shrugged. “One can never tell what might happen in a kitchen surrounded by so many magical ingredients. Can I add these tea leaves now?”
“Yes, thank you. Two measures of the silver spoon.”
As Rosavyn added the tea leaves and then turned to retrieve more water from the kettle, Iris quickly scribbled another note:
Perhaps if you arrived at a more civilized hour, Lord Jasvian, you might avoid such olfactory assaults. Though I’m beginning to think you secretly enjoy our early morning exchanges, given your continued appearance at an ‘unconscionably’ early hour. Next time, I’ll be sure to create something particularly pungent just for you.
The paper folded itself particularly crisply and flew away. Iris bit her lip. With a twinge of guilt, she wrote in the notebook:I probably shouldn’t tease him.
On the contrary,the notebook replied,teasing appears to be the only form of interaction he finds tolerable with you. One might draw interesting conclusions from that observation.
Don’t be ridiculous, she scribbled, feeling a flush rise to her cheeks as she turned back to the tea, determined now to focus on the task at hand.
After pouring two cups, she leaned over them to inhale. The brew smelled like warm cinnamon and spiced honey with undertones of fresh pine that lingered pleasantly when she exhaled. She handed one to Rosavyn.
“This one might actually be drinkable,” Rosavyn declared after taking a cautious sip. “It tastes like …” She took another sip, then nodded. “The final whisper of autumn, laced with the first breath of winter.”
Iris tasted the tea and found that she agreed. “Perfect,” she said, genuinely excited. She took another deep, appreciative sip. The tea spread warmth through her body, and the world around her seemed to settle. She exhaled slowly. Only now, feeling a sudden and profound sense of steadiness, did she realize how long she had been existing in a state of perpetual imbalance, as if constantly walking on shifting ground.
This particular blend might actually work.
The notebook flashed again with new writing, and Iris tried to casually lean over to read it while preparing another blend. It was a longer message this time:
Your accusation wounds me deeply, Lady Iris. I arrive early to enjoy the peace before the day’s chaos descends, not to engage in verbal sparring matches with apprentice tea brewers. Though I must admit, your particular brand of disorder does provide a certain entertainment value. It’s rather like watching a whirlwind attempt to organize itself into a straight line.
Iris was so absorbed in reading the message that she failed to notice Rosavyn studying her with increasing curiosity. “You keep looking at those books as if the ink itself might dissolve if you look away for too long,” Rosavyn observed. “Is there something particularly fascinating about ‘Comprehensive Herbology for Magical Infusions’?”
“No! I mean, yes, it’s … very informative,” Iris stammered. “I’m examining the combinations I should try next. I believe this one needs to steep for?—”
A knock on the open kitchen door interrupted Iris’s stammered explanation. Both girls looked up, startled by the unexpected sound, and Iris’s gaze landed on one of the last people she expected to see in the tea house kitchen atanyhour, never mind this early in the morning.
