“Lovely,” Iris’s father said, his attention on the hostess once more. “We’ll have some of those, then,” he added with a smile that Iris recognized as his public mask—bright and entirely artificial.
The whispers continued around them as they attempted polite conversation. Iris noticed her father’s voice growing incrementally louder each time he mentioned how proud he was of hermanifestationand herupcoming presentationat the Opening Ball.
When the human serving girl arrived with their tea and scones, she caught Iris’s eye and offered a genuine smile. Iris found herself smiling back, feeling the first hint of warmth since entering the tea house. At least someone wasn’t looking at her asif she were some sort of magical curiosity. “Thank you,” she said as the girl placed a delicate porcelain cup before her—lavender with gold filigree around the rim and tiny vines painted along the handle.
Iris lifted the teacup, inhaling the fragrant steam. Notes of hibiscus and blackberry and something zesty—orange peel? When she sipped, the flavor bloomed across her tongue, warm yet refreshing and somehow exactly what she craved without having known it. She set the cup down, noticing the tea leaves swirling at the bottom. “They haven’t strained the tea,” she remarked quietly to her mother, slightly perplexed.
Her mother glanced uncertainly at her father, who leaned forward. “It is tradition here. The older generation once believed fortunes could be read in tea leaf patterns. Few practice such arts now, of course, but Lady Rivenna is known for her appreciation of tradition. Hence, the tea is served in the old manner.”
“Sip carefully, dear,” her mother advised. “So as not to disturb the leaves.”
“I believe the teacups themselves may be charmed,” her father added, “to prevent the leaves from being caught up in the tea while drinking.”
The scones, Iris had to admit, were extraordinary. Light and buttery with a perfect crumb that practically melted on her tongue. As they ate, the tension at their table gradually eased. Perhaps it was the tea’s soothing qualities, or simply the comfort of familiar family conversation, but Iris found herself relaxing despite the occasional curious glances from nearby patrons.
The atmosphere between them had been growing steadily more strained since they’d departed their home on one of the western-most isles, the demands of travel wearing on their nerves as they journeyed across the United Fae Isles. Their lengthy passage by ship followed by days of carriage travel had left them all exhausted and irritable.
The wealthiest families would have arrived in Bloomhaven via ley line gliders, of course. Enchanted vessels that hovered above ancient magical currents and carried passengers at extraordinary speeds when guided by specially gifted flow-weavers. Iris had glimpsed what must have been The Confluence that very morning, a circular pavilion at Bloomhaven’s eastern edge where these magical conveyances docked after riding the ethereal tides.
Meanwhile, Iris’s family had endured weeks of travel from their distant island to reach this nexus at the heart of the United Fae Isles. Had they possessed the means to secure passage on a ley glider, Iris realized, their entire journey might have been condensed to mere hours instead of the grueling weeks they’d endured.
But now, after savoring scones that seemed to melt on the tongue and tea that soothed their frayed nerves, they had settled into the first comfortable conversation since their arrival. Iris’s father’s shoulders lowered from their defensive posture, and her mother’s smile grew more genuine as they discussed the charming architecture they’d passed on their journey through Bloomhaven that morning.
Still, it was with some relief that they made their way outside after finishing their refreshments, leaving the oppressive weight of curious stares and barely concealed whispers behind. Iris breathed deeply, noting once again that the air seemed fresher here in Bloomhaven, and the colors brighter. The town truly was saturated with magic unlike anywhere she had been before. Having spent most of her life in the quiet university town where her parents had met, with only occasional short journeys to neighboring areas, she found Bloomhaven almost overwhelming in its magical presence.
Clusters of flowers whispered to each other in the flowerbeds alongside the streets, cobblestones subtly shifted colors, andthere was even the occasional pegasus flying overhead. Iris knew of pegasi, of course, but in the way that someone who didn’t live near the ocean knew of sea creatures. She’d never personally witnessed one and had only ever seen drawings of anyone riding them. Where she had lived, the most exciting thing anyone ever rode upon was a horse with charmed horse shoes to give it extra speed.
They had barely taken more than a few steps away from The Charmed Leaf Tea House when a sharp voice cut through the air. “Lord Errisen Starspun? Can it really be? I heard the name Starspun, but I had to see for myself.”
They stopped abruptly as a woman crossed the road toward them. She was tall and striking, her pumpkin orange hair piled atop her head in an elaborate arrangement secured with jeweled pins. She appeared to be of an age with Iris’s father—perhaps a few years older.
“Clemenbell?” he murmured, almost too quiet to hear. Then he cleared his throat and said, “Lady Brightcrest. It’s been quite some time. Allow me to introduce my wife, Matilda Starspun, and my daughter, Lady Iris Starspun.”
Iris still felt a peculiar flutter whenever she heard herself addressed as ‘Lady.’ After years of being ‘Miss Starspun,’ the elevation to ‘Lady’ still felt like a borrowed garment, one not quite fitted to her yet.
“Indeed, itisyou!” Lady Brightcrest said, stopping in front of them as her eyes swept up and down Iris’s father before moving to examine her mother and then Iris herself. “And your—family.”
“News travels fast,” Iris commented quietly.
“It’s the gossip birds, dear.” The woman’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Ah, there is one now!” She pointed to a creature perched on a branch near the tea house—sleek and glossy, about the size of a starling but with a longer,more elegant tail. Its feathers appeared black at first glance, but as it turned its head, the sunlight revealed an iridescent sheen of purple-blue that rippled across its plumage. “They do fly quickly, and all about town they can be heard squawking one thing.”
Iris blinked, waiting, but the woman held back the news like a cat toying with a particularly entertaining mouse.
“And what is that?” her father asked, his tone carefully neutral.
There was a cruel glint in the woman’s eye as she replied, “Starspun half-breed.”
Chapter Three
If there wasone thing Jasvian Rowanwood had learned over the years, it was that the cacophony emanating from the family living room was directly proportional to the extent of his exhaustion. Today, as the sounds of laughter, bickering, and what sounded suspiciously like magical explosions drifted down the hallway, he concluded he must be approaching the limits of fae endurance.
He paused outside, straightening his already impeccable waistcoat and steeling himself for the inevitable assault on his carefully cultivated composure. One might think that after twenty-four years in this household, he would have developed some immunity to the Rowanwood brand of chaos. Evidence suggested otherwise.
Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door.
The scene that greeted him was precisely the sort of ordered disorder that seemed to define his family’s existence. Aurelise was hanging precariously out of the large bay window. Kazrian was hunched over the pianoforte, the instrument’s top propped open as he fiddled with something that caused occasional sparks of blue-green magic to be spat from its depths. And Rosavyn was draped across a chaise longue, her limbs arranged in a casualsprawl that would have scandalized half of Bloomhaven’s society matrons. An abandoned game of enchanted solitaire hovered inches above her chest, the cards occasionally rearranging themselves with disgruntled flutters.
Jasvian briefly considered whether he should have remained at the peaceful country estate for the season. But someone needed to ensure his mother and siblings—and his grandmother—were properly attended to. Though Rivenna frequently reminded him that she managed perfectly well during the remainder of the year with only a small household staff to assist her. The family had long since abandoned attempts to persuade her to return to their main estate in the country with them each year. Now unburdened by family obligations, she kept the tea house open year-round, even through the quieter seasons when most of elite society retreated to their country homes.
