Iris stared at his words, surprised by the almost poetic quality of his observation.
My, my,the notebook commented.He’s been watching you quite closely to have formed such specific impressions.
Iris dismissed the notebook with atskand wrote back:
And you struck me as someone who might sleep inside a perfectly organized schedule, arising precisely on the hour without a single hair out of place. No doubt you keep your dreams alphabetized as well.
The envelope performed an elaborate twirl before shooting upstairs.
Dreams are notoriously resistant to organization,came Lord Jasvian’s reply.Though not for lack of trying, I assure you.
Iris found herself smiling again.
He’s making jokes,the notebook observed with apparent disbelief.The world truly is full of wonders.
The words had barely finished taking shape on the page and Iris was already writing her response on another torn piece of paper. The notes Lady Rivenna had left for her were becoming increasingly ragged around the edges, with hardly any blank space remaining on which to write her messages.
I picture you arranging them in neat little rows each night, only to find them hopelessly tangled by morning. How frustrating that must be for someone who values order above all else.
His reply came swiftly:
A keen observation, though not entirely accurate. I value purpose above mere order. The latter simply serves the former. Organization without purpose is just vanity.
Iris raised her eyebrows at this insight into his thinking.
That’s rather more depth than I expected,the notebook commented.Perhaps there’s more to Lord Brooding than meets the eye.
Iris tapped her quill against the edge of a page. Then, realizing that Lady Rivenna’s notes had no remaining blankspaces, she turned a few pages ahead in her notebook and unceremoniously tore out a blank page before returning to her current place.
WHAT ARE YOU DOING?the notebook’s script appeared.How DARE you mutilate me in such a barbaric fashion! I am a magical repository of knowledge, not scrap paper for your frivolous correspondence!
Iris rolled her eyes at the dramatics, tore her newly acquired paper into several smaller pieces, and continued writing.
And what is the purpose that all your careful order serves, my lord? Beyond ensuring the Rowanwood fortune continues to grow, of course.
She hesitated before sending it, wondering if she had pushed too far into personal territory. But her magic had a mind of its own, folding the paper and sending the resulting envelope shooting off the worktable before she could reconsider.
The pause that followed felt longer than previous ones. Iris chewed anxiously on her lower lip. Finally, new words appeared:
Safety. Security. The well-being of those who depend on the mines and those who work in them. Order is merely the means by which I ensure that no one suffers when it can be prevented.
Iris read the words twice, feeling as though she’d been granted an unexpected glimpse behind this man’s carefully maintained facade.
A noble purpose indeed, she wrote.I apologize if my question seemed intrusive.
Not at all, came his response.Though I admit I find it somewhat discomfiting to discuss such matters. May I ask what drives your own pursuits? There must be some purpose behind your early morning experimentation beyond simply fulfilling Lady Rivenna’s expectations.
Iris considered her answer carefully, still not ready to share her discovery with him and the real reason behind her experimentation this morning.
A desire to understand. To make sense of things that seem beyond my control.
She watched the paper envelope disappear through the doorway, then turned her attention to the copper teapot and the successful blend she’d created earlier. She poured some into a vial and labeled it ‘Autumn & Pine. A Possible Winner.’ She set it aside with the other vials as Jasvian’s response appeared:
Control is certainly a worthy pursuit. I admit that anything beyond my influence makes me extremely uncomfortable. I strive to never find myself in such a position.
Iris raised her eyebrows at his candid admission as she lifted her quill once more.
Really? Do you not find it freeing to occasionally release that iron grip on your surroundings? There’s a certain exhilaration in surrendering to the unexpected, is there not?
