“I would give anything to attend,” Lucie said, adding another labeled teacup to her tray. “Just once, to see the Rowanwood ballroom transformed for the masquerade.”
“Now, young one,” Mama Saffron said, her hands never stilling as she worked the dough. “The masks are not safe for humans. The magic enters one’s body and interacts with one’s own magic—if one possesses magic, that is—to create the illusion. It can cause terrible headaches for humans, and possibly even more unpleasant side-effects.”
“I know,” Lucie said with a wistful sigh.
Iris rubbed her temples, feeling a headache of her own coming on. The particularly tedious section on quarterly inventory assessments she’d been staring at for the past hour was threatening to permanently blur her vision.
At least she no longer had to worry about visions of a different sort assaulting her. It had been almost two weeks since she’d discovered the tea blend that successfully managed the images of possible futures that had begun to overwhelm her. Of course, the blend required some further adjustment after that first morning—a little more of the mysteriously labeled ‘spiced leaves’, a longer brewing time, a dash more honey, and stirring with a lumyrite rod rather than swirling—but now Iris sipped a cup of her refined version of ‘Autumn & Pine’ three times a day, and that seemed to give her an adequate level of control over when the visions appeared and how long they lasted.
Curious to test her ability now, Iris took a slow breath and focused her attention on Lucie as the girl checked that each teacup was properly labeled. She deliberately loosened her control, allowing the visions to flow. Images began to unfold before her, overlapping one another almost too quickly to distinguish details, but she caught glimpses of possibilities: Lucie placing a mask over her face, her dress transforming in a shimmer of magic; Lucie without a mask, embracing a tall man who—could that possibly be Lord Jasvian?
Iris blinked hard and the images vanished, revealing Lucie squeezing a final teacup onto her tray. No, it couldn’t have been Lord Jasvian. He didn’t embraceanyone, never mind human serving girls who worked at his grandmother’s establishment.
Still, the vision of Lucie placing an enchanted mask over her face concerned Iris. Surely that was not a possibility Lucie would actually entertain? Iris cleared her throat and said, “Saffron’s right about how dangerous it is for humans. I’ve heard the same thing mentioned multiple times this week.” This was the truth. The only topic of conversation the leaves had whispered about this week was the masquerade. It seemed there was nothing else on anyone’s mind.
“Oh, indeed,” Lucie said, looking up from her tray with wide eyes. “I would never do anything so foolish.”
“Have you seen any of it before, Charlotte?” Iris asked, giving up entirely on Magical Establishment Management and setting her quill down beside the collection of paper pixies she had attempted to fold with her magic earlier that morning. “Your mother crafts most of the masks and delivers them herself, doesn’t she? I wondered if you might have glimpsed the festivities in previous years.”
“Sadly not,” Charlotte said. “The masks must be delivered days in advance to allow time for the enchantment process.”
“Oh, yes, you mentioned that’s why you were so busy last week.”
“I’ve seen most of the gowns, though. I’ve helped Mother with endless adjustments for the ladies who will be there. Oh! Did I tell you who the mystery gown was for?” She leaned forward and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “The High Lady herself.”
“The High Lady will be there?” Iris asked in surprise.
“Oh yes,” Charlotte nodded. “The High Lady always attends. It’s part of what makes the event so prestigious. She doesn’t grace all social gatherings with her magnanimous presence, you know.”
Lucie tossed a cleaning cloth across the table at her sister. “Do stop your sarcasm.”
Charlotte caught the cloth and threw it back with a laugh.
“Not while I’m baking!” Mama Saffron called out sternly, and Charlotte had the good sense to look at least somewhat chastened.
“I’m a little sad I won’t be attending either,” Iris said, placing one elbow on the table and resting her chin on her palm. “It all sounds quite exciting.”
Charlotte groaned. “Is your grandmother being especially difficult about it? She’s such a bore.”
“Charlotte!” Lucie admonished.
“She can’t exactly help being ill,” Iris said, surprising herself by defending her grandmother. Their relationship had warmed slightly in recent weeks, though it remained far from close. “She took a chill the other morning when it began raining while we were out at Elderbloom Park and hasn’t fully recovered.”
“I suppose it’s true that she can’t be blamed for that,” Charlotte conceded.
Iris’s gaze dropped to her notebook beside the imposing tome. Elegant script that did not belong to either her or the notebook had begun to appear on the page:
Lady Iris, I trust your studies of tea house management are proving illuminating? Or have you nodded off entirely from the tedium?
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Lord Jasvian’s morning messages had become something of a ritual, regardless of where in the tea house Iris happened to be working or studying. “I believe I’ll sit by the window for a moment,” Iris said, gathering her notebook and quill in one hand and sliding the management tome closer with the other. “The light is better for writing there.”
“And I must get these cups to Lady Rivenna,” Lucie said, lifting her tray. “She’s terribly strict about timing with the leaf readings.”
Charlotte stood and attempted to brush the creases from her skirt. “I suppose I should get back to Mother’s shop. My morning break is nearly over, and she’ll expect me back punctually to help with all the last-minute adjustments for any ladies who aren’t quite happy yet with their gowns for tonight.”
With farewells exchanged, Iris settled at the small table beside the window that overlooked the tea house garden. Sunlight dappled the flagstone pathways where garden gnomes tended the rows of herbs and garden pixies flitted among the blossoms. Near one of the flower beds, a gnome trudged over to a row of blooms and offered its small watering can to a nearby pixie. The pixie hovered uncertainly for a moment before accepting it—a rare moment of harmony between the two creatures.
With a smile, Iris turned her attention back to the notebook, where it had left its own dry comment:
