While organized ones lead to completed work.
Touché, my lord. Good day to you.
Good day, Lady Iris.
She turned to a fresh page in the notebook, a smile lingering on her lips. As she drew the boring management text closer, she found herself wondering how an enchanted mask might transform Jasvian. Not that he required any enhancement in appearance—he was far more handsome than any gentleman as perpetually serious as he had the right to be. Broad-shouldered, square-jawed, and possessed of eyes that were alarmingly captivating up close. Iris caught herself recalling the one occasion when they had actually touched. That moment in Elderbloom Park when the glittering pink fox had nearly knocked her over mid-argument, and he had caught her?—
The back kitchen door burst open and Rosavyn rushed in like a miniature cyclone, accompanied by the squawking of a gossip bird. “Lady Duskfall!” the bird shrieked, flapping frantically around Rosavyn’s head. “Lady Duskfall! Kissing at the mermaid fountain!”
“Oh, be gone, you ghastly creature!” Rosavyn flapped a hand at the bird, which finally settled on the windowsill. Iris leaned across her table and shooed it away with a wave.
“Iris!” Rosavyn stepped closer and gripped her friend’s shoulders, a grin spreading across her face. “I have had thebestidea.”
Iris couldn’t help laughing at her friend’s theatrical enthusiasm. “What is it?”
“I have determined a way to sneak you out of Starspun House.” Rosavyn lowered her voice and leaned a little closer. “You, Lady Iris, shall attend the masquerade after all.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“The primary issueis transferring your specific awareness to the copper alloy,” Hadrian said, adjusting one of the small, intricately etched metal pieces. “I can channel the raw magical energy easily enough, but your ability to sense a building tempest is more akin to an art form than a science.”
Jasvian leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples as he studied the array of copper components, wires, and hastily sketched diagrams spread across his normally immaculate desk. The summer evening pressed against the tall windows of his study, golden light filtering through gaps in the heavy curtains. From below, the sounds of music and laughter drifted upward—the masquerade in full swing as more guests continued to arrive at Rowanwood House.
“I’m not sure I’m convinced that what you envision is truly achievable,” Jasvian replied, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt another notch. He’d long since abandoned his formal jacket, having no intention of joining the festivities. “I don’t believe I identify with the term ‘art form’, but yes. It is as much instinct as it is power. Is that a quality that can be transferred?”
Hadrian, dressed in formal evening attire of deep blue with silver detailing, adjusted one of his cufflinks before responding.“That’s what I’m attempting to determine, and I believe the endeavor merits continued dedication, despite your doubts. If we can successfully map the correlation between specific magical fluctuations and your intuitive responses, we might create a system that could eventually take your place, freeing you from this constant burden.”
Jasvian sighed, rising from his chair to pace the length of the room. The floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that lined the walls were filled with mining records, geological surveys, and complex magical texts—the accumulated knowledge of generations of Rowanwoods who had managed the lumyrite mines before him. His father’s portrait hung above the fireplace, a constant reminder of the cost of failure.
With his gaze still on the portrait, he said, “Thank you, Hadrian. Despite my repeated expressions of doubt, I genuinely appreciate your continued efforts.”
“It is my privilege,” Hadrian replied. “You would do the same for me. Youhavedone the same for me, countless times when I’ve required your assistance. And now you, my friend, are the one facing a burden that necessitates help. I’ve watched you throughout the year, whenever we meet. The constant vigilance, the inability to ever truly relax. Soon the dormant season will be over, and you’ll return north time and time again. How long before you miss a tempest because you’re simply too exhausted to sense it coming?”
Hadrian’s sentiments mirrored those Jasvian’s mother had expressed on numerous occasions. Jasvian returned to his chair, picking up one of the metal components and turning it in his palm. Though physical distance now separated him from the mines, he could still sense that low-level hum, that persistent awareness of the lumyrite’s latent power.
“I understand the need for a system that does not rely solely on my presence at the mines,” he conceded. “But relinquishingcontrol to a mechanical system, no matter how magically enhanced …” He shook his head. “What if it fails? What if it misses something I would have caught?”
“And that is why we will continue to test until?—”
A clock on the mantel chimed nine, drawing Hadrian’s attention. He straightened, glancing toward the door where the sounds of the masquerade grew more enchanting with each passing moment, the melody of the orchestra now swelling as a new dance began.
“Ah, forgive me,” he said. “I should probably make an appearance downstairs. Your mother would be most displeased if I avoided the festivities entirely after accepting her invitation.” He paused, studying Jasvian. “Are you certain you won’t join? The masks offer a certain freedom from social expectation that even you might enjoy.”
Jasvian laughed, the sound short and dismissive. “A room full of people engaging in pointless revelry while pretending to be someone else? No, thank you. I’ll accomplish far more staying here.”
Even as he spoke, however, his mind drifted to his correspondence with Iris that morning. There had been something almost wistful in her messages about the masquerade, a lightness to their exchange that had lingered with him throughout the day. For a fleeting moment, he tried to imagine what it might be like to encounter her in such a setting, neither of them knowing the other’s identity, free from their usual antagonism, playful though it had become these days.
“As you wish,” Hadrian said, straightening his already impeccable cuffs. “I’m hoping Lady Iris might attend. Perhaps we shall continue our conversation from the Living Portrait Exhibition. Her observations were remarkably insightful. Such intelligence and wit in her commentary!”
Jasvian’s fingers stilled on the metal piece he’d been examining, his grip tightening involuntarily. An unexpected prickle of irritation coursed through him. Did Hadrian truly believe he was announcing some novel insight? As if he alone had noticed these qualities in Iris? These were aspects of her character that Jasvian had been sparring with for weeks.
“Lady Iris?” he managed, setting down the metal component with excessive care. “I don’t believe she’ll be there this evening.”
“Oh?” Hadrian’s brow furrowed as he stood. “I hadn’t heard.”
“Her grandmother is unwell,” Jasvian explained, his voice carefully neutral. “And Lady Iris cannot attend without her supervision.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Hadrian said, genuine disappointment evident in his tone. “I had hoped?—”
