“Must you always sit like that?” Jasvian asked Rosavyn, gesturing to her sprawled form. “One would think you were raised in a barn rather than one of the finest estates in the United Fae Isles.”
Rosavyn merely grinned up at him. “No one of consequence is here to see me, brother dear. Unless you count yourself, which I most assuredly do not.”
“Your impeccable manners are, as always, a credit to our upbringing,” Jasvian replied dryly.
Their mother looked up from her embroidery, her needle continuing to weave golden threads of magic. Her warm smile softened her elegant features. “Jasvian, there you are. Did you have a productive afternoon?”
He crossed to the sideboard and poured himself a small glass of amberberry wine, an indulgence he rarely allowed himself. “The meeting with Hadrian went well enough. He remains enthusiastic about his design for the early warning system, though I’m still not convinced it will function as intended.”
“Well, Hadrian has always been brilliant with his—Aurelise!” she called out, suddenly noticing her younger daughter’s precarious position. “Do come away from the window, dear. It’s hardly proper for a young lady to be seen hanging out of the house like washing on a line.”
Aurelise jerked back inside, a deep blush staining her cheeks. “Sorry, Mother,” she murmured, smoothing her skirts. But within moments, her curiosity clearly got the better of her, and she was inching back toward the window, though with slightly more decorum this time. Jasvian couldn’t entirely blame her. Aurelise was so painfully shy at the few social events she’d been permitted to attend last season that he suspected leaning out of windows was her primary method of learning about Bloomhaven society.
Jasvian crossed the room with measured steps and lowered himself into the chair beside his mother. He lifted the crystal wine glass to his lips, taking a slow, deliberate sip of the honey-colored liquid, hoping its warmth might ease the tension that had settled between his shoulders. Even now, during the dormant season when the mine shafts were sealed—and even at this considerable distance from the Rowanwood mines in the north—he could perceive the subtle hum of lumyrite magic that resonated deep beneath the earth’s surface.
His particular manifestation of magic allowed him to sense the building of magical energy that gathered around raw lumyrite deposits. Left unchecked, this volatile power would eventually erupt into mine tempests—violent, swirling storms of pure magical force that could tear through solid rock, collapse tunnels, and shatter crystal formations. Along with this sensitivity came Jasvian’s ability to calm these tempests before they fully formed, dispersing the wild magic with his own power.
The past year had been particularly demanding, with an unusual number of potential tempests requiring his attention.Time and again he’d journeyed north to the mountainside, spending days with his hands pressed to the earth, his consciousness extending deep below to sense the building disturbances. Each time, he’d sent his power flowing through rock and crystal, soothing the volatile magic before it could unleash its destructive force.
A sharp crack and a puff of smoke from the pianoforte startled Jasvian from his thoughts.
“Kazrian, perhaps we should send for a professional,” his mother suggested, her gentle voice barely masking her anxiety.
“No need,” Kazrian insisted cheerfully, his head still buried in the instrument’s interior. “I’ve nearly solved it. Just a minor misalignment in the acoustic enchantment threads. One more adjustment should—” Another more colorful explosion of sparks interrupted him.
“If you set the pianoforte on fire, Mother will be most displeased,” Jasvian observed.
His mother leaned a little closer and lowered her voice. “You don’t think he might actually?—”
The door swung open and Evryn sauntered in, his cravat loosened and his dark hair artfully tousled in a way that had become quite fashionable among young lords. He cast an assessing glance at Jasvian and grinned. “Well, if it isn’t Lord Responsibility himself, gracing us with his presence,” Evryn announced. “Did the weight of the entire Rowanwood fortune finally grow too heavy for your shoulders alone?”
“The weight would be considerably lighter if certain members of this family contributed anything beyond sarcasm,” Jasvian retorted.
Evryn clutched his chest in feigned offense. “I contribute invaluable wit and charm. You’re welcome.” He strolled to the table where remnants of afternoon tea still lingered, selecting a honeyed scone with exaggerated consideration. “Besides, Ihave it on good authority that scowling at account books is your particular talent. I wouldn’t dream of interfering with your natural gifts.”
Their mother’s lips twitched as she returned to her embroidery. “You were saying that Hadrian is optimistic. It would be wonderful if the two of you were successful in creating a far more effective warning system. To relieve so much of the burden from your shoulders?—”
“I would still need to be present during active mining periods,” Jasvian interrupted. “No mechanical system, no matter how ingenious, can replace direct magical supervision.”
“But that’s precisely Hadrian’s intention, is it not? That you needn’t monitor the mines constantly.” His mother’s brow furrowed with concern. “The strain will eventually cause harm, Jasvian. At this rate, you’ll work yourself into an early grave, between your responsibilities to the family estates and your need to be near the mines. It has only been a few years since you manifested your abilities, and already you’re?—”
“What is the alternative, Mother?” he asked, more sharply than intended. “My abilities have made the entire mining operation safer than it’s ever been before. I need to be present there during the active seasons.”
“And what,” his mother said gently as she leaned forward once more, “do you expect will happen when you are no longer around one day? If you do not implement a new system, the miners will have to return to relying solely on the tempest bells, as they did in previous generations. Are you content with that?”
Jasvian fell silent, the familiar vise of anxiety and pain tightening around his chest until breathing became an effort. The tempest bells had not been enough to save his father. Then again, neither had Jasvian’s power. “No, I am not content with that,” he said finally. “Which is why I’m continuing to work on this with Hadrian, despite my reservations.”
Her expression softened. “I know, my dear.” She patted his hand. “But you must allow for the possibility that Hadrian’s system might actually succeed and acknowledge that your constant oversight may not be necessary.”
Before Jasvian could respond, the drawing room door swung open once more, and Lady Rivenna Rowanwood swept in, her silver-streaked dark hair arranged in an elegant knot at the nape of her neck.
“Grandmother!” Rosavyn sat up, sending the enchanted cards scattering with indignant flutters.
“Good afternoon,” Rivenna said, her sharp gaze taking in the scene before her. “I see you’re all precisely where I left you this morning. How industrious.”
“Not all of us,” Jasvian corrected. “Some of us have been attending to family business.”
“Yes, Jasvian, we’re all deeply impressed by your diligence,” Rivenna said, her voice dry as she crossed the room and settled herself into the empty chair on Jasvian’s other side. “Though I note you’ve found time to join the family’s collective indolence now.”
