Iris nodded encouragingly as they moved through the steps of the dance.
“When the Decay worsened, many in the family fell ill, their magic corrupted by the disease. But the Rowanwood son whosemagic was different was working in the northern mountains when he discovered vast deposits of lumyrite through his unique ability to sense what lay beneath rowan roots. As the family’s traditional magic faded with each generation affected by the Decay, the line of Rowanwoods who had a connection to earth and crystal grew stronger.”
“So the current Rowanwoods are all descended from that particular line?” Iris asked.
“Yes. The family kept their name to honor their heritage, even as their magic evolved.”
“That’s fascinating,” she said. “I understand a little of what that Rowanwood son must have felt. My own magic manifested quite differently from the rest of my family. Knowing you’re different can be both a blessing and a burden.”
“I don’t suppose you’ll share more about your magical ability?” he asked, his tone lighter. “It might give me a clue to your identity.”
Iris laughed, shaking her head. “Absolutely not. We’re wearing these enchantments for a reason, are we not?”
His lips curved into a smile that transformed his masked face, and something inside Iris ached to see that expression on his true countenance. “Very well,” he conceded. “Then perhaps a different approach. Tell me something about yourself that most people don’t know. Something that couldn’t possibly reveal your identity.”
Iris considered for a moment before admitting, “I love poetry.”
“Poetry?” he repeated, sounding genuinely surprised. “What do you enjoy about it?”
“The emotion contained in so few words,” she replied. “How a carefully crafted verse can paint vivid pictures in the mind and stir feelings that prose sometimes cannot reach.”
“I confess I’ve never been able to lose myself in poetry,” he admitted. “Perhaps I’m too practical-minded for such things.”
Iris laughed, the sound bubbling up naturally. Had she harbored any lingering doubt about her partner’s identity, that admission would surely have dispelled it.
“Perhaps I should try again,” Lord Jasvian mused, his tone thoughtful.
“I challenge you to do so. You might surprise yourself.”
“I believe I shall,” he replied, and the sincerity in his voice caught her off guard.
They continued dancing, his hand remaining steady at her back as he guided her through the intricate steps of the current dance, one whose lively, weaving patterns marked it as originating from traditional fae culture, presenting a delightful challenge given her limited practice with such forms back home.
As the music returned to a gentler temp, and conversation became easier once more, they discussed everything from favorite seasons to the comparative merits of various magical transportation methods. Iris employed some invention when stating that she was currently engaged in furthering her knowledge of plant-derived comforts and their proper presentation, quietly amused at the way his eyes narrowed behind his mask as he attempted to decipher her deliberately vague description. She found herself enjoying the freedom to speak her mind without the weight of her identity coloring his responses, savoring each unguarded comment and genuine laugh she drew from him.
When the music shifted once more, quickening again into something spirited, Jasvian asked, “Would you prefer to rest?”
“Not at all,” Iris replied, surprised by her own eagerness. “I’m quite enjoying this. Unless you wish to stop?”
“I’m happy to continue if you are,” he said, and the warmth in his voice made something flutter in her chest.
As the tempo increased, Iris surrendered to the music, allowing him to guide her through spins that sent her skirts swirling around her ankles. Each time she returned to his arms, his smile grew wider, his movements more confident. Around them, other couples matched their enthusiasm, the entire ballroom transforming into a whirlwind of color and motion.
Iris found herself laughing freely as he led her through a particularly challenging sequence of steps, her feet somehow finding their way without conscious thought. When the final notes rang out, Jasvian pulled her into one last dramatic spin before drawing her close, both of them breathless and flushed with exertion.
Half the ballroom erupted into spontaneous applause, the energy of the dance having captured everyone’s attention. As the enthusiastic response died down, Iris realized with a start that they had danced multiple pieces together without pause. The orchestra had seamlessly transitioned from one melody to the next, and neither of them had thought—or perhaps wanted—to separate.
She caught Jasvian’s eye, but before either could speak, a hush fell over the ballroom. The music faded, and all eyes turned toward the dais where the High Lady now stood, commanding attention without saying a word.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the United Fae Isles,” her voice rang out, clear and powerful. “As another magnificent Rowanwood Masquerade draws to its conclusion, I wish to extend my gratitude to our gracious hosts for what has, as always, been one of the most spectacular events of the Bloom Season.” She paused, her gaze sweeping the room. “Of course, as wonderful as this evening has been, it serves primarily as a prelude to the true pinnacle of our season—the upcoming Solstice Ball.” A slight smile curved her lips, something almost smug in her expression. She gestured to the orchestra. “Andnow, the final dance before the enchantments come to their end. I suggest you choose your partners wisely, for at the stroke of midnight, all masks shall fall away, and true identities revealed.”
With a start, Iris realized how late it had grown. She had completely lost track of time during her conversation with Jasvian, and now midnight approached dangerously near. She needed to meet Rosavyn and leave before the enchantment faded.
Jasvian took a deep breath, seeming to gather his courage once more. “Would you honor me with this last dance?” he asked.
For a fleeting moment, Iris was tempted to accept. To dance until the final chime, to see his expression when he realized who she was. But caution prevailed over curiosity. “I’m so sorry,” she said, already taking a step back. “I must go. I’ve just remembered that—that I must meet someone.” She offered a quick curtsy. “Thank you for the dances. They were truly wonderful.”
And before he could respond, Iris turned and wove her way through the crowd, leaving behind the mystery and enchantment and the lingering question of what might have been.
