Chapter Twenty-Six
Jasvian wincedas he stepped into The Charmed Leaf the morning after the masquerade, a dull ache throbbing through his head. Sleep had proven elusive, his mind replaying fragments of conversation with his mysterious partner in teal and silver, analyzing each laugh, each shared observation, searching for clues to her identity. He stifled a yawn, uncomfortably aware of the morning light streaming through the windows at an angle that revealed his tardiness. Still early enough that the tea house remained closed to patrons, but considerably later than his usual arrival.
Lord Jasvian Rowanwood, disheveled and behind schedule—what was becoming of him? His grandmother would be delighted by this evidence of his humanity.
As he walked between the empty tea house tables—his aching leg muscles reminding him that he’d danced far more enthusiastically last night than he had in years—a belated realization struck him: he had no reason to be here today. The renovations to Rowanwood House’s ballroom were complete, the masquerade itself now merely a memory. For the first time since the season began, the house was blissfully quiet, free from the constant disruption of workers and suppliers.
It was true that he had used his grandmother’s tea house study for years, keen to avoid the interruptions of his siblings, but surely he could endure their occasional visits to his study at Rowanwood House if it meant no longer having to share a workspace with Iris. Except … he no longer harbored any desire to escape her company. Quite the opposite, in fact.
A movement near the far wall caught his attention. Lucie Fields, the human serving girl who worked here, stood precariously balanced on a wooden ladder, one hand stretched toward the ceiling. Around her neck hung a chunky necklace of raw lumyrite crystals, the morning light catching on their rough-cut edges.
It occurred to Jasvian, rather abruptly, that he had never exchanged a single word with the girl. Indeed, he had scarcely acknowledged her existence beyond a fleeting disapproval when his grandmother first employed her. He paused, watching her with curiosity. She was directing thin ribbons of light toward the ceiling, where they wove themselves into an intricate pattern across the plaster. Each ribbon connected to one of the tea house’s central support beams, creating a delicate lattice of golden energy.
After several moments, Jasvian recognized the base spell. One of his grandmother’s seasonal enchantments designed to maintain a perfect ambient temperature regardless of the weather outside. But Lucie had modified it, he realized. Instead of the standard circular pattern he had seen his grandmother apply to the entire ceiling, Lucie had created an asymmetrical design that followed the natural grain of the wooden beams. The modification was clever—it would distribute the cooling effect more evenly throughout the space.
Without magic of her own, she was no doubt channeling power from the lumyrite necklace—likely a gift from his grandmother—and yet the precision of her work suggestedactual … skill. A discomfiting blend of guilt and shame pricked at him. Why should her competence surprise him? Because she was human? The prejudice inherent in that assumption struck him now as utterly absurd.
He was quite certain this shift in perspective stemmed from Iris’s influence. She had challenged his ingrained assumptions at nearly every turn, forcing him to reconsider beliefs he’d held for years. This change in his thinking, he now realized, had occurred gradually over the past weeks since their first meeting. Only now, in this quiet, unguarded moment with his mind weary from lack of sleep, did the extent of the change strike him with such sudden force.
“Good morning, Miss Fields,” he said, his voice cutting through the quiet.
Lucie started violently, nearly toppling from her perch on the ladder. Her concentration broken, the golden ribbons of light wavered dangerously before she steadied them with a quick gesture. “L-Lord Rowanwood!” she stammered. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I apologize for startling you,” he said, moving closer to examine her work. “That’s an interesting modification to my grandmother’s ambient enchantment.”
Lucie’s eyes widened. “I, uh …” She blinked several times, like a shadow sprite caught in a sunbeam. “Yes, my lord.”
“It’s quite clever,” he added. “More effective, I would imagine.”
Again, she appeared lost for words before finally stuttering, “I-I hope so, my lord.” She was clearly uncomfortable with his attention.
Unease settled in Jasvian’s chest, the same he’d felt the previous evening when Hadrian had called him out on his ‘impeccable lineage’ comment. Shame, he realized. He wasashamed of his former certainty, his dismissal of humans as somehow lesser.
“Miss Fields,” he said formally, “I feel I owe you an apology.”
She stared at him. “My lord?”
“It is no great secret, I suspect, that I’ve long held certain restrictive views regarding humans and their place in fae society. Views that I’ve recently come to recognize as … incorrect. I merely wish to apologize for this and to thank you for your contribution to this establishment.”
Another awkward silence stretched between them, Lucie appearing to be shocked speechless by his words. Finally, she whispered, “Thank you, my lord,” as if she were too afraid to raise her voice to a normal pitch.
With a final nod, Jasvian stepped back. “I’ll leave you to your work, then. Good day, Miss Fields.” And then he made his way toward the stairs that led to the upper study before he could terrify the poor girl any further.
He ascended the familiar steps slowly, one hand rising reflexively to massage his throbbing temples. The exchange had been undeniably awkward, yet as he climbed, he felt … lighter. A curious counterpoint to the lingering physical discomfort. Who might have suspected, he mused, that the constant effort of maintaining disapproval, the sheer weight of rigidly held disdain, could be such a heavy weight?
He found himself wondering what Iris would think of this realization of his. She would undoubtedly find his newfound enlightenment rather amusing, he suspected. Probably take considerable delight in informing him that she had, of course, been correct all along. And strangely, the prospect did not irritate him in the slightest.
No, he checked the thought sharply as he reached the landing. He was not meant to be dwelling on Iris. That had been the very purpose of subjecting himself to the masquerade theprevious night—to seek some distraction from these incessant thoughts of her. The evening had, in that regard, been a success.
He paused at the study door, fingers hovering over the polished brass handle as memories of the previous night washed over him. One decision against his nature had led to an evening more enjoyable than he’d ever expected. He’d stood at the edge of the ballroom for far too long, watching masked figures twirl across the floor while anxiety lingered at the edges of his mind. That familiar discomfort he always felt at such gatherings.
He’d been on the verge of departure, berating himself for the foolishness of attending at all, when he’d noticed her—the woman in teal, observing the dancers while she sipped her drink. She’d remained stationary at the ballroom’s periphery long enough for him to do something utterly uncharacteristic. In a moment of reckless abandon—as reckless as Lord Jasvian Rowanwood ever allowed himself to be—he’d decided that one dance before leaving the blasted masquerade couldn’t hurt. Well, it could, but the embarrassment wouldn’t last long beneath the shield of enchantment.
But one dance had become two, then three, until he’d lost count entirely. Time had slipped away as they’d moved across the floor, her conversation as captivating as her graceful movements. Moments of shared humor, thoughtful questions, and a comfortable rhythm to their discourse—all had combined to create an evening he hadn’t known he was capable of enjoying.
Yes, he had indeed succeeded: thoughts of this mysterious woman now occupied the space previously held by Lady Iris Starspun. The maddening preoccupation with his grandmother’s apprentice had instead been replaced by fascination with a masked stranger who’d vanished before midnight. A fair trade, surely. His mind cleared of onedistraction only to be filled with another, but at least this one would fade as the masquerade receded into memory.
He pushed open the door and stepped into the study. The room was bathed in morning light, the curtains drawn back to reveal a perfect view of the upper branches of the ancient glimmerbark tree on the other side of the road. The air smelled of freshly brewed tea and old books—a combination Jasvian found comforting.
