Lady Rivenna placed a fresh sheet of paper in Iris’s hands. “Something that demonstrates growth, certainly. Control and precision, yes. But also something that hints at depths not immediately apparent.” She paused, her eyes meeting Iris’s with unmistakable intent. “Something that draws people in.”
Iris looked down at the blank paper, feeling its potential beneath her fingertips. “I’m not entirely sure what you mean.”
“Perhaps create something more engaging than mere transformations. Consider what paper represents. It holds stories, captures memories, preserves knowledge.”
Iris frowned. “You’re suggesting I create something narrative? Something that tells a story?”
“Precisely.” Lady Rivenna nodded in approval as the pixies lined up at the door. “Not merely a garden scene that transforms, but a tale that unfolds. A sequence of events with meaning and purpose.” She smiled slightly. “Everyone lovesa good story, Lady Iris. Far more engaging than watching paper creatures move about a garden, no matter how skillfully crafted.”
The idea caught fire in Iris’s imagination. She could create an entire theatrical scene in miniature—paper figures acting out a story, with one moment flowing seamlessly into the next. Not random transformations, but deliberate progressions, the paper itself knowing where the tale was leading.
“That’s brilliant,” she said excitedly. “It would be much more memorable than what I had planned.”
“Excellent.” Lady Rivenna’s approval warmed Iris like sunlight. “Though I imagine this will require considerable practice on your part. I suggest you begin at once.” She made her way to the door, pausing only to make one final adjustment to the largest flower arrangement before departing.
As the door closed behind her, Iris’s fingers were already twitching with eager anticipation, her mind racing ahead, darting through possibilities. The blank paper before her responded instantly, creases forming and multiplying as her magic flowed freely. Not the garden scene she’d first planned, but something entirely new. A story. A ballroom in miniature, with two paper figures at its center, locked in a dance, entirely oblivious to the room shifting around them as?—
Iris sat back with an exasperated sigh, pushing the half-formed creation away. Even when attempting to focus on something that should fully absorb her mind, she could not escape Jasvian. It seemed his presence had infiltrated not only her thoughts but her magic itself, bending her creations toward him like flowers turning to follow the sun.
It was absurd. And she had no notion of what to do about it.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Later that day,Jasvian carefully navigated the familiar pathway through the back gardens and into The Charmed Leaf’s kitchen, balancing a small wooden box in his hands. The tea house seemed remarkably still in the early evening light, most of the day’s patrons and staff having already departed. As he stepped inside, he spotted his grandmother directing a drowsy hearth sprite to bank the coals for the night.
“Grandmother,” he called as he approached the long worktable at the center of the kitchen. “This arrived at Rowanwood House this afternoon.” He set the intricately carved box down. “The courier claimed it contained those specialized ingredients you’ve been waiting for. Highland frost petals, I believe? For certain specialty blends.”
Lady Rivenna turned, her expression conveying obvious skepticism. “And you felt compelled to deliver this immediately? Rather than waiting for me to bring it here myself tomorrow morning?”
“Of course I brought it now. You’ve mentioned several times how essential these ingredients are. It seemed … important.” In truth, the small box could easily have waited, but the restlessness that had plagued Jasvian all day had finally drivenhim to seize upon the first reasonable excuse to visit the tea house—and perhaps catch a glimpse of Iris before she departed for the evening.
“How thoughtful,” his grandmother remarked, her tone suggesting she found his explanation thoroughly unconvincing. She approached the table and ran her fingers over the box’s delicate carvings. “Though I suspect even frost petals from the highest peaks would have survived another twelve hours.”
Jasvian cleared his throat. “The tea house appears quite empty. Has everyone departed for the day?”
“The staff has, yes,” Lady Rivenna said, watching him with those unnervingly perceptive eyes. “Lady Iris, however, remains in the study. She’s been working on her presentation for the Summer Solstice Grand Ball for most of the day.” Something like concern flickered across her features. “I may have pushed her a bit too hard today. The poor girl has barely taken a moment’s break.”
A frown creased Jasvian’s brow. “Pushed her? What exactly did you do, Grandmother?”
“Mind your tone, Jasvian,” she said. “And your business, for that matter. My methods with my apprentice are hardly your concern.”
“They are if you’re driving her to exhaustion,” he replied, the protective edge in his voice surprising even himself. He moderated his tone with effort. “I simply meant that she’s been working quite diligently these past weeks. Perhaps a different approach?—”
“My, my,” his grandmother interrupted, her lips curving into a knowing smile. “Such concern for Lady Iris’s wellbeing. How unexpected.”
Heat crept up Jasvian’s neck. “I would express similar concern for any of your staff.”
“Of course you would.” She drummed her fingers on the ornate box, then nodded to the kitchen pixies that had climbed onto the end of the worktable and were hovering with questioning gazes. “Yes, thank you, you know what to do with it.”
Then she swept past her grandson to the back kitchen door. She lifted her elegant cloak from its peg and pulled it around her shoulders. “Now, shall we be on our way? My carriage will be here any minute.”
“You’re leaving Lady Iris here alone?” Jasvian asked before he could stop himself.
“She’s perfectly capable of managing on her own,” Lady Rivenna replied with a dismissive wave. Then, after a brief pause, her brows pulled together slightly. “Hopefully.”
Jasvian straightened. “I can wait for her. My carriage is outside. I can escort Lady Iris home when she’s finished. It wouldn’t be proper for her to walk unescorted at this hour.”
His grandmother’s eyebrows rose incrementally higher. “The two of you alone in my tea house? That hardly adheres to the standards of propriety you so typically champion.”
