“There is something else I haven’t told you,” she said carefully. “About … my magic. My specific ability.”
Jasvian turned toward her more fully, his expression attentive. “Yes?”
“It’s … a little more than mere paper folding. In fact, it isn’t really about paper at all. It’s about seeing possibilities—all the ways something might fold or unfold, all the potential paths or outcomes that exist simultaneously. I see them sometimes when I watch people. It’s—” She broke off, confused by the way he was looking at her now, a knowing smile playing on his lips, his eyes filled with warm understanding. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I find myself unsurprised,” he said with a quiet laugh, his gaze still tracing her features with undisguised admiration. “Everything about you has proven to be far more profound than first appearances suggest. Why should your magic be any different?”
“I …” She didn’t quite know what to say to that.
“How does it work?” he asked, appearing genuinely interested. “These possibilities, these potential paths?”
“For paper, it’s as if my mind perceives all possible fold lines simultaneously. Not with my eyes, but with my magic. I can sense every potential crease, every possible configuration waiting to emerge from a single sheet. And for people, it’s as if I see potential future scenes—mere flickers of images—unfolding rapidly before my eyes, overlaying themselves on top of reality. It’s a little disorienting. Or at least, it was until I perfected a tea blend that seems to help me manage when and how the visions manifest.”
“‘Autumn & Pine,’” he murmured.
She smiled. “Yes.”
“Now I understand why the tea house chose you,” he said with quiet admiration. “My grandmother guards its deeper workings closely, though I know she has infused parts of her own magic—her ability to perceive the patterns connecting people—into the place. Now it seems clear to me that your gift for seeing possible futures perfectly complements her ability to perceive existing connections. The tea house needed someone who could glimpse what might be, not just what is.” His eyes met hers with unexpected earnestness. “It is a role uniquely yours, a position that seems fashioned precisely for your particular talents. No one could—or should—take that from you.”
His words settled around Iris like a warm cloak, acknowledgment of her value that asked nothing in return. She had begun this Bloom Season expecting to sacrifice her identity on the altar of family duty, to become someone’s wife and nothing more. Instead, she had found purpose at The Charmed Leaf. Work that would one day be hers alone, a future shaped by her own hands.
And now, sitting beside Jasvian in the flickering light of the enchanted embers, she wondered if perhaps the choice wasn’t as stark as she had believed. Could she forge her own path while also opening her heart to … whatever this was that seemed to be growing between the two of them?
The possibility unfurled in her mind like one of her paper creations, revealing new dimensions she hadn’t dared to imagine. For the first time, she allowed herself to hope that her mother’s experience wasn’t the only possible outcome. That perhaps one could be both complete in oneself and still choose to share that wholeness with another.
“Thank you,” she said softly, holding Jasvian’s gaze.
“Will you tell me more about how it works?” he asked. “It sounds fascinating.” He gestured toward the other side of the fire pit, where several people had begun to gather in anticipation of the storytelling, claiming seats on the surrounding benches. Beyond their quiet alcove, the main thoroughfare remained visible, filled with browsing patrons drifting between stalls. “What do you see now?”
“Oh, well … there are quite a lot of people about,” Iris said hesitantly. “I don’t believe I’ll be able to distinguish much more than dozens of brief glimpses.” But she took a breath anyway, focused beyond the glowing stones, and allowed her magic to flow, relaxing the careful control she maintained. The scene before her began to shift, multiple versions of reality unfolding simultaneously.
“I see … goodness, it happens far too quickly for me to have any hope of being able to describe. Uh …” She laughed, trying to grab hold of a single idea from each image before it folded into the next. “That man is eating a golden apple—someone is dancing at sunrise—and … oh!”
She blinked and stood abruptly as the lumyrite stones in the fire pit flared far too brightly, but the image of two figures entangled was now seared into her mind. “I … uh …” She blinked rapidly, but she could not stop the next few images: the train of a white dress embellished with silver stars, a dark-haired child, a pink dog?—
A pink dog? What in all the stars? She blinked again, finally forcing the possible unfolding futures away.
“What is it?” Jasvian asked, concern creasing his face as he stood.
“Nothing!” she answered, far too quickly, a flush heating her neck.
He arched a brow, his lips curving upward in curiosity. “Well, now youmusttell me.”
She looked away, heat climbing further up her neck as her mind insisted on revisiting that brief moment when she’d seen herself tangled on a bed with Lord Jasvian Rowanwood in a most improper state of?—
“Imustdo nothing of the sort,” she said, far too loudly.
The silence stretched between them, taut with unspoken implications. Iris risked a glance at Jasvian, only to find his eyes still fixed on her face, his expression a mixture of curiosity and growing comprehension. As their gazes locked, his breathing seemed to quicken, and a telling flush began to creep up his neck, suggesting his imagination had ventured in precisely the direction she feared.
“Whatever you’re thinking,” she hastened to say, “I can assure you, you are wrong.”
Though clearly discomfited, Jasvian maintained his gaze with remarkable composure. “Is that so? And what might I be thinking, Lady Iris?”
She pressed her lips together as she turned away from him with as much dignity as she could muster, palms pressed flat against her midriff, her lungs struggling to draw sufficient breath. Never in her life had she experienced such profound mortification. She offered silent gratitude to every celestial body in existence that he could not see what she had seen. Though perhaps it was worse that his imagination might be conjuring scenarios even more?—
“I believe we should direct our discourse elsewhere,” she blurted out, turning back to face him but not quite managing to meet his eyes.
“Lady Iris,” he said softly, waiting until she dared to lift her eyes to his. “I must apologize. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable when I asked what possibilities you could see.”
