The streets of Bloomhaven gave way to the outer districts, buildings growing sparser as they approached the eastern boundary. Through the window, Jasvian caught glimpses of the night sky, stars glittering coldly overhead, oblivious to the urgency that consumed him.
After what felt like an eternity, the carriage slowed. Before it had come to a complete stop, Jasvian had already thrown the door open and leaped out. Before him stood The Confluence, its pale stone pavilion gleaming silver in the moonlight. The circular structure sat at the precise point where all seven major ley lines of the United Fae Isles intersected. At the center of the pavilion stood the wayhouse, where Flow-Weavers took shifts attending to travelers’ needs. Light glowed in a single window.
Jasvian raced toward the wayhouse door and the simple bell pull that stood beside it. He seized the rope and tugged with desperate urgency. The deep tones echoed through the night, reverberating in the still air. The light in the window brightened.
Moments later, the door swung open to reveal a woman with seafoam green hair loose around her shoulders, dressed in fitted riding trousers and a flowing linen shirt belted at the waist. Her eyes widened at the sight of him. “Lord Rowanwood? What brings you at this hour?”
“The northern mines,” he replied, still breathless. “A tempest is building. There is no time to lose.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Iris inhaled deeply,holding the breath for several heartbeats before releasing it in a controlled, even stream. She repeated the process three times, a centering ritual she had developed in recent weeks to mark the beginning of her morning tea brewing. The gentle, familiar motions had become something of an anchor in a sea of uncertainty.
Two days had passed since the Stardust Night Market. Two days since Jasvian had paled mid-conversation and fled without explanation. Word had reached them the following morning that a tempest had erupted at the Rowanwood mines in the north, though Jasvian had arrived in time to calm it before catastrophic damage occurred. He had remained there to oversee the initial repairs, and the tea house had been awash with a current of anxious tension ever since. Relief that no lives had been lost mingled with concern over the extent of the damage—and over Jasvian himself.
Iris stood at Lissian’s tea blending station, trying to focus on the precise measurements required for her ‘Autumn & Pine’ blend. She reached for the jar of spiced leaves and carefully measured the fine red-brown fragments. Behind her, Orrit huffed and muttered as he kneaded his legendary scone dough,while kitchen pixies flitted between shelves, arranging cups and saucers for the day ahead. This peaceful, familiar routine should have been soothing, yet Iris found her thoughts straying continuously northward.
Had Jasvian slept at all these past two nights? Had he eaten properly? Was he truly unharmed? And why, despite Lady Lelianna’s assurances that her son was physically well, did a sense of foreboding still cling to Iris?
She measured the pine needles next, then added starlight crystal honey, watching it dissolve into glittering particles as it touched the hot water inside the copper teapot. As she reached for the lumyrite rod to begin stirring, the kitchen’s back door swung open. A gust of cool morning air swept in, carrying with it the scent of dew-damp grass and?—
Her heart leapt into her throat. Jasvian stood in the doorway, his tall frame silhouetted against the pale morning light. For a moment, she could only stare, the lumyrite rod forgotten in her grasp. The impulse to rush to him, to throw propriety to the winds and simply confirm with her own hands that he was whole and unharmed, was nearly overwhelming. She took a half-step forward before remembering herself—and their audience of kitchen pixies, hearth sprites, and one highly judgmental brownie.
“Lord Jasvian,” she managed instead, her voice betraying more emotion than she intended. “You’ve returned.”
“Lady Iris.” His voice was formal, controlled. Too controlled. “I arrived late last night.”
He looked exhausted. Shadows pooled beneath his eyes, and his normally immaculate attire showed signs of hasty attention. But it was his expression that truly concerned her. The warmth that had begun to soften his features when they were together had vanished, replaced by the rigid mask he wore in public.
“I was up early this morning,” he continued. “I … needed to see you.”
Joy fluttered in her chest at those words, but something in his demeanor—the stiffness of his posture, the careful distance he maintained—kept her rooted to the spot.
“I’m relieved you’re back safely,” she said, setting down the lumyrite rod. “We’ve all been so concerned.”
“Indeed.” The word fell between them, oddly hollow. “May I speak with you? Privately? The garden, perhaps?”
Orrit harrumphed loudly, the sound startlingly incongruous coming from such a diminutive figure. Iris looked over her shoulder and found the brownie making a show of scowling at his dough, though Iris knew he was listening intently to every word.
“Of course,” she replied, turning back. She followed Jasvian outside where the morning was still young, the sun casting long, cool shadows and painting the tea house gardens with a pale golden light. Dew clung to every surface, transforming the rows of herbs and flowers into a landscape of glittering jewels. Sleepy garden gnomes trudged slowly into view, yawning widely as they dragged tiny watering cans and trowels behind them, while several garden pixies remained curled beneath the flowers, their translucent wings twitching as they snored quietly.
Jasvian led Iris beyond the rows of herbs, flowers and tea plants to a small stone bench nestled beneath a flowering archway, far enough from the kitchen windows to ensure privacy. He did not sit, however, and neither did Iris. They stood facing each other, an arm’s length of morning air between them.
“I wanted to tell you—” Iris began.
“There are things I must say—” Jasvian spoke simultaneously.
They both stopped, an awkward silence falling between them. A garden gnome nearby lowered his watering can and sat down to watch them.
“Please,” Iris gestured for him to continue, her heart racing. “You first.”
Jasvian’s jaw tightened. “Very well.” He clasped his hands behind his back, assuming a stance that reminded Iris painfully of their earliest, most formal interactions. “I wanted to inform you that I have returned safely, as you can see. The tempest was contained, though not without damage to some of the tunnel supports.”
“I’m so relieved you arrived in time,” Iris said softly. “That no one was?—”
“I did not arrive in time, Lady Iris. The tempest erupted. It’s true the damage was limited, but there should have been no damage at all. Had I been more attentive to my duties, had I not allowed myself to become …” He paused, his gaze sliding away from hers. “…distracted, I would have sensed the danger much earlier. I could have calmed the tempest before it formed.”
The implication hung in the air between them, clear as crystal:Shehad been the distraction. Iris felt a cold weight settle in her stomach. “I’m so?—”
