Jasvian sighed heavily but complied, if only to hasten whatever strange demonstration his grandmother had planned.
“Now,” his grandmother’s voice came softer now, “simply listen.”
At first, he heard nothing beyond the ordinary sounds of the empty tea house—the settling of old wood, the rustle of leaves.He was about to open his eyes and declare the entire exercise a pointless waste of?—
Then he heard it. A whisper so faint he might have imagined it. A murmur like water over smooth stones. It seemed to emanate from the walls themselves, or perhaps from the very air. Jasvian strained to make sense of the sound, to discern words within the hushed cadence. Just as he began to distinguish something like human speech, the whispers shifted, becoming clearer, more distinct.
“—would have been home sooner, if not for the contract renegotiation.”
Jasvian’s breath caught in his throat. The voice—deep, measured, authoritative—was unmistakable.
His father.
Jasvian’s eyes flew open, his head whipping around to search the empty tea house. “What is this?” he demanded, heart pounding painfully in his chest.
His grandmother shook her head slowly, her eyes softening with empathy and remembered grief. “Close your eyes, Jasvian. Listen.”
Disbelief and a strange, acute longing warred within him. Reluctantly, he closed his eyes once more, his entire being focused on the impossible voice that continued to speak as if no interruption had occurred.
His father’s voice came again. “—and in retrospect, I should have put it aside for another time and returned when I had originally planned. When Lelianna told me Kazrian won first prize, my first thought was that I would have been there to see it for myself if not for that damned contract.”
“It was truly a remarkable invention,” came his grandmother’s voice, though her lips did not move. It was an echo from the past, preserved somehow in this very space.
“Apparently the judges themselves were shocked speechless for several moments.” A warm chuckle followed. “Lelianna told me he was so proud of himself, despite the singed curtains.”
“We were all exceedingly proud. Such ingenuity at merely twelve years of age speaks volumes. Some children at that age are still struggling with basic control of their abilities. It does make one wonder what direction Kazrian’s magic might take when he manifests one day.”
“And I missed it,” his father continued, regret evident in his tone. “I was sitting in a private chamber with the negotiators hundreds of miles away while my son triumphed despite being one of the youngest entrants. Just as I missed Rosavyn’s first use of magic and Jasvian’s entrance exam results. So many moments, Mother … gone forever. And for what? More wealth? More security? At what cost?”
Jasvian’s throat tightened painfully. He opened his eyes and stared at his grandmother, who watched him with unwavering focus.
“It has struck me today, in a way it hasn’t before,” his father’s voice continued, “how much I have sacrificed—how much I have asked my family to sacrifice—because I haven’t been able to bring myself to trust others with even the smallest responsibilities. Always believing no one else could possibly handle things correctly. Always assuming disaster would follow if I delegated anything of importance.” A heavy sigh. “And I fear I’ve taught my children the same thing. Jasvian especially. During my visits home, we’ve spent hours in discussion of his eventual succession, wherein I’ve consistently encouraged him to observe my methods with the expectation he would one day emulate them precisely.”
“It is not too late to show him a different path,” Rivenna’s echo replied.
“No,” his father agreed. “It is not too late. I’m resolved to alter my course. I wish to see my family more, to be present for the moments that matter. The production reports will still be there after Rosavyn’s birthday celebration. And Evryn is expected to manifest any day now. I do not want to be absent from this milestone as I was for Jasvian's manifestation.”
“And how do you propose to accomplish this change?” Rivenna’s past self asked. “You’ve built quite an elaborate cage for yourself, Evrynd.”
“I don’t know yet,” Jasvian’s father admitted. “But I must try. I must find a way to be both a responsible leader and a present father. My father never managed it, always believing that a Rowanwood’s first and only loyalty was to the family legacy. But I’ve come to realize the family itself is the legacy. What good is preserving an empire if there’s no joy in it?”
The voices faded, leaving behind a silence so profound Jasvian could hear his own heartbeat, rapid and uneven. He stared at his grandmother, a strange mixture of emotions churning within him—disbelief, grief, anger, and beneath it all, a tremulous hope he dared not examine too closely.
“What trick of magic is this?” he asked, though his voice had lost its accusatory edge, replaced by something closer to awe. “How is this possible?”
His grandmother regarded him steadily. “It is no trick, Jasvian. This is the true magic of The Charmed Leaf. From the day it was created, it has been listening. It contains years—generations—worth of memories within its walls. The conversation you just heard took place mere weeks before your father’s death.”
Jasvian swallowed hard, struggling to process what he had heard. “Why did you not tell me of this years ago?”
She took a deep breath before exhaling slowly. “The complex magic infused into the tea house is my most closely guardedsecret. The only other person who knows of it is Lady Iris. Tonight, the tea house has seen fit to trust you with this knowledge as well.”
He slowly shook his head. “I understand that. What I meant was … why did you not tell me of my father’s change of heart?”
Her gaze filled with something that looked remarkably like guilt. “Because I did not realize until now how completely you had internalized your father’s earlier teachings. How determined you were to follow the exact path he himself had begun to question. Had I known sooner how deeply those lessons had taken root, I would have shared this with you years ago, in the hope it might help you avoid repeating his regrets.” She leaned forward, her eyes holding his with unusual intensity. “The legacy your father truly wanted to leave was not one of isolation and sacrifice, but one of balance and connection. He never had the chance to fully embrace that change himself, but you still can.”
Jasvian’s mind reeled. For years, he had dedicated himself to upholding what he believed to be his father’s example. Had built his entire identity around a sense of duty that demanded complete dedication, unwavering vigilance, and the subordination of personal happiness to professional responsibility. To discover now that his father had recognized the flaws in that approach, had planned to change course but been denied the chance by cruel fate …
“I’ve been so certain,” he murmured, more to himself than to his grandmother. “So convinced that I was honoring his memory by following his path.”
