“You have honored him,” his grandmother said, standing and moving close enough to rest a hand on his shoulder. “Your dedication, your sense of responsibility—these are qualities he valued and instilled in you. But they were never meant to be the sum total of your existence.”
Jasvian exhaled slowly, feeling as though something tight and constricting that had bound his chest for years was gradually beginning to loosen. “I need time to think about all of this,” he said.
“Of course you do,” his grandmother agreed. “But don’t take too long. Some opportunities, once lost, can never be reclaimed.” Her gaze held his meaningfully. “Some connections, once severed, prove difficult to restore.”
Iris. The thought of her came unbidden, accompanied by a sharp ache in his chest. Her wounded eyes as he had pushed her away in the garden, her rigid formality as they had danced earlier that evening. Would she wait for him? Would she forgive him?
He exhaled heavily, his gaze wandering across the tea house walls where vines clung like silent witnesses, repositories of countless conversations, revelations and secrets collected over decades. His path forward remained unclear, but for the first time in years, Jasvian allowed himself to imagine one that might include both duty and joy.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Rain patteredagainst the windows of The Charmed Leaf Tea House in a steady, mournful rhythm, driven by a wind that moaned through Bloomhaven’s streets like a heartbroken spirit. Inside, however, golden faelights cast a warm glow over the assembled guests, and hearth sprites danced merrily among crackling flames in the fireplace that had materialized in the wall specifically for this unusually cold summer’s night. The contrast between the storm outside and the cheery atmosphere within only heightened the sense of privileged intimacy shared by those fortunate enough to have secured an invitation to Lady Rivenna’s Annual Tea Leaf Reading.
Iris sat with rigid posture at a table with her grandparents, every nerve in her body acutely, painfully aware of the two tables flanking hers—to her left, the Blackbriars, with Lord Hadrian offering her frequent warm smiles; to her right, the Rowanwoods, with Jasvian studiously avoiding her gaze. The seating arrangement was so obviously contrived that Iris could not help but wonder if Lady Rivenna had personally arranged it for maximum dramatic effect.
“Oh, Iris, isn’t this enchanting?” her grandmother whispered, patting her hand with uncharacteristic enthusiasm.The elder Lady Starspun had been positively despondent following Jasvian’s sudden coolness after the Night Market, where he had shown such promising interest in Iris. Her spirits were now remarkably improved, however, thanks to Iris spending much of the previous evening at the Fawnwoods’ ball enjoying Lord Hadrian’s attentive company.
“Such a charming tradition. Your grandfather and I haven’t been included in many years, not since we began our quiet withdrawal from society functions, you understand.”
“Indeed, it is quite lovely,” Iris murmured, fighting to keep her gaze from drifting toward Jasvian.
She had barely slept the previous night, replaying their dance at Fawnwood House over and over in her mind. The careful distance he had maintained, the precise formality of his words, the way his fingers had tensed almost imperceptibly when they brushed against hers. Most of all, she remembered the flash of raw longing she had glimpsed in his eyes before he had shuttered it away. Despite everything he had said in the garden, despite his insistence that duty must take precedence over personal feelings, something in that unguarded moment had whispered that he still cared.
The thought both comforted and infuriated her.
“Lady Iris,” a warm voice interrupted her brooding. Lord Hadrian had leaned slightly toward her from his adjacent table, his expression brightening as she turned her attention to him. “I must say, you look particularly lovely this evening. That shade of blue suits you remarkably well.”
“Thank you, Lord Hadrian,” she replied, managing a genuine smile. Hadrian’s kindness was a balm to her wounded spirits, his open admiration a welcome contrast to Jasvian’s deliberate coldness. “Did your sister enjoy her morning sketching excursion to the gardens? I understand she and her companionswere fortunate enough to complete their drawings before this dreadful weather descended upon us.”
“Indeed, she returned quite pleased with her efforts. She captured a rather charming scene of two garden gnomes who appeared to be engaged in some sort of spirited debate over the proper pruning of?—”
“Distinguished guests!” Lady Rivenna’s clear voice cut through the murmur of conversation, drawing all eyes to where she stood regally at the center of the room. “Welcome to my Annual Tea Leaf Reading.”
As she continued her introduction, Iris found her gaze inadvertently straying to the Rowanwood table. Jasvian sat rigidly beside his mother, his severe expression softening only when he glanced at his younger siblings. Aurelise and Kazrian could barely contain their excitement at being allowed to attend such an adult gathering, while Rosavyn caught Iris’s eye and offered a small, sympathetic smile. She knew something of what had transpired between Iris and her brother, though Iris had not divulged the true extent of her feelings and the depth of her disappointment.
“… a tradition that honors our connection to the deeper patterns that flow beneath the surface of our lives,” Lady Rivenna was saying, her hands sweeping through the air in a graceful gesture that left a trail of silver sparkles. Outside, a particularly strong gust of wind rattled the tea house’s windows. “Tonight, we peer into destiny’s teacup, seeking what mysteries might be revealed.”
Lucie and Lissian emerged from the kitchen at that moment—Iris knew their arrival had been precisely timed—bearing trays of delicate, pearl-white teacups. Iris observed the faint luminescence emanating from each cup, evidence of the enchantment she knew Lady Rivenna had placed upon them to ensure distinctive patterns would form for the evening’sentertainment. This was well-understood and simply part of the evening’s accepted performance.
“Now,” Lady Rivenna instructed with a dramatic flourish, “before you are special blends I have personally created for each of you. I ask that you observe a moment of silence as you first inhale the aroma.”
Iris tucked her gloves beside her saucer before dutifully lifting her cup and breathing in the complex scent of her tea. She glanced up, only to find Jasvian watching her with an intensity that sent heat rushing to her cheeks. He looked away immediately, his jaw tightening.
“Drink your tea until only a spoonful remains!” Lady Rivenna commanded, her voice taking on a theatrical quality. The statement was followed by a ripple of anticipation through the gathering.
As Iris sipped her tea, she found herself unable to resist occasional glances toward both adjacent tables. Lord Hadrian caught her eye once and smiled, while Jasvian remained focused on his cup with unnatural concentration. The younger Rowanwoods—Aurelise and Kazrian—could barely contain their excitement, whispering to each other and earning a gentle rebuke from their mother.
“Hold your cup in your left hand,” Lady Rivenna instructed once most guests had nearly finished their tea. “Place your right hand atop it.” Iris complied. “Now swirl three times clockwise—no, Lord Thornhart, your other clockwise!” Rivenna corrected with good-natured exasperation, drawing laughter from the assembled guests. “Then turn the cup upside down onto your sauce.”
The room filled with the gentle clinking of porcelain as everyone followed her instructions. Iris carefully inverted her cup onto the delicate saucer, watching as a drop of amber liquid escaped and ran along the rim.
“Count to seven while contemplating your deepest curiosities,” Lady Rivenna intoned, her voice dropping to a near-whisper that somehow carried across the room.
Iris closed her eyes. One. What did she truly wish to know? Two. The path her future would take? Three. Whether the tea house would indeed become hers one day? Four. If her family would recover from financial ruin? Five. Whether she would find happiness? Six. If Jasvian would ever—Seven.
She stopped that thought abruptly.
“Now, carefully turn your cup right-side up and peer into the mysteries within!” Rivenna announced, her words followed immediately—and almost comically—by a dramatic rumble of thunder.
