At some point, she rose from the floor and wandered past, though her movements barely registered. Absorbed in his notes, Evryn continued refining a character loosely based on Rosavyn—one he intended to use as a vehicle to critique the relentless societal pressure placed on young fae to manifest. Rosavyn managed to maintain her carefree attitude, her eyes sparkling with delight when Kazrian and Aurelise—two years younger than her—showed the first stirrings of their abilities, but Evryn hadn’t missed the way her smile grew more strained each time someone commented on her lack of manifestation.
After another few minutes, the unmistakable clink of porcelain from the kitchen caught his attention. Mariselle was making tea. He glanced up briefly, then returned to his writing, determined to finish his thought before the interruption fully derailed his concentration.
Then a crash and the sound of shattering porcelain startled him. He sat forward abruptly, his notebook sliding from his knee to the floor with a soft thud.
“Is everything all right?” he called out, already half-rising from his seat.
Mariselle responded immediately. “Yes, everything’s fine. Nothing more than a moment of clumsiness.”
Evryn hesitated, one hand still braced against the window frame. “Do you need?—”
“No, I do not need assistance, Rowanwood,” she cut him off, though her voice still held a trace of its earlier glee rather than any real irritation. “I’m perfectly capable of cleaning up a few broken teacups.”
He reached for his notebook and sat back with a sigh. Stars forbid he should dare offer a lady assistance. He resumed his writing. He was busy with a paragraph about how society’s obsession with magical manifestation created a cruel paradox—those who needed the most support received the least, abandoned to their ‘failure’ just when compassion was most needed—when Mariselle appeared at his side.
“Have you seen these before?” she asked, presenting two teacups. “I accidentally knocked over the tray with the cups I usually use and had to reach higher than normal for replacements. I found these.”
Evryn leaned a little closer to look. Each teacup was exquisitely crafted, with delicate floral patterns in soft blues and greens curling around the rim. But what caught his attention were the names painted on the sides in elegant gold script, nestled artfully among the painted leaves:Rikon one,Vennaon the other.
“They’re part of a set,” Mariselle continued. “There are others in the kitchen labeledThaelen,Kren, andRella.”
Evryn frowned as he took one of the cups from her hand to examine it more closely. “Who are Rik and Venna?”
Mariselle gave him a look that said,Are you being intentionally dim?“Your grandparents? Valenrik and Rivenna?”
A loud snort escaped Evryn. He handed the teacup back to Mariselle. “You cannot be serious. Do you think there’s a single person in the entire United Fae Isles who could get away with calling my grandmotherVenna?”
“Well, when you put it that way,” Mariselle said, “no, I can’t imagine that. But who else could it be? And Kren and Rella are obviously Krenshaw and Nirella. My grandparents. And have you ever heard of someone named Sera? Her teacup is in the kitchen too.”
Evryn shook his head.
Mariselle studied the delicate teacups with a thoughtful expression. “What do you think this means?”
With his mind still lingering on the half-written passage in his notebook, Evryn struggled to formulate a sensible answer. “I …” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably nothing of consequence.”
“Nothing of consequence? Our grandparents had personalized teacups hidden away in this cottage like some sort of … clandestine tea society,” Mariselle exclaimed, her eyes wide with scandalized delight. She turned the cups in her hands, examining them from every angle as though they might reveal additional secrets. “Not just any teacups. Ones with …diminutiveforms of their names.Familiarnames. You don’t think they were …” Her voice lowered conspiratorially, hovering between fascination and horror.
Evryn raised an eyebrow, immediately understanding her implication. “Friends? Impossible,” he scoffed, though the evidence in her hands suggested otherwise.
“Then how do you explain this?”
Evryn inhaled deeply, searching his mind for an answer that made sense. ‘They were friends’ was not only improbable, it was as likely as discovering gossip birds had taken a vow of silence.
“We know Krenshaw Brightcrest and Thaelan Rowanwood were business associates. We know they often worked here at the cottage. I also know that Thaelan and his older brother, my grandfather, were considered to be close. I suppose it’s not entirely beyond imagination that they might all have shared tea here occasionally, along with their wives—in a strictly professional capacity, of course.”
“I suppose,” Mariselle said, though she sounded unconvinced.
After another moment’s pause, she turned and headed back to the kitchen, where the light clinking of porcelain and the gentle splash of water indicated she was preparing tea. Evryn tried to refocus on his writing, but the words refused to flow. Instead, his mind kept circling back to those teacups. His grandmother being called ‘Venna’ by anyone, let alone Brightcrests, seemed utterly inconceivable.
The quiet sounds of Mariselle’s movements in the kitchen filled the cottage. A few minutes later, she emerged, a steaming cup in her hand. She rounded the table and stopped beside the window seat. “I made you sometea,” she said, then smiled and turned the cup so he could see the label. “In theRikteacup.”
Evryn eyed the steaming liquid warily. She’d offered him tea before, and he’d invariably declined, knowing better than to accept anything from those deceptively delicate hands. But tonight, an oddly familiar aroma wafted from the cup. Something comforting. Something he actually enjoyed.
“What is it?” he asked, making no move to take it.
“An infusion of duskmint and vanilla. Apparently you like it?”
His eyes narrowed further. How did she know his preferred tea? And more importantly, why would she trouble herself to prepare it? The blue-haired menace before him did nothing without purpose, without calculation.
