Page 36 of Deals & Dream Spells (The Charmed Leaf Legacy #2)

Rosavyn’s own laughter joined hers—a bright, unexpected sound that transformed her features from guarded hostility to unabashed amusement.

For a brief, disorienting moment, Mariselle forgot she was supposed to be maintaining careful distance from these people.

She lifted her teacup, hoping to compose her expression behind it.

“Charming, Rosavyn,” Kazrian said with brotherly exasperation.

“Indeed,” Evryn said to his sister. “I believe you’ll find that you and Lady Mariselle share an appreciation for terrible poetry. ”

Mariselle choked on her tea. Evryn’s hand moved immediately to her back, patting it a fraction too forcefully while giving her a look of mild concern. “Are you quite all right, dearest?”

“Perfectly fine,” she said hoarsely. Her gaze darted back to Rosavyn, whose frozen expression suggested she’d just remembered precisely who she was laughing with and found the idea of having anything in common with a Brightcrest horrifying.

“I believe,” Lady Lelianna interjected gently, though her eyes sparkled with barely suppressed mirth, “we have strayed rather far from polite tea conversation.”

“Perhaps,” Aurelise suggested after a pause, “we might discuss something more pleasant than Kazrian’s theories? Lady Mariselle, do you have any particular interests or pastimes you enjoy?”

Mariselle hesitated. Her first instinct was to manufacture some appropriate feminine pursuit—embroidery, perhaps, or watercolors.

But something about Aurelise’s seemingly genuine interest made her pause.

What could she safely reveal? Certainly not her nighttime pegasus rides, nor her illicit racing against their very own brother.

“I … enjoy sketching,” she admitted finally, surprising herself with the honesty. “Though I’m absolutely dreadful at it.”

Evryn glanced at her, brows arching slightly. He probably thought she was lying.

“I have journals filled with these terrible drawings,” she continued, feeling oddly vulnerable. “I’m forever trying to capture scenes from my imagination, but they never come out right. It’s quite embarrassing, actually.”

The memory of Ellowa discovering one such journal flickered through her mind—her sister’s mocking laughter as she flipped through the pages, pointing out every flaw, declaring that even a child could produce more skillful work.

“I doubt they’re as bad as you claim,” Aurelise said kindly. “Most artists are their own harshest critics.”

“Oh, believe me, they’re quite atrocious,” Mariselle assured her with a self-deprecating smile. “But I continue to try. There are so many scenes in my head; I feel I must get them out somehow.”

She straightened, startled at this second bout of honesty. What was wrong with her today ?

“I understand completely,” Aurelise replied. “I feel the same way about music. I practice for hours, yet my playing remains … well, Rosavyn once described it as ‘what one might hear if an inebriated squirrel dashed across the keys.’”

“Aurelise!” Rosavyn protested. “That was when you were ten years old! Your playing is enchantingly lovely now, as are your original compositions.”

Aurelise’s cheeks flushed pink. “Do you really think so?”

“Of course. In fact, I’m convinced you’re going to manifest some form of music-related magic.”

Something twisted in Mariselle’s chest as she watched this exchange. A sharp, unexpected ache. The easy affection between the sisters, the genuine support beneath the teasing, the clear regard they held for each other … it was utterly foreign to her experience with Ellowa.

“What about you, Lady Mariselle?” Kazrian asked, interrupting her thoughts. “Do you play any instruments? Or perhaps you sing?”

“I’m afraid not,” she replied, composing her features carefully to hide the unexpected wave of emotion. “My sister Ellowa is the musical one in our family. I was always encouraged to focus on … other pursuits.”

Like being invisible and never, ever disturbing the careful balance of the Brightcrest household with anything as inconvenient as authenticity.

“Well, it’s true that Aurelise’s playing is truly lovely,” Lady Lelianna said, clearly sensing a lull in the conversation and attempting to steer it back on course. “Perhaps when you next visit, she might favor you with a performance.”

Aurelise’s eyes widened in alarm. “Oh no, Mother, I couldn’t possibly subject Lady Mariselle to my?—”

“I should like that very much,” Mariselle said warmly. She offered Aurelise an encouraging smile. “I find music deeply inspiring. Certain melodies create entire worlds in my imagination, scenes and stories unfolding along with the music.”

“Truly?” Aurelise leaned forward, her shyness momentarily forgotten. “That’s exactly how it feels to me! Colors and patterns and landscapes, sometimes so vivid I lose track of time completely.”

“Then you must play something for me next time,” Mariselle urged, surprised to find that she hoped there would be a next time.

“I suppose I could,” Aurelise conceded with a tentative smile .

“Just not that dreadful Snowflake piece written by that raven-haired composer who mistakes perpetual solemnity for artistic depth,” Rosavyn interjected with a dramatic sigh.

Aurelise’s head whipped toward her sister. “But you love that one! I heard you humming the opening section yesterday morning in the hallway.”

“Only because you’ve forced me to hear it at least a hundred times,” Rosavyn countered. “It’s embedded itself in my mind like a musical parasite.”

“Which is precisely what makes it an excellent composition,” Aurelise countered triumphantly. “The hallmark of truly exceptional music is that it refuses to leave you, haunting your thoughts long after the last note has faded.”

Rosavyn rolled her eyes. “Fine. The piece is tolerable. There. Are you satisfied?”

“From Rosavyn, ‘tolerable’ is practically a standing ovation,” Kazrian explained to Mariselle with a conspiratorial grin.

“Rosavyn does hold rather exacting standards,” Lady Lelianna observed, but her tone held no reproach, and the smile she directed at her daughter was almost teasing.

“I simply see no point in false praise,” Rosavyn defended herself. “If everything is ‘exquisite’ or ‘magnificent,’ the words lose all meaning.”

“There’s a vast territory between false praise and soul-crushing criticism,” Evryn pointed out.

“A territory you’ve clearly never explored,” Rosavyn retorted. “Not when you described Lady Fawnwood’s hat as ‘the tragic aftermath of a ribbon factory explosion.’”

“To her face?” Mariselle gasped, then immediately regretted the outburst.

“Goodness, no,” Evryn replied, looking horrified at the suggestion. “I do possess some small measure of tact. I merely whispered it to Rosavyn during Lady Whispermist’s garden party two Seasons ago, and she laughed so suddenly she inhaled a mouthful of punch.”

“Which then proceeded to exit through my nose in the most mortifying fashion imaginable,” Rosavyn added, grimacing at the memory. “I’ve never forgiven him.”

“She has, in fact, forgiven me,” Evryn stage-whispered to Mariselle. “Though she’ll never admit it. ”

“I most certainly have not,” Rosavyn insisted. “Lady Whispermist still eyes me suspiciously whenever refreshments are served.”

“The infamous punch incident,” Lady Lelianna sighed. “I had nearly managed to forget.”

As the siblings continued their good-natured bickering, Mariselle found herself simply …

watching. There was a rhythm to their interactions, a familiar dance of teasing and defense, challenge and riposte.

Yet beneath it all ran a current of what seemed to be genuine affection.

Even Rosavyn’s barbs lacked the cutting edge Mariselle associated with Ellowa’s ‘teasing.’

Lady Lelianna observed it all with the serene patience of a mother who had long since accepted her children’s lively temperaments.

Occasionally she would interject a gentle “Kazrian, really” or “Rosavyn, perhaps that’s enough,” but Mariselle could see she took genuine pleasure in their spirited exchanges.

Was this what family could be? This warm, chaotic, affectionate mess of contradictions?

A sharp pang of longing took her by surprise. The closest she’d ever come to this sort of easy companionship was with Petunia, and even that relationship required careful navigation around their parents’ expectations and prejudices.

“… precisely my point,” Rosavyn was saying. “The entire affair was an exercise in ostentatious misery. Children’s parties should involve actual fun—games and sweets and perhaps a treasure hunt led by talking mice—not an endless parade of elaborate courses no child would ever willingly eat.”

“Asparagus mousse,” Aurelise recalled with a shudder. “Who serves asparagus mousse to a five year old?”

“Lady Whitewing, apparently,” Kazrian replied. “Though to be fair, I don’t believe anyone of any age should be subjected to asparagus in mousse form.”

“Or any form,” Mariselle found herself saying before she could stop the words.

“Yes!” Rosavyn exclaimed, turning to her with unexpected animation. “It’s utterly vile, isn’t it? This strange vegetable that everyone pretends to enjoy because it’s considered sophisticated.”

“And it’s always arranged on the plate like it’s meant to be admired instead of endured,” Mariselle added, warming to the subject. “Society insists on serving it at every formal dinner as though it’s some great delicacy instead of stringy green stalks that taste of bitter disappointment.”

Rosavyn laughed. “Bitter disappointment! Yes, exactly! And it’s always announced with such reverence—‘tender young asparagus tips’—as if the adjectives somehow transform it into something desirable.”

“As though youth and tenderness could redeem its fundamental nature,” Mariselle agreed. “It’s still asparagus.”