Page 13 of Tempests & Tea Leaves (The Charmed Leaf Legacy #1)

Chapter Thirteen

“She simply should not have been allowed to attempt weather magic there,” Lady Fawnwood remarked, shaking her head. “Those new tapestries were ruined beyond repair, and the poor cellist was absolutely drenched.”

“The girl clearly requires more instruction before attempting public displays,” Lady Whispermist agreed, delicately selecting a tiny frosted cake from the tiered silver tray. “Though I understand her eagerness to demonstrate. Weather manipulation has always been considered quite impressive.”

The sunlight filtering through the canopy of trees cast dappled patterns across the pristine white tablecloth. Lady Whispermist’s garden party was an elegant affair set amid immaculately groomed flower beds where enchanted blooms changed color with the passing breeze. Several small groups of ladies were scattered throughout the garden, arranged in perfectly composed clusters.

Iris and her mother and grandmother had somehow found themselves at the table near the central fountain, sitting with the elder Lady Whispermist herself—Lady Rivenna’s lilac-haired friend. Also at their table was Lady Fawnwood, a woman of similar age to Iris’s mother, and Lady Featherlock and her two daughters, who seemed to have little to say.

“You must admit, though,” Lady Fawnwood said, leaning forward slightly as she lowered her voice, “that it was a relief when that cellist stopped playing. The screech?—”

A sudden flapping of wings interrupted her, and two gossip birds swooped low over their table, sending the ladies into a flurry of protective movements.

Perfect , Iris thought, watching as Lady Whispermist attempted the impossible feat of simultaneously ducking away from the birds while keeping her teacup perfectly level. Because this gathering wasn’t uncomfortable enough already.

Lady Featherlock swatted ineffectually at the air with her lace handkerchief. “Shoo! Shoo, you wretched creatures!”

In the ensuing commotion, Lady Fawnwood’s plate tilted precariously as she leaned away from the diving birds. Her slice of strawberry cake performed a graceful arc through the air before landing on the immaculate grass beside her chair.

One casualty already , Iris noted, fighting to keep her expression appropriately concerned rather than amused. A noble sacrifice in the war against avian rudeness.

The gossip birds, having successfully created their desired chaos, settled triumphantly on a decorative floral hoop suspended from a low-hanging branch directly above their table. They preened for a moment before simultaneously opening their beaks. “Tea house apprentice Iris!” they squawked in perfect unison, their voices carrying across the garden. “Tea house apprentice Iris!”

Lady Whispermist frowned. “What on earth?”

A wave of cold washed over Iris, her fingers stiffening against the fine porcelain of her teacup as warmth drained from her face. This was it. The start of the horrified reactions from proper fae society that Charlotte had predicted.

“Tea house apprentice!” the birds repeated before taking flight once more, narrowly missing Lady Featherlock’s elaborate hat as they departed.

A confused silence settled over the table as the ladies straightened their posture and rearranged disturbed napkins. “Did they say ‘tea house’?” Lady Featherlock inquired, her thin eyebrows drawn together in puzzlement.

“I believe they said ‘apprentice,’” Lady Whispermist added, adjusting a displaced hairpin. “Though what they could possibly mean …”

All eyes turned curiously toward Iris, who felt as though she had been transformed into a specimen upon a naturalist’s display board. If she hadn’t already been hoping for the uncomfortable garden chair she was seated upon to perform a spectacular feat of magic and swallow her whole, she was certainly wishing it now.

Before she could formulate a response, her grandmother cleared her throat pointedly. “As it happens,” she announced, her voice carrying that distinctive note of triumph that Iris had come to recognize, “Lady Rivenna Rowanwood has indeed offered Iris the apprenticeship at The Charmed Leaf, and we are absolutely delighted that she accepted. She began her training this very morning.”

A sudden, profound silence fell over the table. Lady Fawnwood’s teacup froze halfway to her lips, while Lady Featherlock’s cake fork clattered against her plate before she hastily recovered it. Lady Whispermist’s eyes widened to a degree that might have been comical under different circumstances. Clearly Lady Rivenna had not yet informed her friend of this development.

“The apprenticeship?” Lady Fawnwood finally managed, carefully setting her teacup back onto its saucer. “At The Charmed Leaf?”

“Indeed,” Iris’s grandmother confirmed. “Lady Rivenna approached us personally with the offer. She said the tea house itself selected Iris.”

Another beat of shocked silence followed, during which Iris could almost hear the thoughts racing behind their carefully composed expressions. She kept her own face neutral, though she felt her mother stiffen beside her.

“How … unexpected,” Lady Whispermist finally said, her voice slightly higher than normal. She cleared her throat delicately. “That is to say, what a singular honor.”

“Yes, quite singular,” Lady Featherlock echoed, having regained her composure. “Many families have hoped for such an opportunity,” she added, her tone carefully modulated to hide what Iris suspected was profound disapproval. “Lady Rivenna has always been so particular.”

“Indeed she has,” Iris’s grandmother agreed, either oblivious to or deliberately ignoring the underlying current of dismay. “She recognized Iris’s potential immediately.”

“And what a wonderful opportunity for you, dear,” Lady Whispermist said to Iris, her smile slightly strained at the edges. “The tea house is such a central institution in Bloomhaven society.”

“Thank you,” Iris replied politely. “I’m honored by Lady Rivenna’s confidence.”

“And how fascinating that Lady Rivenna would choose an apprentice with such unconventional talents,” Lady Fawnwood remarked, recovering enough to add a hint of acid to her tone. “I have always thought paper folding to be such a charming pastime for children.”

Iris kept her expression carefully neutral. “Lady Rivenna believes my abilities have unique applications,” she replied, then took a measured sip of her tea.

“And how lovely for you,” Lady Whispermist said to Iris’s mother, speaking to her directly for perhaps the first time since they’d arrived. “Your daughter finding such a useful occupation.”

Iris’s mother smiled thinly. “Indeed. Iris has always possessed a keen mind and diligent nature. I have no doubt she will excel in any endeavor she pursues.”

“One expects a certain traditional background for such a prestigious position,” Lady Fawnwood observed, her gaze sliding meaningfully to Iris’s mother before returning to Iris. “But perhaps times are changing.”

“Perhaps they should,” Iris’s mother replied, her tone still perfectly pleasant though Iris could practically feel the tension radiating from her. “Magic manifests where it will, regardless of tradition.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over their table. Nearby, a trio of garden sprites darted among the rosebushes, encouraging particularly vibrant blooms to unfurl. Their giggles filled the awkward pause.

“I must say,” Lady Whispermist remarked, clearly attempting to redirect the conversation, “the enchanted foxgloves are particularly stunning this year. My garden gnomes have incorporated a new moonlight harvesting technique that has enhanced their luminescence.”

“Your gardens are always exquisite, Lycilla,” Iris’s grandmother agreed, seemingly grateful for the change of subject. “The integration of traditional and innovative magical horticulture techniques is most impressive.”

As the conversation turned to safer topics, Iris watched her mother and grandmother carefully avoiding each other’s gaze. The tension between them remained palpable, a silent current running beneath the polite exchange of pleasantries. Her mother’s back remained ramrod straight, her posture perfect but clearly uncomfortable. Her grandmother, meanwhile, seemed determined to announce Iris’s accomplishments to anyone who would listen, though her motivation appeared less about pride in Iris and more about establishing the continued relevance of the Starspun name.

“Lady Iris,” Lady Whispermist said, reclaiming her attention, “I understand you’ve had one or two, uh, memorable encounters with Lord Jasvian Rowanwood since your arrival in Bloomhaven.”

Iris fought to keep the grimace from her face. “We have had the pleasure of making each other’s acquaintance, yes.”

“I heard the most extraordinary rumors about your exchange at the Opening Ball,” Lady Featherlock added. “Something about exploding chandeliers?”

“Gossip birds do love to embellish,” Iris replied smoothly. “A minor magical mishap, nothing more.”

“Goodness, it was a little more than minor, I would say,” Lady Fawnwood observed. “It was practically?—”

“Oh! I do believe I just saw Lady Rivenna arrive!” Iris interrupted, rising suddenly from her seat. She forced an apologetic smile. “Please excuse me. I promised to attend to her should she grace the gathering with her presence today.”

Without waiting for a response, Iris moved away from the table, her heart pounding as she heard Lady Fawnwoods’s final comment float after her: “Such impulsive manners. One wonders what Lady Rivenna was thinking.”

Instead of heading toward the house where she had pretended to see Lady Rivenna, Iris veered toward a more densely planted section of the garden, where climbing plants created a natural corridor leading away from the main gathering. The foliage grew thicker as she advanced, magical flora intertwining to create a lush, emerald sanctuary. Unlike the meticulously arranged flower beds of the main garden, this area had a wilder beauty—not unkempt, but allowed to grow with artful abandonment.

She continued until the voices of the tea party faded entirely, replaced by the gentle bubbling of a hidden stream and the soft chiming of bell-shaped flowers. Finally, in a small clearing surrounded by dense flowering shrubs, Iris allowed herself to sink to the ground, her back pressed against the trunk of a blue oak.

Drawing her knees to her chest—a thoroughly unladylike posture that would have scandalized her grandmother—Iris took a deep, shuddering breath. The constant vigilance required to navigate these social waters was exhausting. Every conversation was a minefield, every expression a potential misstep. How was she to endure an entire season of this? How was she to snare a wealthy suitor—a prospect that still repulsed her to her core—when even the approval of Lady Rivenna Rowanwood herself had failed to soften society’s disdainful gaze?

Lost in thought, Iris didn’t notice the approaching footsteps until a startled gasp broke through her reverie. She looked up to find a young woman standing at the edge of the clearing, her hand pressed to her chest in surprise. “Oh!” the stranger exclaimed. “I do apologize. I didn’t realize anyone else had discovered this hiding place.”

Iris scrambled to her feet, mortified to have been caught in such an undignified position. “No, I’m the one who should apologize. I shouldn’t have?—”

“Please, don’t get up on my account,” the young woman said quickly. “I came here to escape all that proper posturing myself.” She gestured vaguely back toward the main garden.

Iris hesitated, then settled back against the tree, though with slightly more decorum than before. The young woman—who appeared to be close to Iris’s own age—wore a gown of blush pink that complemented her porcelain complexion and dark hair. There was something familiar about her, though Iris couldn’t recall where she’d seen her.

“I’m Rosavyn,” the young woman said, moving further into the clearing. “May I join you? I promise I won’t insist on proper tea party conversation.”

“Please do,” Iris said, surprised to find herself smiling. “I’m Iris.”

“Iris Starspun,” Rosavyn nodded, settling gracefully onto a mossy stone near the tree. “Yes, I know who you are. Everyone does.”

Iris felt her smile falter. “Ah. The infamous half-breed who dared challenge Lord Jasvian Rowanwood at the Opening Ball.”

To her surprise, Rosavyn laughed—a bright, genuine sound. “That’s precisely how I know you! Anyone who stands up to my insufferable brother earns my immediate admiration.”

“Your brother?” Iris blinked, suddenly recognizing the resemblance—the same dark hair, the same elegant bone structure, though Rosavyn’s features were softened by an expressiveness that Jasvian’s lacked. “You’re Rosavyn Rowanwood .”

“I am indeed,” Rosavyn confirmed. “Though unlike my brother, I don’t consider it my personal mission to maintain the proper order of the universe through sheer force of disapproval.”

Iris couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her. “He does have rather strong opinions.”

“Strong, unwavering, and frequently tiresome,” Rosavyn agreed with a dramatic sigh. “Though I suppose I shouldn’t speak ill of him. He has shouldered rather a lot of responsibility since …” She trailed off, then shook her head. “Well, enough about gloomy Jasvian. I owe you an apology.”

“You do?”

“For that dreadful business at Elderbloom Park,” Rosavyn said, her expression turning contrite. “When I was forced to quite literally run away from you. It was horribly rude, and I’ve felt terrible about it ever since.”

Iris’s mind flashed back to the incident—the two young women who had spotted her and then fled in the opposite direction. Now she recalled where she had first seen Rosavyn. “Oh. I … That’s quite all right.”

“It isn’t, actually,” Rosavyn said firmly. “But I appreciate your graciousness. Faylira Bridgemere was with me, and when she saw you approaching, she practically yanked my arm from its socket in her haste to escape. I didn’t have a chance to protest before she was dragging me halfway across the park.”

“I see,” Iris said, remembering the speed of their retreat with a pang.

“I should have broken free and come back to introduce myself properly,” Rosavyn continued, genuine regret in her voice. “Or at least sent a note of apology. I truly am sorry.”

The sincerity in her voice was unmistakable, and Iris felt some of the tension ease from her shoulders. “There’s nothing to forgive. Though I’ll admit, up until today, it has been rather a lonely introduction to Bloomhaven society.”

“I can imagine,” Rosavyn said, leaning forward slightly. “Bloomhaven society excels at two things: maintaining rigid traditions and passing judgment on anyone who dares to deviate from them. They act as though you’ve committed some terrible offense by merely existing. It’s exhausting, isn’t it?”

“It truly is.” Iris studied Rosavyn more carefully, struck by an unexpected sense of kinship. She felt seen , much like she had during her conversation with Lucie in the tea house garden. It was curious that she should feel this with someone like Rosavyn—full-blooded fae from one of the most distinguished families in the United Fae Isles. “But why would society find fault with you?”

Rosavyn sighed. “I have not manifested yet. That is why I’m still ‘Miss’ Rosavyn rather than ‘Lady’ Rosavyn. A little humiliating at my age, though Grandmother insists it will happen when the time is right.”

“How old are you?” Iris asked before she could consider the impropriety of such a direct question.

“Eighteen,” Rosavyn answered, not seeming to mind.

“But that’s hardly too late,” Iris said gently. “I’m nineteen, and my magic only revealed itself a few months ago.”

Rosavyn gave her a small, rueful smile. “That’s kind of you to say, but it’s different for someone like you. No one has established expectations for half-fae manifestation—the very fact that you have magic is considered remarkable. For full-blooded fae, the patterns are well-documented. Most begin to show signs by seventeen, some even earlier. With each passing month, I become a ‘less desirable prospect.’ By nineteen, I’ll be practically unmarriageable if I haven’t manifested.”

“Surely not.”

“Well, perhaps not by nineteen. But certainly by twenty years of age.”

Iris shook her head, struck by the absurdity of it all. Here sat Rosavyn—beautiful, lively, and from one of the most prestigious families in the United Fae Isles—yet society considered her somehow lacking because her magic had not yet revealed itself. While Iris, with her mixed heritage and “useless” magic, had been elevated to “Lady” simply because she could enchant paper. “The rules do seem rather arbitrary,” she observed.

“Completely nonsensical,” Rosavyn agreed emphatically. “But enough about my magical shortcomings. Tell me about the apprenticeship! Is it as boring as I’ve always imagined it might be?”

Iris laughed. “Well, I’ve only been there half a day and already your brother’s extreme disapproval ensured it was not dull. He found my presence in ‘his’ study utterly intolerable and made no effort to hide his belief that I’m completely unsuitable for the position.”

Rosavyn rolled her eyes. “Of course. He’s been after Grandmother for years to choose an apprentice, but I’m certain he expected her to select someone proper and predictable and utterly boring.” Her eyes twinkled. “How delightful that she chose you instead.”

“You don’t mind?” Iris asked hesitantly. “That she selected an outsider rather than … well, someone from your own family?”

“Mind?” Rosavyn laughed. “No, of course not! We’ve always known it would not be one of us. Grandmother informed us of that when we were all quite young. Besides, Grandmother has always done precisely as she pleased. It’s one of the things I admire most about her.”

A comfortable silence fell between them, broken only by the gentle chiming of the bell flowers and the distant murmur of the party they’d both escaped. Iris found herself studying Rosavyn’s open, animated face, marveling at how different she was from her stern, controlled brother.

“You’re nothing like him,” she said finally. “Lord Jasvian, I mean.”

“Thank the stars for that! Can you imagine two of him? Bloomhaven would collapse under the weight of all that propriety.”

Iris laughed. “He does seem rather … intense.”

“That’s a charitable description,” Rosavyn said, thought there was genuine affection in her voice despite her teasing. She sighed and added, “I should probably return to the party before Mother sends out a search party.”

“I suppose the same goes for me,” Iris admitted as the two of them rose reluctantly from the ground.

“But I’m so glad we had this chance to meet properly. Perhaps we might see each other again soon? Perhaps a promenade through Elderbloom Park that doesn’t involve me sprinting in the opposite direction?”

“I’d like that very much,” Iris said, surprised by how sincerely she meant it.

Rosavyn beamed. “Excellent! Then it’s settled. Friends?”

“Friends,” Iris agreed, the word warming her from within.

It was only as they walked away from the clearing that the thought struck her—with no small amount of dread—that a friendship with a Rowanwood would undoubtedly mean she’d find herself more frequently in the presence of the ever-disapproving Lord Jasvian.