Page 16 of Tempests & Tea Leaves (The Charmed Leaf Legacy #1)

Chapter Sixteen

Iris stood outside the drawing room of Starspun House, her hand hovering over the doorknob. The butler had informed her that both her parents were inside, his tone suggesting something unusual in their afternoon seclusion. She drew in a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions that had propelled her all the way from the racing grounds.

The revelation about her father and Charlotte’s aunt thundered through her mind. Second choice . The words had lodged themselves in her chest like shards of glass. Had her mother always known? Was that why she had gradually yielded more and more of herself, afraid that any resistance might drive her husband back to his first love?

Iris steadied herself against the wall. With one final deep breath, she turned the handle and stepped into the drawing room.

Her parents sat side by side on the settee, their postures unnaturally rigid against the plush upholstery. Her mother’s fingers moved mechanically through the air, guiding enchanted golden threads that wove themselves half-heartedly through an embroidery hoop, the pattern losing its cohesion as her attention clearly wavered. Beside her, Iris’s father held a newspaper spread open across his lap, though his unseeing gaze suggested the words might as well have been written in invisible ink. They both looked up as she entered, their expressions shifting in perfect, alarming synchronicity.

“Iris,” her father said, straightening. “We were just about to send for you.”

“I have something I wish to speak with you about,” Iris said, her prepared speech suddenly evaporating from her mind.

“As do we,” her father replied, gesturing to a chair opposite them. “Please, sit.”

Iris lowered herself onto the edge of the chair, her fingers twisting in her skirts. The air in the room felt thick with unspoken words.

“We’ve come to a decision,” her father continued, his voice carefully measured. “Your mother and I will be returning home. Tomorrow.”

Iris stared at them, certain she had misheard. “Returning? You mean … you’re leaving Bloomhaven?”

“Yes,” her mother said softly, reaching for her husband’s hand. “You will remain here at Starspun House with your grandparents.”

Numbness spread through Iris’s fingers, and she felt a sudden chill despite the warm afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows. Alone. With her grandparents. With the whispers and rumors and the weight of her family’s future on her shoulders. “But … the season has barely begun. I don’t understand.”

Her father cleared his throat. “We believe our presence here may be … complicating things for you. Without us around, society will be free to see you for who you truly are—not as an extension of our choices, but as Lady Iris Starspun, with all your remarkable gifts and merits.”

“And because you’re miserable here,” Iris said quietly, eyes on her mother now. “Not only because society seems to be so unwilling to accept a human wife of a fae lord, and not only because Grandmother and Grandfather have made you feel so unwelcome, but also because of Father’s history here.” Her gaze slid to her father, and she weighed her words before letting them fall from her lips. “With another human woman.”

Her parents exchanged a startled glance, and her father’s face paled slightly. “How did you?—”

“I heard it at the races today,” Iris said, her voice surprisingly steady despite the trembling in her hands. “Everyone seems to know this story except me.”

Her mother breathed deeply before her practiced smile returned. “It was a long time ago, Iris.”

“Is that why you’re leaving? Because it’s too awkward for you to be here while she and her family still reside in Bloomhaven?”

“No,” her mother said firmly. “We are leaving because your father and I assessed all options and decided this would be the best course of action for all involved.”

Iris’s gaze moved back and forth between her parents. “But mainly,” she said, her voice wavering just the slightest, “because you are unhappy?”

Her mother’s eyes closed for several moments before she refocused on Iris. “I am unhappy. This is not a secret. But if that were the only reason, I would stay. I am doing this for you , Iris. You will have the best possible chance here without me.”

Iris felt as though the floor beneath her was dissolving. There was a hitch in her breath as she inhaled. “But Grandmother and Grandfather barely acknowledge my existence. They have made it quite clear they wish I didn’t?—”

“They will come around,” her father interrupted. “Especially now that you’ve secured a prestigious position with Lady Rivenna. And without our presence, things will become less strained between the three of you. I’m sure of it.”

Iris swallowed hard against the lump forming in her throat. “Are they making you leave?” she asked, looking directly at her mother. “Grandmother and Grandfather. Did they say something?”

“No,” her mother said, reaching across to take Iris’s hand in her own. “They cannot make me do anything. This is a decision we arrived at together.”

Iris fought back the tears, her jaw clenched in resolve. “When?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Tomorrow morning,” her father replied. “We’ve already begun packing.”

Tomorrow. So soon that Iris wouldn’t even have time to process the shift in her world. A part of her wanted to argue, to beg them to reconsider, but she recognized the resolve in their expressions. This decision was final.

“I see,” she said, forcing her voice to remain steady. “Is there anything I can assist with?”

Her mother’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “That’s very thoughtful, darling, but it’s all been taken care of already. The most important thing for you is to continue with your apprenticeship and social obligations.”

“Of course.” Iris nodded, rising from her seat with careful dignity. “Though I would like to spend what time remains with you both this evening, if that’s agreeable.”

“Nothing would please us more,” her father said, his voice unusually thick with emotion.

“Then I shall see you at dinner.”

Iris waited until she was alone in her bedroom that night before allowing her tears to fall. They came silently at first, then in great, heaving sobs that she muffled against her pillow. Her parents were leaving, and she would remain behind in this house where her grandparents regarded her with thinly veiled disappointment, in this town where gossip birds spread vicious rumors about her parentage, in this society that seemed determined to remind her at every turn that she did not quite belong.

When the storm of emotion finally subsided, Iris sat up and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. A rather undignified gesture, her grandmother would have noted, but there was no one here to witness such a lapse in propriety. The thought almost made her laugh—what did a bit of undignified tear-wiping matter in a world where her entire existence was considered improper?

She moved to the window seat, drawing her knees up to her chest as she gazed out at the part of Bloomhaven visible from her window. Starspun House stood on one of the gently elevated streets that had been claimed by the elite families generations ago, when the Starspuns still commanded both wealth and influence. From here, she could see the warm glow of faelights illuminating elegant townhouses and the occasional shop with its windows dark for the evening. If she leaned to the right, she could just glimpse the edge of the Elderfae Gardens where magical fountains sparkled in the gathering twilight.

Somewhere out there, gossip birds were no doubt still squawking about her mother, her father, and the woman he had loved before. About Iris herself and her unsuitable magic. About all the ways in which she did not measure up to proper fae standards.

With a sigh, Iris reached for the satchel she’d brought from the tea house. Among the books and papers nestled inside was the leather-bound notebook Lady Rivenna had given her. She hadn’t had a chance to use it since finding it nestled beneath the cushions of her little alcove.

She retrieved a self-inking quill from her desk drawer before heading to the window seat and settling onto it with the notebook on her lap. She ran her fingers over the silver filigree patterns on its deep purple cover, admiring their intricate beauty. Then she took a deep breath and opened it to the first blank page. She set the tip of the quill against the blank page and wrote:

I am alone.

Then she sat there, the quill gripped loosely in her hand, staring through the page. This was almost certainly not what Lady Rivenna had intended the notebook for, but?—

Iris blinked, her breath catching. Beneath her own words, in an elegant script, new words had taken form on the page:

Technically, you are not.

Iris shrieked and leaped to her feet, dropping the notebook as if it had burned her. Then she stood frozen, one hand to her mouth and her heart thudding in her chest as more letters appeared in the same elegant script. She dared to lean closer.

That hurt.

She pulled back. “What in all the stars?” she murmured. With a deep breath and slightly trembling fingers, she bent and retrieved the notebook. She blinked a few times, but the words were still there. She sat and reached for the quill.

Who is this?

The High Lady herself.

Iris’s mouth fell open, a quiet gasp escaping.

A notebook, silly girl. You are conversing with a notebook. Now do close your mouth.

Iris closed her mouth with a snap. Then she returned her quill to the page.

I’ve never heard of such a thing.

I dare say there are a great many things in the world you are unaware of.

Iris frowned and wrote, There is no need to be rude.

Pointing out your limited knowledge is not rudeness but simple observation. Though I suppose one might consider abandoning me in a window seat for days on end rather rude as well.

Iris stared at the page, a strange mixture of emotions swirling within her. Part of her wanted to slam the notebook shut and hide it beneath her pillow. Another part—the curious, scholarly part—was fascinated by this unexpected discovery.

Lady Rivenna enchanted you? she wrote finally.

A fine deduction. What tipped you off? Perhaps the fact that she was the one who gifted me to you?

Iris felt her lips twitch despite herself. You do seem rather tetchy for a notebook.

And you are rather bold for someone conversing with an enchanted object for the first time. Most would be cowering in fear or running for assistance. Instead, you are critiquing my tone.

I’ve had a difficult day, Iris wrote. Criticism from stationery hardly seems worth the additional distress.

A pause, then: I see.

The notebook’s response somehow managed to convey a sense of judgment despite consisting of only two words. Iris sighed and wrote: My parents are leaving tomorrow. Returning home without me.

Ah. That would explain the melodramatic opening statement.

It wasn’t melodramatic. It was true. I will be alone here with grandparents who can barely stand to look at me.

Have you considered that perhaps your grandparents need time to adjust, as do you? One wonders if you’ve truly given them the opportunity to know you before dismissing their capacity for affection.

Iris glared at the page. I did not realize I would be subjected to such criticism from an inanimate object.

I am hardly inanimate, as this conversation rather definitively proves. And if you wished to avoid criticism, perhaps try actions worthy of praise instead.

This was a mistake, Iris wrote, her quill pressing harder than necessary. Or perhaps merely Lady Rivenna’s idea of a silly joke.

Lady Rivenna rarely gives anything without purpose. The question is whether you possess the wisdom to discern that purpose.

Iris’s hand hovered over the page, a dozen sharp retorts dancing on the tip of her quill. But something in the notebook’s words gave her pause. Lady Rivenna had chosen her as an apprentice when no one else in Bloomhaven would have given her a second glance. There had to be a reason.

What is your purpose, then? she wrote finally.

I am an extension of the tea house, in a manner of speaking. My purpose is to guide your education, to respond knowledgeably to your inquiries about your studies, and to assist you in understanding the patterns that might otherwise elude you. I am here to help direct your attention to where improvement is needed.

Your ‘direction’ seems to be accompanied by far more opinions than necessary , Iris wrote with a wry twist to her lips.

No one specified that I should lack personality. Education benefits from a touch of liveliness, does it not? Now. Is there anything in particular that you require assistance with this evening, Lady Iris?

Iris sat back against the window once more. Outside in the distance, a pegasus soared above Bloomhaven, its wings leaving a trail of silver sparks against the darkening sky. After a long moment, she returned her quill to the page.

I am frightened, she wrote, the confession easier to make to an enchanted notebook than to any living person. Everyone expects me to secure my family’s future through marriage, but I can barely navigate a conversation without causing offense. My magic is considered unworthy of proper society. My grandparents see me as a last resort, not a granddaughter to cherish. And now, in addition to stepping into a role I fear I can never live up to, my parents are leaving.

The words appeared slowly this time, as if the notebook was choosing them with particular care: Fear is natural when facing the unknown. But consider this: Your path was never going to be conventional.

Iris stared at the words. She supposed that was true. Being caught between two worlds—fae and human—had always meant she would walk a different path from those whose lives were neatly defined by clear social boundaries and expectations. She had simply hoped to ignore this for as long as possible.

She yawned, suddenly aware of how exhausted she felt after the emotional turmoil of the day.

I should sleep, she wrote. But I think you’ve helped me. Thank you.

There is no need to sound so surprised about it. That is, after all, my purpose.

Iris gave a small smile as she closed the notebook, tucking it into her satchel with newfound care. The weight of her parents’ impending departure still pressed against her heart, but somehow, it felt a fraction lighter than before. As she climbed into bed, her thoughts drifted to Lady Rivenna and the tea house, to Charlotte and Rosavyn, to the strangely opinionated notebook. Perhaps she wasn’t quite as alone as she had feared.