Page 19 of Tempests & Tea Leaves (The Charmed Leaf Legacy #1)

Chapter Nineteen

Evening light spilled through Iris’s bedroom window, casting long shadows across the polished floor. Iris sat before her vanity as her maid, a quiet human girl named Brenna, made the final adjustments to her hair for the Thornhart Garden Maze Soiree. The girl’s fingers worked carefully, weaving small blossoms through the elaborate arrangement of twists.

Despite Iris’s best efforts to focus on the evening ahead, her thoughts kept drifting back to the study that morning. To folded paper envelopes darting across the room and words appearing via magic on blank pages.

A smile tugged at her lips before she could suppress it, causing Brenna to pause momentarily. “Something amusing, my lady?” she asked, meeting Iris’s eyes in the mirror.

“Nothing of importance,” Iris replied quickly, schooling her features into neutrality. But as Brenna resumed her work, Iris found the smile returning unbidden. The verbal sparring with Lord Jasvian had been … dare she say enjoyable ? No, that couldn’t possibly be the right word. Stimulating, perhaps. Intellectually engaging. Certainly not enjoyable . Not when it involved that brooding, judgmental man.

What had made the exchange even more amusing was her notebook’s inevitable commentary. Lord Jasvian clearly had no idea that his notes were appearing on an enchanted notebook with opinions of its own. The notebook had remained silent during the first few exchanges, but after his message about her unconventional bookmark choices, elegant script had appeared beneath his words: I hardly think this is the appropriate place for Lord Jasvian to reveal he cannot get you off his mind.

Iris had been too busy penning her own replies to acknowledge the notebook’s observation, though she’d felt an unexpected flutter at the thought that the infuriating Lord Jasvian couldn’t stop thinking about her. Her fingers had moved faster across the paper, crafting her response about his attention while pointedly ignoring the notebook’s smug commentary.

Later, after several more exchanges, the notebook had added: I am left somewhat in the dark seeing only one side of this conversation. Do you plan to fill me in later? She’d almost laughed aloud at that. Insufferable notebook, demanding to be kept abreast of their argument as if it were entitled to the full story. Yet she couldn’t deny she’d been tempted to write out the entire exchange that evening, if only to receive the notebook’s undoubtedly cutting assessment of Lord Jasvian’s attempts at wit.

“Perhaps just a few more blossoms, my lady?” Brenna said, stepping back to survey her work with a tilt of her head. “Yes, perhaps two or three more.”

“Oh, yes, if you think so. I trust your judgment.” Iris didn’t want to admit she had not been paying attention, her thoughts still lost in the memory of that curious morning. She had intended to ignore him completely, had even convinced herself it was the sensible approach. Instead, she’d spent far too much time engaged in what was essentially an argument by correspondence, with a sarcastic enchanted notebook providing running commentary, and found herself disappointed when Lady Rivenna had interrupted them.

“I’ve heard such fascinating things about the Thornhart maze,” Brenna remarked as she carefully tucked another blossom into Iris’s hair. “Apparently the hedges actually move while you’re walking through the pathways.”

“So I’m told,” Iris replied, grateful for the distraction from her thoughts. “It sounds rather intimidating, doesn’t it? What if one becomes trapped with no way out?”

Brenna smiled reassuringly. “Oh no, my lady. It’s all in good fun. I believe the maze itself is quite simple. And it reads your emotions, they say. If you begin to panic, it will show you the way out.”

“But how can it possibly shift its construction to accommodate everyone within it at once?” Iris wondered aloud. “Surely different people would need different pathways.”

Brenna merely shrugged, adding the final blossom to Iris’s hair. “Well, that’s magic, I suppose. It doesn’t need to make sense to work beautifully.”

A firm knock at the door interrupted them.

“Enter,” Iris called, her eyes flicking to the door’s reflection in the mirror before her. Her grandmother appeared in the doorway, elegant as ever in a gown of deep green silk. “Grandmother,” Iris said, surprise coloring her tone as she turned to face her. “Apologies for keeping you waiting. I’m almost?—”

“There is no rush. Your grandfather is seeing to the final arrangements with the carriage.” Her grandmother’s gaze shifted to Brenna. “That will be all for now. I shall assist Lady Iris with the finishing touches.”

“Yes, my lady.” Brenna curtseyed and slipped from the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Iris felt herself tense slightly. She couldn’t recall ever being alone in a room with her grandmother. What could possibly have prompted this unexpected appearance?

Her grandmother moved to the window, adjusting the curtain slightly before turning back to face her. “How are you finding the season thus far, Iris? Your conversation with Lord Hadrian Blackbriar in the park seemed quite animated. Did you feel there might be a connection worth pursuing there?”

Iris hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “He is easy to converse with, to be sure. He seems genuine in his interest and kind in his manner. But it’s possibly too early to determine if there might be something more substantial between us.”

“True. Perhaps you will see him tonight at the Thornharts’ soiree.” Her grandmother’s gaze moved over Iris’s appearance. “You look lovely, my dear. That shade suits you.”

“Thank you,” Iris said, genuinely touched by the rare compliment. The gown, a soft lavender that deepened to purple where the light caught its folds, featured a delicate sheer overlay adorned with small glittering flowers. It was a touch simpler than high fae society strictly dictated, with fewer layers and embellishments than was fashionable, but Iris found it both comfortable and more aligned with her personal taste.

Her grandmother pursed her lips, then took a breath, but no words appeared to come to mind. Feeling the need to fill the silence, Iris said, “I’ve noticed that the social calendar in Bloomhaven follows a predictable pattern each season. Certain events are hosted by the same families year after year. The Whispermist Garden Party, the Rowanwood Masquerade that I hear is coming soon, the Charmed Leaf Music Recital that Lady Rivenna has mentioned.”

“Yes,” her grandmother said with a nod. “This is true.”

“Are there any events that our family traditionally hosts?”

Something flickered across the elder Lady Starspun’s face. “There was one,” she said quietly. “The Mirror Lake Dance.”

“What was that like?” Iris asked, genuinely curious.

Her grandmother’s gaze returned to the window, her gaze distant as if looking beyond the gardens of Starspun House to some memory from years past. “It was magnificent,” she said softly. “For one night each season, we would enchant Mirror Lake to achieve a perfect, glassy surface that reflected the stars above with such clarity that it seemed the sky existed both above and below.”

Iris found herself leaning forward, captivated by the wistful note in her grandmother’s voice—a quality she’d never heard before.

“Couples would dance upon the lake’s surface beneath the stars,” her grandmother continued. “Through the glass-like surface of the water, one could glimpse the luminous fish that dwell in the lake’s depths, trails of enchanted light flowing behind them. I would enchant the lake myself—coming from a family that traditionally manifests water-related abilities—while those from the Starspun line would create lanterns spun from threads of pure starlight, enchanting them to drift above the scene.”

“It sounds breathtaking,” Iris said, imagining the scene. “Why do we no longer host it?”

Her grandmother’s shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly. “We simply could no longer afford it.”

“Perhaps one day,” Iris said quietly, “our fortunes will change.”

“Perhaps,” her grandmother answered with a small smile. She cleared her throat. “In any case—” she turned back to Iris with something clasped in her hand “—I came to find you because I thought perhaps you might like to wear these this evening.” She opened her palm to reveal a set of delicate hair pins, each tipped with tiny crystals that contained twinkling silver light. “They were passed down from your grandfather’s mother. Starlight captured in crystal during the height of winter. Even now, generations later, they retain their glow.”

Iris’s breath caught. “They’re beautiful.”

“They would complement your gown,” her grandmother said, moving toward the vanity. “If you would permit me?”

“I would be honored,” Iris replied, surprising herself with the genuine emotion behind the words.

Her grandmother gestured for her to turn back toward the mirror, and Iris felt the gentle pressure as the older woman began to insert the pins into her hair arrangement. In the mirror’s reflection, the tiny crystals caught the evening light.

“I know,” her grandmother began, her voice softer than Iris had ever heard it, “that we have not been close over the years.” Her fingers moved with careful precision, each pin placed with deliberate care. “I recognize that I have made little effort to reach out to you.” Iris remained perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe for fear of breaking this unexpected moment of vulnerability. “But I am pleased that you are here now,” her grandmother continued. “And I hope that perhaps we might get to know one another better during this Bloom Season.”

The words were offered stiffly, with the awkward formality of someone unaccustomed to expressing such sentiments, but Iris felt their sincerity nonetheless. She looked at her grandmother’s reflection in the mirror. The proud set of her shoulders, the careful composure of her features, the slight uncertainty in her eyes. “I would like that,” she said quietly.

Her grandmother placed the final pin, then rested her hands lightly on Iris’s shoulders. For a brief moment, their eyes met in the mirror, and Iris felt that she saw her grandmother more clearly now than she had before—not merely a calculating matchmaker, but a woman who had watched her family’s fortunes decline, who had lived with the gradual erosion of their standing in society, who now pinned her hopes on the granddaughter she barely knew. Though Iris had been put off by her grandmother’s scheming, she recognized that it came from a genuine desire to secure her family’s future. A legacy that stretched back generations, now resting precariously in Iris’s hands.

“There,” her grandmother said, stepping back. “They suit you.”

In the mirror, the starlight pins seemed to have brightened. Iris turned in her seat to face her grandmother directly. “Thank you,” she said as she stood, the words encompassing more than just the gift.

Her grandmother nodded once, her composure fully restored. “We should join your grandfather downstairs. The carriage will be waiting.”

Jasvian stood at the edge of the Thornharts’ garden, a glass of hummingfizz untouched in his hand as the evening festivities swirled around him. Faelights bobbed overhead, casting a dreamy glow across the expansive grounds where Bloomhaven’s elite mingled in their evening finery. At the center of it all loomed the infamous Thornhart maze, its hedges too high to see over, their deep green foliage occasionally rippling with magic.

From within the maze came peals of laughter and startled shrieks as the living labyrinth rearranged itself according to inscrutable whims, separating companions and creating chance encounters between those who might otherwise never speak, pathways widening or narrowing with no warning. Jasvian suppressed a shudder. The entire concept had never appealed to him in the slightest.

What had possessed him to attend this event? He rarely participated in the Thornharts’ annual maze soiree. The quarterly accounts ledger had arrived from the coastal property on the Fifth Isle and would have been far preferable company. But Hadrian had mentioned his intention to seek out Lady Iris this evening, and Jasvian had felt … concern. Yes, that was the appropriate classification for the unsettled feeling that had propelled him into his formal attire. Concern for his friend’s reputation should he continue to show such obvious interest in someone as unsuitable as Lady Iris Starspun. Nothing more. Certainly nothing to do with the way Lady Iris’s eyes lit up when she challenged him, or how the delicate scent of orange blossom lingered in the study long after she was gone.

Jasvian took a small sip of his drink, grimacing at the overly sweet flavor. The courtyard buzzed with anticipation as more guests arrived, many heading straight for the maze entrance where a footman was explaining the rules to newcomers. Jasvian planned to maintain a dignified presence at the periphery, have a brief word with Hadrian, and make a tactful exit before anyone could suggest he join the maze-wandering frivolity.

His attention shifted to the main house as a new group of guests emerged onto the terrace. His breath caught inexplicably. Lady Iris Starspun descended the steps into the garden, the glittering details of her lavender gown catching the faelight. Her dark hair was arranged elegantly with tiny flowers and what might have been starlight twinkling among the refined twists. For a moment, Jasvian found himself unable to look away.

He blinked and forced his gaze elsewhere, irritated by his own reaction. She was dressed well, that was all. Anyone would notice such things.

“Jasvian, darling,” his grandmother’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Come join us.”

Reluctantly, he made his way to where his grandmother stood with Lady Thornhart, an imposing woman whose hair was coiffed to resemble the hedge maze itself, complete with tiny faelights woven through the elaborate structure.

“Lord Jasvian,” Lady Thornhart greeted him with a nod. “How delightful to see you this evening. I don’t believe you’ve attended our maze soiree in recent years.”

“I find myself with slightly more leisure time this season,” he replied.

“He means he’s been ordered to socialize more,” his grandmother translated with a pointed look. “The family estate will survive without his constant attention for a few hours.”

Lady Thornhart laughed. “Indeed! And perhaps you’ll venture into the maze tonight? I assure you, it’s perfectly safe.”

“I appreciate the invitation, but I’ll leave the maze navigation to those who find such activities entertaining.”

His grandmother’s expression softened, a rare gentleness replacing her usual sharp assessment. “You know my grandson has always preferred more intimate gatherings,” she said, patting Lady Thornhart’s arm. “You should see him in a small circle by the fire at Rowanwood House—positively loquacious by comparison.”

Well, he certainly wouldn’t have used the word ‘loquacious,’ but it was true that he found smaller gatherings far more comfortable.

Lady Thornhart’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “My dear Rivenna, one doesn’t get more ‘intimate’ than a narrow passageway where one is forced into conversation with someone one would never normally speak to! That’s precisely how I met my husband, you know.”

“Be that as it may,” Rivenna replied, “I rather doubt that’s the kind of intimate gathering Jasvian is looking for.”

Jasvian inclined his head in silent gratitude. He was thankful his grandmother hadn’t revealed the real reason he avoided the maze—his ridiculous, irrational fear of enclosed spaces that he’d never managed to overcome.

He opened his mouth, but before he could respond to either his grandmother or Lady Thornhart, his attention was caught by movement across the garden. Hadrian had approached Lady Iris and her grandparents. Even from this distance, Jasvian could see the warm smile that transformed his friend’s face as he addressed her. Worse still, Iris herself appeared to light up in response, her laugh carrying faintly across the garden as Hadrian leaned in to share some observation.

“Lady Iris seems to be settling well into Bloomhaven society,” Lady Thornhart observed, following his gaze. “Quite remarkable, given her unusual background.”

Jasvian’s grandmother made a noncommittal sound. “The girl has certain qualities that compensate for any irregularities in her lineage.”

No doubt Lady Thornhart had something to say to that, but Jasvian had ceased listening. Across the garden, Hadrian was now guiding Iris toward a fountain where cascades of liquid chocolate had replaced the usual water, flowing from tier to tier before collecting in a shimmering pool at the base. The enchantment cast a warm, honeyed glow across their faces as they approached, illuminating Iris’s delighted expression. Hadrian’s hand hovered respectfully near the small of her back without quite touching her. The ease between them was obvious, and Jasvian found himself gripping his glass with unnecessary force.

He excused himself from the conversation as politely as possible and drifted toward the edge of the gathering, his eyes still tracking Hadrian and Iris. They appeared to be deep in conversation, their heads inclined toward each other. Iris laughed again at something Hadrian said, the sound bright and unaffected.

“Hardly appropriate,” muttered a voice nearby. Jasvian glanced over to see two young women watching the same scene with obvious disapproval. The two Brightcrest daughters, he realized. Ellowa and Mariselle. Their matching expressions of disdain were evident even in the soft evening light.

He turned away, uninterested in their petty gossip, and was relieved when Hadrian finally excused himself from Iris’s company, presumably to fetch refreshments. She remained where she was, her gaze drifting toward the maze entrance. After a moment of apparent contemplation, she moved toward it.

Without conscious decision, Jasvian found himself following, maintaining a discreet distance. She paused at the entrance, exchanged a few words with the footman, then stepped into the maze alone.

Jasvian approached slowly, still with no intention of entering. The hedges near the entrance were thin, and through their leaves, he could make out Iris’s lavender gown as she took her first hesitant turn.

“Lost already?” a voice called out, sharp with false sweetness.

Jasvian stiffened. Through a gap in the hedge, he saw Ellowa Brightcrest stepping into Iris’s path. Her younger sister Mariselle appeared behind Iris from another pathway, effectively blocking Iris’s retreat.

“Not at all,” Iris replied, her gaze moving from Mariselle back to Ellowa. “Though I hadn’t expected company quite so soon.”

“We saw you enter alone,” Ellowa said, toying with a strand of her golden hair. “How brave of you to venture in without an escort. One might almost mistake such behavior for impropriety.”

“I was simply curious about the maze,” Iris said. “And I hardly think I shall be alone for long, given the great number of people who have already entered this maze and are still wandering about its paths.”

Ellowa crossed her arms. “Curious indeed. But then, you’re quite the curiosity yourself, aren’t you? The half-blood girl who somehow secured an apprenticeship with Lady Rivenna.”

“A position that many full-blooded fae from respected families have sought for generations,” Mariselle added.

“Including yourselves, I presume?” Iris’s tone remained light. Jasvian had to admit he was impressed by the way she retained her composure despite the Brightcrest sisters’ continued provocations.

Mariselle’s laugh was brittle. “The Brightcrests have more dignified aspirations than shopkeeping.”

“Is that what you think the tea house is?” Iris asked. “A shop?”

“What else would one call an establishment that serves tea for coin?” Ellowa’s voice dripped with condescension. “Though I suppose for someone of your background, such an association might seem elevated.”

Jasvian’s fingers tightened on his glass. The Brightcrest sisters had always been vicious—indeed the entire family had built their fortune by exploiting the vulnerabilities of others—but their targeted cruelty toward Lady Iris seemed excessive even by their standards.

“You do realize,” Mariselle continued, stepping closer to Iris and forcing her to turn and face the younger sister, “that you’re merely a novelty? A shiny new curiosity that has temporarily captured attention. But the enchantment will fade, as it always does.”

“Indeed,” Ellowa agreed. “Soon enough, Lady Rivenna will realize her mistake. Your magic is hardly worthy of notice, let alone worthy of inheriting something as significant as The Charmed Leaf. And as for Lord Hadrian’s attentions?” She let out a cruel laugh. “Surely you don’t believe they signify genuine interest. Men of his standing marry within their class. They may dally with … unusual specimens, but they do not offer them permanent positions.”

“How unfortunate,” Iris replied, her tone carefully measured, though Jasvian could detect a tremor beneath the surface, “that you measure your own worth solely by the advantages your bloodline affords you.”

Ellowa’s expression hardened. “Better to have advantages than to be a half-breed interloper with delusions of acceptance. You will never truly belong in our world, Lady Iris. The sooner you realize that, the less painful your inevitable fall from grace will be.”

A surge of anger shot through Jasvian like an ember flaring to life, burning away all restraint. Before he could reconsider, he found himself striding to the maze entrance, thrusting his glass at the footman, and saying, “I believe I’ll enter after all.” He stepped inside, jaw clenched and fists balled at his sides. The oppressive closeness of the hedges set his nerves on edge, but fury propelled him forward despite the unease gnawing at him. He followed the sound of voices, turning a corner before finding himself face to face with the three women.

Iris’s eyes widened in surprise, while the Brightcrest sisters had the grace to look momentarily discomfited. “Lord Rowanwood.” Ellowa recovered first, her features rearranging themselves into a scowl. Neither the Brightcrests nor the Rowanwoods endeavored to hide their true feelings for one another. “How unexpected to encounter you in the maze.”

“Indeed,” he replied. “What isn’t unexpected is the sheer lack of decorum spilling from the mouths of two Brightcrests.”

Ellowa drew herself up indignantly. “We were merely having a private conversation.”

“Is that what you call cornering a fellow guest with petty insults and transparent intimidation?”

Mariselle’s cheeks flushed. “We were simply ensuring Lady Iris understands her position in society.”

A stab of guilt pierced Jasvian’s conscience as he recalled his own similar words to Iris at their first meeting. Had he not attempted to do the very same thing? He pushed the uncomfortable thought aside.

“Her position?” Jasvian raised an eyebrow. “As Lady Rivenna’s chosen apprentice and the sole heir to one of the oldest magical bloodlines in the United Fae Isles? That position?”

“None of that changes the fact that she is a half-blood,” Ellowa hissed.

“And that,” Jasvian replied, voice sharp as cut crystal, “does not change the fact that the tea house has been waiting for someone worthy of its legacy. A standard no Brightcrest could ever hope to meet, regardless of how pure they claim their bloodline to be.”

Ellowa lifted her chin, fire evident in her gaze. “Well?—”

Mariselle grabbed her sister’s hand, cutting her off with, “We should rejoin the party. Mother will be wondering where we’ve gone.”

“A wise decision,” Jasvian agreed.

With one last venomous glance at Iris, the girls swept away, their identical golden heads disappearing around the corner.

For a moment, silence hung between Jasvian and Iris. The surrounding hedges seemed to lean inward slightly, as if curious about what might happen next. The narrowing pathway made Jasvian’s heart quicken, his chest beginning to feel oddly tight.

“I did not require your intervention,” Iris said finally, her voice tight. “I was handling the situation perfectly well on my own.”

Jasvian narrowed his eyes at her. “Of course. I should have allowed you to continue ‘handling’ their social evisceration with such admirable stoicism.”

“What do you care?” she demanded. “Have you forgotten that you happen to agree with their sentiments?”

“I would never agree with a Brightcrest .”

“Oh, I see,” Iris said, a short, bitter laugh escaping her. “This was merely another skirmish in your ongoing family feud. You couldn’t resist the opportunity to remind them of their place. How foolish of me to imagine you might feel a genuine inclination to defend my honor.”

“There you go again,” Jasvian exclaimed, “twisting my every word and intention. I cannot even defend you without earning your scorn!”

“Because it is you doing the defending! You have said the very same things to me?—”

“Do not compare my comments to the vicious taunts of two jealous young?—”

“Why not?” Her eyes filled with a challenge. “How was it different when you questioned whether my magic was worthy of presentation to society? When you called me a ‘half-breed’ as if the word were poison on your tongue?”

The accusation landed with uncomfortable precision. “I spoke without proper consideration,” he admitted stiffly.

“How convenient,” Iris retorted. “So we may cast whatever poisonous barbs we wish, provided we later acknowledge our words might have been ill-chosen? Is that how nobility justifies its cruelties?”

“What else can I do?” he demanded, hands spread helplessly at his sides. “I cannot go back and erase my words.”

“You should not have spoken them in the first place!”

“Indeed, I should not have!” he agreed. The hedges rustled ominously, responding to their heightened emotions. Jasvian forced himself to take a deep breath, all too aware of the enclosing space around them. Sweat began to collect on his brow. “This is pointless. I should not have interfered.”

“On that, at least, we can agree,” she said in a shaky tone.

He should leave. His breathing was growing increasingly shallow and the air within the maze seemed thick and stifling. But he suddenly became acutely aware of how close the two of them were standing, of the faint scent of orange blossom that seemed to follow her everywhere, and he could not seem to will his feet to move.

“I cannot tell,” Iris said, her voice barely above a whisper as she regarded him with weary resignation, “if you truly regret your words or if you’re merely scrambling to defend yourself. All I know is that whenever we’re near each other, we inevitably part in anger. Perhaps some forces in nature are simply not meant to coexist in harmony.” She stepped around him with careful precision, as if avoiding even the merest brush of contact, her lavender skirts whispering against the hedges as she disappeared around the corner.

Jasvian remained frozen for several moments, watching the space where she had been. Finally, he followed, tugging at his cravat, desperate to escape the confines of the maze. Once outside, he gulped the evening air, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, breathing deeply as he watched Iris rush across the garden toward the house.

Then it struck him—a violent surge of uncontrolled magic crackling through the air like lightning before thunder. Unlike at the pegasus races where the disturbance had built gradually, this eruption came without warning. The sensation pulsed outward, unmistakable to his trained senses, and this time, as he watched Iris disappear into the house and felt the sensation begin to dim, he was almost certain of its source.

“I see you’ve managed it again, my boy.” His grandmother slowly approached him.

“Managed what?” he asked tersely, still watching the house where Iris had disappeared.

She sighed, moving to stand beside him as they both gazed in the direction Iris had gone. “For all your skill at calming tempests underground, you seem determined to stir one up every time that girl steps into your presence.”

And to that, Jasvian had no response. Mainly because he feared she was right.