Page 20 of Tempests & Tea Leaves (The Charmed Leaf Legacy #1)

Chapter Twenty

Iris hurried through the Thornharts’ grand house, barely registering the ornate gilt frames housing portraits that seemed to follow her with disapproving eyes, or the enchanted tapestries where woven figures shifted to whisper to one another as she passed. Her vision blurred with unshed tears, heart hammering against her ribs as she sought any exit that might allow her to escape without notice.

The confrontation in the maze had left her raw, exposed in a way that felt unbearable. The Brightcrest sisters’ cruel words echoed in her mind— half-breed interloper with delusions of acceptance —a sentiment distressingly similar to those Lord Jasvian himself had expressed when they met.

And yet, he had defended her tonight. Why? Merely to spite the Brightcrests? Or had he truly meant it when he’d supported her position as Lady Rivenna’s chosen apprentice?

And why did it matter to her what Lord Jasvian Rowanwood thought? The man was insufferable, arrogant, and infuriatingly proper. She shouldn’t care about his opinion. Yet some treacherous part of her had sparked with hope at his intervention, desperately wanting to believe he’d acted out of genuine concern rather than some familial rivalry she still did not understand.

“Ridiculous,” she whispered to herself, rounding a corner too quickly and nearly colliding with a footman bearing a tray of miniature tarts shaped like acorns. She muttered an apology and pressed onward, seeking an escape route that wouldn’t place her in full view of half the gathering.

As she hurried down a less populated corridor, an odd dizziness overcame her. The hallway seemed to fold in on itself and then reappear, revealing another version of itself, and then another and another, multiple images layered atop one another like sheets of translucent paper. In one version, the corridor was empty; in another, it teemed with laughing guests; in yet another, the wallpaper appeared completely different while an elderly gentleman she didn’t recognize crossed the corridor with the aid of a walking stick.

Iris pressed her palm against the wall to steady herself, breathing deeply as the images flickered and merged. This was the same strange phenomenon she’d experienced at the pegasus races. She’d forgotten all about it in the wake of discovering her father’s history and her parents’ abrupt departure. But now it had returned with alarming intensity.

She blinked hard, willing the overlapping scenes to dissipate, but they persisted. A figure approached from the end of the corridor—or was it three figures? No, one woman in three different dresses, all occupying the same space. Iris took a stumbling step backward.

“Iris!”

The voice—blessedly familiar—cut through her disorientation. The overlapping scenes wavered, then settled into a single reality as Rosavyn hurried toward her. “Rosavyn,” Iris breathed, relief washing over her. “I looked for you earlier but couldn’t see you anywhere, and then my grandmother dragged me out to the garden.”

“I only just arrived. Mother was being particularly fussy about—” Rosavyn broke off, her expression shifting to concern as she took in Iris’s distress. “What’s happened? You look positively haunted.”

“I just—need to leave,” Iris whispered haltingly. “Without my grandparents seeing. Without anyone seeing. I just … I need a moment. Or perhaps a dozen moments. Somewhere else. Can you help me?”

Rosavyn’s eyes lit with understanding and something that looked suspiciously like mischievous delight. “Can I help you escape a suffocating social gathering? My dear Iris, I’ve been sneaking out of events like this since I was old enough to walk. And I’m well acquainted with the layout of the lower levels of the Thornhart residence, given my grandmother’s friendship with the elder Lady Thornhart. I’ve endured many a tea in this house.” She took Iris’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Come with me.”

Without waiting for a response, Rosavyn tugged Iris down a side corridor and through a small door concealed behind a decorative screen. They emerged into a narrow servants’ passage where Rosavyn immediately adopted the purposeful stride of someone who belonged there.

“Keep your chin up and move with confidence,” she instructed in a hushed tone. “If you carry yourself with purpose, anyone who sees you will assume you have every right to be wherever you are.”

As they approached a corner where two footmen stood chatting, Rosavyn made a subtle gesture with her left hand. Iris felt a whisper of magic brush past her, and the footmen’s gazes slid over them without interest, their conversation continuing uninterrupted.

“Was that—” Iris began.

“Just a little redirection,” Rosavyn explained with a grin. “I’ve always had a knack for making people look elsewhere when I don’t wish to be seen. I half wonder if, when I eventually do manifest my specific magic, it will be the ability to turn completely invisible.”

They continued through the servants’ quarters, down a flight of narrow stairs, and finally out a side door into the cool night air. Rosavyn led her around the edge of the property, keeping to the shadows cast by ornamental shrubs, until they reached the lane where carriages waited to collect departing guests.

“Perfect timing,” Rosavyn whispered as a gleaming carriage pulled up, its enchanted framework glowing softly in the darkness.

Before the footmen could approach, Rosavyn made another subtle gesture. Their eyes glazed slightly as the young women slipped past and into the waiting carriage. Rosavyn turned to Iris. “Where should I tell the carriage to?—”

“The Charmed Leaf Tea House,” Iris blurted without thinking.

The carriage glided forward smoothly. Iris tugged her gloves off—darned things were so constricting—leaned her head back against the cushioned interior of the carriage, and pressed her fingertips to her temples. Even with her eyes closed, the disorienting visions hadn’t fully receded. Images of Rosavyn continued to overlap one another, one with her hair elegantly coiled atop her head, another with loose curls cascading down her shoulders, and in one brief, startling flash, Rosavyn appeared to be leaning inappropriately close to a shadowed figure Iris couldn’t quite?—

“Are you quite all right?” Rosavyn asked gently, interrupting the visions. “What happened back there?”

“I …” Iris sighed, her eyes still closed. “I do not want to repeat it.”

Rosavyn remained thankfully quiet, seemingly content to respect Iris’s reluctance without pressing for details.

The carriage wound through Bloomhaven’s streets, but Iris kept her eyes closed, trying to ignore the odd images her imagination kept presenting her with. Before long, the carriage slowed to a stop, and Iris opened her eyes to see The Charmed Leaf outside the window. In the moonlight, the tea house looked different. Still and mysterious, the leaves of its vine-covered facade barely moving.

The carriage door swung open of its own accord and Rosavyn gestured for Iris to disembark first. With her gloves clutched loosely in one hand, Iris climbed out onto the cobblestone path. She approached the door of the tea house as a curious warmth spread across her right palm. She looked down and?—

“Oh!” she breathed. For there on her skin was the shimmering copper outline of a key, its handle delicately shaped like a leaf.

“Goodness,” Rosavyn whispered, her eyes wide with wonder. “You have a key just like Grandmother’s.”

“It appears I do,” Iris replied, equally surprised. Until this moment, she hadn’t considered how she might enter the tea house, which would surely be locked at this late hour.

“It makes sense, of course,” Rosavyn continued, “with you being the apprentice. But somehow I hadn’t realized … I suppose if I’d thought about it, I would have assumed Grandmother would wait longer before granting you such direct access.”

If Iris had thought about it, she would have assumed the same.

Tentatively, she lifted her hand and pressed it to the door. The lock clicked and the door swung open immediately. “Incredible,” Iris murmured, stepping into the darkened interior. Unlike during daylight hours, when sunlight streamed through the windows and the air hummed with conversation, the tea house at night had a hushed, expectant quality, as if perhaps it was dreaming of tomorrow’s bustle.

Several of the faelights embedded amidst the foliage in the ceiling stirred to life as they entered, casting a gentle glow over the empty tables. The vines that decorated the walls rustled ever so slightly, like someone stirring in their sleep.

Iris took a deep breath. For the first time since the confrontation in the maze, she felt her breathing ease, the tightness in her chest beginning to unravel. There was something about this place that felt strangely like home. And yet she knew beyond a doubt that she did not belong here.

Half-breed. Interloper. Novelty.

“Are you ready to tell me what’s caused you such distress?” Rosavyn asked gently from behind her.

“Rosavyn, I …” Iris shook her head, still unable to look at her friend. “I am not worthy of the position your grandmother has given me.”

“And what, precisely,” demanded a loud voice, “gives you the authority to decide whether you are worthy or not?”

Both girls whirled around, startled to find Lady Rivenna standing in the doorway. She stepped fully into the tea house, the faelights brightening slightly in her presence.

“Grandmother!” Rosavyn exclaimed, one hand flying to her throat. “How did you?—”

“Know you’d slipped away? I saw you both leave the Thornharts’ gathering. It was simple enough to follow.” Rivenna’s gaze moved between them, sharp and assessing. “Did you truly think I was unaware of all the times you escaped Lady Thornhart’s house only to reappear hours later as if nothing was amiss?”

“I—”

“I do not miss things, my dear. Now run along and take that enchanted carriage you ‘borrowed’ back to the Thornharts. Lady Iris and I have much to discuss.”

Rosavyn hesitated, glancing at Iris with concern, but clearly she was not willing to argue with her grandmother. With a brief nod, Rosavyn turned and slipped out the door—which conveniently closed itself—leaving Iris alone with Lady Rivenna.

The older woman moved to one of the tables and settled into a chair. “Sit,” she said, gesturing to the chair opposite her.

Iris obeyed, her hands twisting the pair of gloves in her lap. “I apologize for coming here at so late an hour. I simply needed?—”

“Tell me what happened,” Lady Rivenna interrupted, her tone leaving no room for evasion.

Iris swallowed, then began. “The Brightcrest sisters cornered me in the maze. They said … cruel things. About my bloodline, about how I don’t belong here. And then Lord Jasvian appeared and?—”

Lady Rivenna held up a hand. “No, child. Not that. Tell me what happened with your magic. Have you been experiencing something unusual? Something you cannot explain?”

Iris stared at her, momentarily speechless. “How did you?—”

“I happen to be closely acquainted with one who can sense the building of volatile magic. He was almost certain, this evening, that the feeling originated with you.”

Iris blinked. “Do you mean?—”

“Was it you, Lady Iris?”

A shaky breath escaped Iris. “Yes. I believe so. It first happened at the pegasus races. No, wait …” She frowned, casting her thoughts further back. “I believe it may have happened the first day I began my apprenticeship here, while you were showing me through the kitchen. But it was so brief, I dismissed it. It was far more overwhelming at the races, but after it passed, I was distracted by other things, and I didn’t think of it again.”

“And tonight?” Lady Rivenna prompted. “What exactly happened?”

“It’s as though I see multiple scenes unfolding—quite literally unfolding as if the scene were a picture on a page—before my very eyes. It happens quickly. Multiple versions of a scene unfolding all at once, almost layered atop each other. It becomes quite overwhelming. Tonight I saw different people, different wallpaper patterns, even the same person wearing different clothing, all occupying the same space.”

Iris expected surprise, perhaps even concern, but Rivenna merely nodded, her expression thoughtful. “I suspected from the first time we met, Lady Iris, that there was more to your magic than paper folding. You spoke about the paper itself already knowing all the possible creases it might fold along and all the possible configurations it might take, and you would simply choose which one your magic would follow. In truth, I suspect your magic has very little to do with paper at all, except that was the first way your ability chose to reveal itself.”

Iris frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Our conversation at the Opening Ball stirred something in my memory. I’ve read of an ability similar to yours, though I’ve not met anyone whose manifestation matches its description until now. I believe your magic allows you to perceive the underlying patterns in reality. Just as you can see how paper wishes to fold, you are beginning to see how reality itself might fold in different directions. You glimpse the patterns of what might be—the potential paths or outcomes that exist simultaneously before a choice is made.”

Iris shook her head, struggling to comprehend. “But that sounds like … seeing the future?”

“Not precisely. You do not see what will be, but rather what could be. The realm of possibility rather than certainty.” Rivenna’s eyes gleamed in the faelight. “Think of it as seeing where the creases in reality lie, just as you intuitively understand where paper wishes to fold. Tell me, what happened the first time your magic manifested?”

Iris’s hands tightened around the pair of loose gloves in her lap. She hadn’t spoken of it—not really. Not beyond the necessary explanations to her grandparents and the vague references when someone asked about her manifestation. The memory of that day still made her skin crawl. “I was browsing in my favorite bookshop,” she began hesitantly. “A place I’d visited hundreds of times before. I was reaching for a volume when suddenly … everything changed.”

Rivenna nodded encouragingly.

“The pages … all the pages in all the books … seemed to come alive. They tore themselves free, thousands of them, tens of thousands perhaps, swirling around me in a storm. And they were folding—not just once, but over and over, changing shape so rapidly I couldn’t follow the transformations.” Her voice caught. “They were like razor blades, all those edges. I couldn’t escape them. They left cuts everywhere—my arms, my face, my hands.”

She looked down at her arms. There were no scars. Magic had been used to heal her. But she imagined she could see the many cuts that had been there.

“The bookshop pixies were shrieking, trapped in the rafters. The shop owner was shouting for help. And I …” Iris swallowed hard. “I couldn’t stop it. It was like the pages were possessed.” The memory of blood trickling down her arms, of the shop owner’s horrified face, of her parents’ frantic arrival—it all came rushing back. “It was chaos. Destruction. Nothing like the controlled paper creations I can make now.”

“It was not destruction,” Rivenna said gently. “It was revelation. You weren’t simply making paper fold. You were suddenly, overwhelmingly aware of all possible patterns and configurations within every page of every book. It sounds as though the pages responded to your uncontrolled power by simultaneously trying to take all possible forms at once, creating the violent storm of paper and sharp edges.”

Iris was silent for several moments, taking this in before responding. “But what use is such an ability? Seeing possibilities that may never come to pass?”

“What use?” Rivenna echoed with a hint of incredulity. “Iris, you are more attuned to potential than most will ever be. You can perceive not just what is, but what might become. Combined with all the information the tea house gathers and reveals to us, this gift could be extraordinarily valuable.”

Iris frowned, considering the implications. “You mean I could … use this information to guide people? To influence their choices?”

“To present possibilities they might not otherwise see,” Rivenna corrected. “To nurture opportunities that align with their deepest desires.”

“That sounds uncomfortably like moving people around a game board,” Iris said, her unease evident. “I know we’ve spoken about this already, but I’m not certain it feels right.”

Rivenna leaned forward slightly. “You misunderstand. We do not force paths upon others; we merely illuminate possibilities. We present options, create openings, arrange introductions between those who might benefit from knowing one another. The choice to step through a door will always belong to the person standing before it.”

Iris fell silent, her gaze drifting to the window where moonlight cast silver patterns across the glass. The tea house seemed to hold its breath around them, the vines on the walls barely stirring. A fragile hope flickered within her—the possibility that her strange magic might truly have value—but it wavered she thought of the whispered judgments, the sidelong glances that followed her everywhere, the Brightcrest sisters’ sneers.

“Something else troubles you,” Rivenna observed after a moment, her tone returning to one closer to her usual brusque manner. “What happened in the maze? Be out with it so we may move on.”

Iris sighed. “The Brightcrest sisters … they called me a ‘half-breed interloper.’ Said I was merely a novelty that would soon fade, that I would never truly belong in this world.” She raised her gaze to meet Rivenna’s. “And I fear they’re right. Everything about me—my bloodline, my upbringing, my magic that I’m clearly incapable of controlling properly—marks me as an outsider. I fear that you, too, will soon realize this about me. You will decide you’ve made a mistake offering me this apprenticeship. Because it isn’t only the Brightcrests. You must have noticed the way at least half of the tea house’s patrons seem to lean away from me when I pass them. The sideways glances they still give me. Not a day goes by when at least some of the whispers the tea house shares with me are about how I did nothing to deserve this position and that I am not worthy of proper society’s attention. Soon you will see that I’m nothing but a … a …”

“Usurper?” Rivenna supplied. “Upstart? Stain on the pristine fabric of fae society? Do feel free to stop me when I reach the correct level of dramatic self-pity.”

Iris stared at her, caught between outrage and disbelief. “I don’t understand how you can be so … so …”

“Unsympathetic?” Rivenna leaned back in her chair. “Let me tell you something about sympathy, my dear. When I was first betrothed to the Rowanwood heir, do you know what society’s leading ladies said about me?”

The abrupt shift threw Iris off balance. “I … what?”

“They said I was a social-climbing nobody with parlor trick magic who’d somehow managed to enchant a man far above my station.” Rivenna’s voice was crisp, matter-of-fact. “They wondered aloud—and quite deliberately within my hearing—how long it would take him to come to his senses.”

“But you’re Lady Rivenna Rowanwood,” Iris protested. “You’re practically the queen of Bloomhaven society.”

“I am now. But I wasn’t born into this position. And that, Lady Iris, is why I understand perfectly well what you are feeling right now. Did you know—” she tipped her head slightly to one side “—that you and I are not so unalike?”

Iris frowned. “How so?”

“What is my magical ability?”

“It is—” Iris broke off. “I suppose I don’t actually know. Something to do with tea leaf reading?”

A small smile curved Rivenna’s lips. “Patterns, Lady Iris. But more specifically, connections. My magical ability allows me to see the connections between people—the intricate webs of relationships, influences, and experiences that bind us all together.” Rivenna’s fingers traced an invisible pattern on the table, her eyes distant. “It has proved a useful ability, though many still think that all I can do is …” She looked up with a wry smile. “Make pretty patterns. At my debut, my demonstration was considered utterly unremarkable, just as yours was.”

Iris found herself leaning forward, eager to know more. “What did you do?”

“I used threads of light to weave patterns in the air showing the connections between everyone present—bloodlines, alliances, rivalries, tentative matches that had already begun to form. The threads were all color-coded to mean different things, and what did the majority of the ballroom see? A pretty web of colored light. The High Lady herself could barely conceal her yawn.”

“I can certainly relate to that.”

“Indeed, I felt precisely as you do now. Unworthy, out of place, possessed of a gift that no one valued or understood.” Rivenna’s gaze grew sharp again. “But I refused to accept their assessment. I discovered something important, Lady Iris. Something you would do well to remember: if you do not feel you belong anywhere, then you must make a place in which to belong.”

“The tea house,” Iris murmured, understanding dawning.

“Precisely. I created a space that would draw people to me rather than requiring me to seek acceptance elsewhere. A place where my particular gifts—seeing how people and events connect, reading how these patterns shape society itself—would be not merely useful but essential.” Rivenna gestured to the silent tea house around them. “And now, generations later, not a single event of consequence occurs in Bloomhaven without being whispered about within these walls.”

“But how did you know it would work?”

“I didn’t. But I suspected they would come to need me. Need my insights, my ability to know when and how to place the right people together to foster existing connections and form new ones. I knew I could create opportunities for the types of interactions people would enjoy and want to experience again. A need to return, again and again.” She paused. “And I must say, watching everyone pretend they never doubted me has been rather entertaining.”

A laugh escaped Iris before she could stop it. “I can imagine.”

“Can you?” Rivenna fixed her with a penetrating look. “Then perhaps you can also imagine what you might do with your own talents, instead of sitting here waiting for society to grant you permission to exist.”

“I …” Iris faltered. “You think that my magic … this ability to see multiple possibilities …”

“Is rare and valuable beyond measure,” Rivenna finished. “The tea house chose you for a reason, Lady Iris. It recognized in you something that most others have failed to see. Something that, in time, will make you as essential to Bloomhaven’s society as I have become.”

The vines along the wall nearest to them stirred, reaching out a tendril that brushed against Iris’s hand with what felt remarkably like affection. Yet she couldn’t shake the fear that sat in her chest. “It hardly seems possible,” she said softly, her gaze drifting to the questing vine at her fingertips. “Each day I grow more devoted to this position, yet I cannot shake the feeling that it all rests upon some fortunate error. That I am merely borrowing a place that was never truly meant for me, and one day I will be asked to surrender it when the mistake comes to light.”

“Let me make one thing perfectly clear,” Rivenna said, leaning forward as her voice took on a firmness that commanded attention, “as it seems you still harbor doubts where there should be none. This apprenticeship is not a temporary arrangement or a trial position. You have been chosen —by both myself and the tea house. This is your future, Lady Iris. This is where you belong. The only circumstance in which you would not become the eventual proprietress of The Charmed Leaf is if you yourself decided you no longer wished it. The question now,” Rivenna continued, rising to her feet with a rustle of silk, “is not whether you are worthy of this position, but whether you are brave enough to embrace it fully. To create your own place in a world that may not immediately understand your value.”

She extended a hand to Iris, and after one last moment of hesitation, Iris reached for it and stood. “Thank you, Lady Rivenna. I believe I am.”