Page 21 of Tempests & Tea Leaves (The Charmed Leaf Legacy #1)

Chapter Twenty-One

“Let’s try this one,” Iris murmured, carefully adding three drops of veilwater to her latest blend. The liquid shimmered as it fell into the porcelain teapot, creating tiny ripples that glowed momentarily before fading into the amber brew.

Though the sun had barely risen, the kitchen at The Charmed Leaf already hummed with early morning activity. Hearth sprites darted between copper kettles, coaxing flames to the perfect temperature, while the scent of baking scones mingled with the more exotic aromas of Iris’s experimental tea blends.

At the center of the kitchen stood the main worktable, conspicuously divided by a thick red line painted directly onto the wood that morning by Orrit. On one side stood the brownie, the tea house’s master of scones, surrounded by precisely arranged baking implements and ingredients. His tiny form was nearly obscured by a cloud of flour as he kneaded dough with remarkable vigor.

On the other side, carefully respecting the boundary, Iris had arranged her collection of jars containing various tea leaves, petals and roots alongside a variety of teapots with different magical properties. Several different kinds of measuring spoons added subtle influences to her ingredients, while enchanted scales measured not just weight but magical potency. Timing crystals of various colors were arranged in a neat semicircle, each one designated for a specific ingredient’s optimal steeping time.

“I still can’t believe I dragged myself out of bed before the sun,” Rosavyn said, stifling a yawn as she reached for another slice of honey cake from the basket she’d brought. “Only a true friend would sacrifice breakfast at home to check that you were well after last night’s drama.”

“And I’m eternally grateful for your sacrifice,” Iris said, carefully stirring her latest blend.

“As you should be,” Rosavyn replied around a mouthful of cake. She swallowed. “Though one should not thank their true friends by attempting to poison them with vile tea concoctions.”

“We must all start somewhere.”

“That last one,” Rosavyn said, wrinkling her nose, “tasted like it started at the bottom of a drain.”

“Rosavyn!”

“I’m sure you’ll improve quickly!” Rosavyn assured her, then added in a low tone, “Though I don’t believe the tea house selected you for your blending skills.”

“I heard that,” Iris muttered, squinting at the page of notes Lady Rivenna had left for her along with all the tea ingredients and brewing supplies. The purpose of this morning’s experimentation was to create a blend that might keep Iris’s newly discovered ability from overwhelming her. You need to find something that stabilizes the visions , Lady Rivenna had instructed the night before. A blend that allows the possibilities to unfold individually rather than all at once, and perhaps only when you wish them to, rather than whenever your emotions run high. But since Rosavyn didn’t know about the visions—and Iris didn’t feel ready to explain them—it was easier to pretend these experiments were simply part of her apprenticeship.

“You’re aware that you could return home for breakfast, are you not?” she said to Rosavyn as one of the timing crystals began to glow a soft emerald green, indicating that the steeping time was complete. “No one is forcing you to taste my ‘vile tea concoctions.’”

“Oh, but this is far more fun,” Rosavyn replied brightly. “Even if my tongue may never forgive me.”

Iris pretended she hadn’t heard that last bit. She lifted the teapot and gently swirled the contents while consulting the various loose pages of notes from Lady Rivenna. Apparently it mattered whether the swirling was clockwise or counter-clockwise. She set the teapot down and leaned over her notebook—placed safely out of Rosavyn’s view behind a stack of books—and lifted her quill to make note of the fact that she had swirled clockwise .

Below this, the notebook’s elegant script appeared:

I note you’ve chosen the ‘energizing’ direction rather than the ‘calming’ one. Are you certain about that?

Iris ignored the notebook’s commentary, since what was done was done. Its position behind the books meant that she could glance at it occasionally without drawing attention, and so that her notes—or, more specifically, her notebook’s replies—would not be visible to anyone else. Lady Rivenna hadn’t explicitly forbidden her from showing it to others, but the notebook’s connection to the tea house’s deeper magic made Iris cautious about revealing its existence.

“This one’s ready,” she announced, lifting the teapot and pouring over the mesh strainer that was enchanted to catch physical elements while allowing magical essences to flow through. The tea that filled the tasting cup smelled faintly of damp earth. “Anchoring root, clarity flowers, and veilwater.”

Rosavyn accepted the cup with theatrical wariness while Iris poured a second cup for herself. She watched as Rosavyn took a small, cautious sip, then immediately made a face like she’d bitten into something rotten. “Stars above! That’s—” Rosavyn grabbed her water glass and took several desperate gulps. “That tastes like someone bottled a swamp fog and added a spoonful of pond scum.”

Steeling herself, Iris tried her own cup. The moment the liquid touched her tongue, she understood Rosavyn’s reaction. It was what she imagined drinking warmed marsh water might be like. She managed to swallow her sip with only a slight grimace, her determination stronger than her taste buds.

“Too much anchoring root, perhaps?” she suggested, reaching for her water.

“Too much everything,” Rosavyn insisted, still trying to rinse the taste from her mouth. “Definitely toss that one.”

“I can’t,” Iris said quickly. “I need to keep samples of each for Lady Rivenna to taste.” The truth was that she needed to keep them all for later testing, when the visions returned. One of these blends might work, even if it tasted terrible.

Iris carefully poured the remaining tea into a small labeled vial and set it aside with several others. She glanced surreptitiously at her notebook and froze. New words had appeared on the page in an elegant script that did not belong to the notebook:

Lady Iris, I trust you have recovered from last night’s events?

Her heart gave an odd little flutter that she immediately blamed on too much experimental tea. If Lord Jasvian was sending enchanted messages to her notebook, that must mean he was nearby. She glanced up at the ceiling, imagining she could see him settling behind his desk in the study upstairs.

“Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Rosavyn asked, reaching for another honey cake.

“What? No, I just—” Iris fumbled for an explanation. “I was consulting my notes. I realized I forgot to add elderleaf to that last blend. No wonder it tasted horrible.”

She placed a finger on the notebook, as if to check this imaginary note about the elderleaf, and found more text appearing beneath the first line:

Forgive the intrusion. I arrived early to complete some urgent correspondence and noticed your presence in the kitchen.

Beneath this, in the notebook’s distinctive script, another message began to take form:

How fascinating. A message from Lord Brooding himself, and so early in the day. One wonders what urgent matter prompts such uncharacteristic civility.

Iris coughed, then quickly reached for a new teapot and the first of the ingredients she needed for her next attempt, trying to appear focused while her mind raced. How to respond to Lord Jasvian without Rosavyn noticing? And why was he inquiring after her wellbeing so … politely? Their relationship consisted primarily of arguing and then avoiding each other.

Several replies ran through her head: I wasn’t aware my recovery was of any concern to you, my lord. Or maybe … Your sudden interest in my welfare is as unexpected as it is suspicious, Lord Jasvian. Or perhaps she should not reply at all.

She cleared her throat and said, “This time I’m trying starlight crystal honey to balance the bitterness. Hand me that jar, would you?” As Rosavyn reached for the honey, Iris quickly tore a small piece of paper from one of Rivenna’s loose notes. She had to reply. She couldn’t leave his note unanswered. But, she decided with a deep breath, she would keep things civil.

“Just, uh … making note of this addition,” she mumbled as she scribbled her response.

Lord Jasvian, I am quite well, thank you. Your concern is unexpected but appreciated.

“Could you open that for me and measure out a single spoonful?” she added out loud.

As Rosavyn followed Iris’s instructions, Iris sent her magic through the paper with a subtle flick of her fingers. The paper folded itself into a perfect envelope and quietly slipped behind the stack of books, waiting until Rosavyn was sniffing the spoonful of honey before it fluttered up toward the ceiling and out the kitchen door.

The notebook’s script appeared again: Am I to understand you are once again conducting a correspondence outside my pages? How terribly inconvenient for those attempting to follow the conversation.

She grabbed her quill again and wrote, Don’t be petulant , before turning her attention back to the current blend.

“This one smells much better,” Rosavyn observed, leaning over the teapot after Iris stirred the honey into it. Steam rose in delicate spirals, a sweet scent overlaying the slight earthiness.

“The honey makes all the difference,” Iris agreed, though her attention was partly focused on watching for an enchanted reply.

After waiting the required amount of time, Iris poured another two cups and took a cautious sip. This blend was certainly more palatable, with the honey softening the sharp edges of the other ingredients. Still, there was an unexpected coldness that spread through her chest, despite the warmth of the tea itself.

“What do you think?” she asked, watching as Rosavyn sampled her cup.

“Less offensive than the last, but still not something I’d choose to drink,” Rosavyn declared. “It’s like licking a frozen windowpane. Strangely clean but fundamentally unpleasant.”

“How … descriptive.” Iris glanced again at her notebook, where new words were forming:

I would not precisely call it concern. Professional courtesy seems more accurate. We are, after all, obliged to share a workspace.

“Could you, uh, pour some of that into one of those little vials and label it?” Iris asked. “There’s another quill over there.”

“Certainly.”

As Rosavyn lifted a quill to one of the vials and sounded out ‘fro-zen win-dow-pane’ as she wrote, Iris penned her reply on a fresh sheet:

Professional courtesy typically doesn’t involve magical communications at sunrise, my lord. One might almost suspect you of harboring actual emotions beneath that impeccably tailored exterior.

The paper envelope performed a small loop before diving beneath the table and heading for the door.

Iris carefully measured solbloom flower petals into the crystal teapot with the lumyrite inlay, which, according to Lady Rivenna’s notes, enhanced the magical properties of floral ingredients. She added golden sunrise tea leaves and five drops of starlight crystal honey, then gestured to a nearby hearth sprite to heat water to exactly the right temperature. Not too hot, which would scorch the delicate petals, but warm enough to release their magical properties. All while pretending not to be distracted by thoughts of?—

Ah, there it was. Lord Jasvian’s reply appeared in the notebook:

I assure you any emotions I harbor are kept in perfect order, unlike the workspace I glimpsed through the open kitchen door, which I can only describe as resembling a battlefield after a particularly enthusiastic skirmish. What brings you to the tea house at this unconscionable hour?

How delightfully judgmental , the notebook commented beneath. He seems in fine form today.

Iris pressed her lips together to keep her smile from showing while she swirled the teapot and considered her response. She wasn’t prepared to share Lady Rivenna’s insights about her magic, especially not with Lord Jasvian. She poured her latest blend into another tasting cup and handed it to Rosavyn before bending over the notebook once more:

Tea blending experiments.

P.S. My creative chaos is simply the natural state of productive experimentation. Some of us do our best work when we’re not constrained by excessive tidiness.

“I’m actually hopeful for this one,” Rosavyn said, eyeing the steaming cup with cautious optimism. “After all, they can’t all be terrible, can they?”

Before Iris could reply, she caught sight of a new message appearing in her notebook:

Tea blending experiments. I should have guessed. The ghastly odors wafting through the floorboards are quite distinctive. Are you deliberately creating concoctions that smell like a garden gnome’s unwashed boots, or is that merely a happy accident resulting from your ‘creative chaos’?

Iris’s lips twitched in amusement.

How utterly rude , the notebook commented. Though he does have a point about the odours.

“Iris? Are you listening to me?” Rosavyn’s voice broke through her thoughts.

“Sorry, what did you say?” Iris asked, guiltily focusing on her friend.

“I said this one tastes almost like a summer garden with just an edge of dirt.” Rosavyn peered at her suspiciously. “But you’re clearly somewhere else entirely. Are you feeling all right? You keep getting this strange, distant look.”

“I’m fine,” Iris assured her. “Simply … concentrating on the next blend.” She kept aside a sample—labeling it ‘Dirty Summer Garden’— before checking the admittedly disordered pile of pages with Rivenna’s notes written across them, and then eyeing the array of ingredients. “Hmm … let’s try this jar curiously labeled ‘spiced leaves’ along with some pine needles and a bit more of that honey. With the copper pot. I haven’t used that one yet.”

“Sounds delicious,” Rosavyn said dryly.

Iris got to work weighing the correct magical potency of pine needles while Rosavyn opened the jar of spiced leaves and then popped a spoonful of starlight crystal honey directly into her mouth. “That’s meant to be for the tea,” Iris murmured disapprovingly, though her mind was half-occupied with composing her next message to Lord Jasvian.

“Someone needs to check that the flavor is still good.”

“As if it might have changed in the two minutes since I used it last?”

Rosavyn shrugged. “One can never tell what might happen in a kitchen surrounded by so many magical ingredients. Can I add these tea leaves now?”

“Yes, thank you. Two measures of the silver spoon.”

As Rosavyn added the tea leaves and then turned to retrieve more water from the kettle, Iris quickly scribbled another note:

Perhaps if you arrived at a more civilized hour, Lord Jasvian, you might avoid such olfactory assaults. Though I’m beginning to think you secretly enjoy our early morning exchanges, given your continued appearance at an ‘unconscionably’ early hour. Next time, I’ll be sure to create something particularly pungent just for you.

The paper folded itself particularly crisply and flew away. Iris bit her lip. With a twinge of guilt, she wrote in the notebook: I probably shouldn’t tease him.

On the contrary, the notebook replied, teasing appears to be the only form of interaction he finds tolerable with you. One might draw interesting conclusions from that observation.

Don’t be ridiculous , she scribbled, feeling a flush rise to her cheeks as she turned back to the tea, determined now to focus on the task at hand.

After pouring two cups, she leaned over them to inhale. The brew smelled like warm cinnamon and spiced honey with undertones of fresh pine that lingered pleasantly when she exhaled. She handed one to Rosavyn.

“This one might actually be drinkable,” Rosavyn declared after taking a cautious sip. “It tastes like …” She took another sip, then nodded. “The final whisper of autumn, laced with the first breath of winter.”

Iris tasted the tea and found that she agreed. “Perfect,” she said, genuinely excited. She took another deep, appreciative sip. The tea spread warmth through her body, and the world around her seemed to settle. She exhaled slowly. Only now, feeling a sudden and profound sense of steadiness, did she realize how long she had been existing in a state of perpetual imbalance, as if constantly walking on shifting ground.

This particular blend might actually work.

The notebook flashed again with new writing, and Iris tried to casually lean over to read it while preparing another blend. It was a longer message this time:

Your accusation wounds me deeply, Lady Iris. I arrive early to enjoy the peace before the day’s chaos descends, not to engage in verbal sparring matches with apprentice tea brewers. Though I must admit, your particular brand of disorder does provide a certain entertainment value. It’s rather like watching a whirlwind attempt to organize itself into a straight line.

Iris was so absorbed in reading the message that she failed to notice Rosavyn studying her with increasing curiosity. “You keep looking at those books as if the ink itself might dissolve if you look away for too long,” Rosavyn observed. “Is there something particularly fascinating about ‘Comprehensive Herbology for Magical Infusions’?”

“No! I mean, yes, it’s … very informative,” Iris stammered. “I’m examining the combinations I should try next. I believe this one needs to steep for?—”

A knock on the open kitchen door interrupted Iris’s stammered explanation. Both girls looked up, startled by the unexpected sound, and Iris’s gaze landed on one of the last people she expected to see in the tea house kitchen at any hour, never mind this early in the morning.

“Lord Hadrian!”