Page 27 of Tempests & Tea Leaves (The Charmed Leaf Legacy #1)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Iris fell back against her chair the moment the door closed behind Lord Jasvian, exhaling a breath she felt she’d been holding since he first entered the room. It had taken far more effort than she had energy for this morning to maintain such perfect composure. After barely sleeping—the memories of dancing beneath enchanted stars replaying through her mind for hours—she should probably still be in bed. But her body’s natural rhythms had roused her at the same ridiculous hour as always, and she’d found herself dressing hastily, unable to banish thoughts of Jasvian from her mind.

What if he also arrived early at the tea house today? She wanted—no, needed—to be here if he did.

She pushed the large tome away with a groan. Despite the first few pages being deliciously scandalous indeed—full of tales of magical teas that had supposedly resulted in three engagements, two duels, and the temporary transformation of Lord Someone-Or-Other into a remarkably articulate squirrel—she hadn’t been able to focus on a single word after Lord Jasvian had entered the room.

And he’d noticed her tea! She’d never specifically told him about her ‘Autumn & Pine’ blend, certainly never mentioned it by name. Just as she hadn’t told him—hadn’t told anyone yet—about the true extent of her magical ability.

She pulled her notebook closer, glancing down at the ‘notes’ she’d been so diligently taking. They had absolutely nothing to do with the text she’d been pretending to read. Knowing that Lord Jasvian was unable, from his position at his own desk, to see the words she penned, she’d begun scribbling down her thoughts:

I cannot believe I spent half the night dancing with LORD JASVIAN ROWANWOOD. The man who called me a half-breed with diluted magic. The man who questioned whether I belonged in society at all. And yet, when he smiled at me last night—actually SMILED—my heart did the most peculiar little flip.

Beneath her words, the notebook had responded in its elegant script:

How very anatomically improbable. Perhaps you should consult a physician about these concerning cardiac acrobatics.

Iris had glared at the page before continuing:

You know perfectly well what I mean. And now that he is HERE in the room with me, I cannot seem to breathe properly. What is HAPPENING to me?

Based on available evidence, the notebook had replied, you appear to be experiencing a textbook case of romantic attraction. How disappointingly conventional of you.

It is NOT romantic attraction. It is … temporary insanity brought on by lack of sleep and excessive exposure to enchanted masks.

Of course. How foolish of me to confuse the two. They are so frequently mistaken for one another in medical literature.

Iris stared at the exchange, mortified by her own admission. She couldn’t breathe ? What nonsense was that? Her quill hovered above the page. After a moment, she pressed it to the paper once more.

Even if it were … that is, even if I did feel some momentary … something … it would be of no consequence. I have no intention of venturing down that path. I have seen where it leads.

Do enlighten me. What ominous destination awaits at the end of this particular path?

I’m thinking of my mother, Iris wrote, her quill pressing harder into the paper. She was brilliant once. A respected scholar with thoughts and opinions of her own. Now she can barely decide what to wear for dinner without consulting my father. She has become a mere shadow of herself, an echo of his thoughts. I do not want that for myself.

The notebook’s script appeared more slowly this time, as if it were choosing its words with particular care.

How fascinating that you believe there are only two possible outcomes: complete independence or total self-effacement. Has it occurred to you that your mother’s situation might be unusual rather than inevitable?

Iris frowned at the page before writing, You don’t know my mother.

True. But I have existed within these walls for quite some time. I have witnessed countless marriages—some that diminish, yes, but others that strengthen. Some where two become less than they were, and others where they become more.

Poetic, but hardly convincing, Iris wrote. Better to rely on oneself than risk such a gamble.

Is that what you’re doing with your position at The Charmed Leaf? Relying solely on yourself?

Iris paused, her brow furrowing. That’s different.

Is it? You are learning from Lady Rivenna, depending on her guidance. You consult with Saffron, Lissian, and Lucie. You accept help from Rosavyn. Yet I do not see you diminishing as a result of these connections.

Those are not the same as marriage.

Indeed. They lack certain … anatomically improbable cardiac elements.

Iris felt heat rise to her cheeks. You’re being deliberately obtuse.

And you are being deliberately blind. Your mother’s experience is ONE story, not THE story. Lady Rivenna has maintained both marriage and formidable independence. The High Lady rules without surrendering her identity to anyone. Even the tea house itself exists in perpetual partnership with its proprietress without either losing their essential nature.

The tea house is hardly a person, Iris scribbled.

And yet I am more perceptive than most fae, humans or those of mixed lineage. Consider this: perhaps the problem was not marriage itself, but rather your mother’s belief that she had to surrender her identity to be truly loved. A belief, I cannot help but notice, that you appear to have inherited.

Iris stared at the words, something uncomfortable settling in her chest. You’re suggesting that my mother chose to fade?

I’m suggesting that stories are more complex than they first appear, and that people often mistake correlation for causation. Perhaps ask yourself why you are so eager to believe that connection must inevitably lead to loss of self. It is a rather convenient excuse for avoiding vulnerability, is it not?

That’s unfair, Iris wrote, her handwriting growing messier with her indignation.

Fairness is not among my primary concerns. Accuracy, however, is. And accurately speaking, your fear of losing yourself may be precisely what prevents you from discovering who you might become.

Iris threw her quill down and closed the notebook with more force than necessary, unwilling to continue a conversation that had ventured into territory she was not prepared to explore. The notebook’s observations had struck uncomfortably close to truths she wasn’t ready to acknowledge—that perhaps what she feared was not losing herself in someone else, but rather the terrifying vulnerability of being truly seen.

She pushed the book away, but its final words lingered in her mind: your fear of losing yourself may be precisely what prevents you from discovering who you might become.

She reached past the open tome on tea leaf family history for the stack of fine paper that sat on the corner of her desk, determined to focus on something other than the notebook’s uncomfortable dissection of her carefully constructed defenses. Relaxing her mind, she set her magic loose as her fingers touched the edge of a crisp cream sheet. Instantly, she felt the familiar tug of potential. All the ways this single sheet might fold, all the shapes it might become. She lay the sheet flat on her palm and let her magic flow, guiding rather than forcing the paper as it began to crease itself along invisible lines.

She’d been adding to her collection of pieces in preparation for her display at the Summer Solstice Grand Ball, gradually working toward more and more complex creations. On the shelves on one side of the study, along with leather-bound volumes and delicate trailing ivy, sat a variety of paper creatures: swans, foxes, pegasi, a stag, a grasshopper and even a particularly complicated dragon.

The paper on her palm folded and refolded, creases appearing and disappearing as Iris considered different possibilities. She had decided on a miniature garden scene. An entire landscape rendered in paper that would transform and shift at her command. Paper trees would grow taller, flowers would bloom and fade, tiny creatures would move among the foliage. It would be a stunning display of control and precision, hiding the true depth of her abilities behind something beautiful but ultimately harmless.

As her fingers twitched, instinctively guiding the paper into intricate folds without touching it, her mind drifted back to the masquerade. To Jasvian’s hand at her waist, his surprisingly graceful movements, his confession that social gatherings caused him anxiety. She had glimpsed something beneath his carefully maintained facade. A vulnerability, a depth of feeling he rarely allowed others to see.

And she had run away before midnight. Before the enchantment could fade.

Why? If she were truly honest with herself—something she had been avoiding with remarkable determination—she knew that it was fear that had driven her hasty retreat. Fear of Jasvian’s reaction. Fear of seeing the open warmth in his gaze cool to dismay or disappointment or perhaps even regret upon realizing that the enchanting woman he had shared parts of himself with had merely been Iris, the half-fae he had once deemed unworthy.

Though none of that should matter if she didn’t care to pursue anything more than their careful truce of ink-stained exchanges and cautious civility. And she did not, she reminded herself firmly. She did not wish to pursue anything involving romantic attraction or concerning cardiac acrobatics with anyone, least of all Lord Jasvian Rowanwood.

… a rather convenient excuse for avoiding vulnerability …

The half-formed paper creation hovering above her palm suddenly crumped in on itself as her concentration faltered. With a sigh, she smoothed it out, her magic clearing the creases and wrinkles, and began again, focusing more intently on the sensation of fold lines she could somehow ‘feel’ in her mind without feeling beneath her fingers.

“That was quite the dramatic exit,” a voice observed from the doorway.

Iris looked up, realizing she’d been too distracted to hear the door open, and found Lady Rivenna watching her with sharp eyes, one silver eyebrow arched in silent inquiry.

“Lord Jasvian?” Iris asked, trying to sound casual. “Yes, he mentioned urgent business at Rowanwood House.”

“Did he indeed?” Lady Rivenna entered the study, ushering in four garden pixies who barely reached the height of her knee. Three of them struggled beneath the weight of an enormous bunch of flowers, while the fourth carried a pitcher of water that appeared comically large in its tiny hands.

“Curious, as I’ve just come from there myself,” Lady Rivenna continued, directing the pixies toward the flower vases positioned around the study. “The house is practically deserted this morning, everyone sleeping off the excesses of last night’s celebration.” She paused beside Iris’s desk, glancing down at the half-formed paper creation. “Your focus appears somewhat lacking today.”

Iris flushed. “I didn’t sleep well.”

“No?” Lady Rivenna’s tone was perfectly neutral, but something in her expression made Iris suspect she knew far more than she was letting on. “The masquerade was quite spectacular. The sort of event that might leave one’s thoughts rather … occupied the following day.”

Around the room, the pixies had begun emptying the old flower arrangements from the vases, dropping wilted petals and half-dried leaves onto the floor.

“Not there!” Lady Rivenna called out, making one pixie freeze mid-motion. “Must I supervise every detail?”

The pixie ducked its head apologetically and used its magic to gather the scattered foliage into a tidy pile.

“I wouldn’t know,” Iris said carefully, addressing Lady Rivenna’s comment. “My grandmother’s illness prevented my attendance, as you know.”

“Ah, yes. Poor Lady Starspun and her illness.” Lady Rivenna leaned across Iris’s desk to adjust the angle of the vase a pixie had just filled with fresh water. “How fortunate that Rosavyn happened to know someone who was precisely your size and unable to attend due to fever.”

Iris froze. “I … that is …”

“Do save your protestations for someone who might believe them,” Lady Rivenna said with a dismissive wave. She crossed the room to the vase that had just been returned to her grandson’s desk, plucked a broken stem from a pixie’s arrangement, and tossed it onto the pile of discarded foliage. “I’ve been orchestrating social machinations in this town since before your parents were born. Did you truly think I wouldn’t keep a watchful eye on that table of enchanted masks and pay attention to the way guests were transformed? In addition, the threads of connection that bind people to one another remain visible to my sight. Such connections are not hidden by any simple enchantment.”

Iris’s face burned. She turned in her chair to face Lady Rivenna. “Are you … upset?”

Lady Rivenna considered this for a moment as she leaned against Jasvian’s desk and folded her arms over her chest. “I should be, I suppose. Attending an event against your family’s wishes, without a chaperone, risking scandal should you be discovered …” She studied Iris with those shrewd eyes. “And yet, I find myself more impressed than angry. It showed initiative. Resourcefulness.”

One of the pixies used its magic to sweep the pile of discarded foliage into a small cloth bag while the one carrying the now empty pitcher almost tripped over Iris’s shoes as it tried to pass her. She quickly pulled her feet out of the way. “Then you’re not going to tell my grandmother?” she asked hopefully.

“What possible benefit would that serve?”

Iris let out a relieved breath. “Thank you.”

“Was it worth it?” Lady Rivenna asked, her head tilted slightly to one side. “The deception, the risk of discovery?”

Iris hesitated only briefly before answering. “Yes. It was.”

“Hmm.” Lady Rivenna nodded at the pixie that pointed questioningly to the one remaining vase on the small table beside the corner armchair. “And who, might I ask, made the evening so memorable for you?”

“I don’t know.” The lie tasted bitter. “Isn’t anonymity the purpose of a masquerade?”

Lady Rivenna’s lips curved into an enigmatic smile. “Indeed.” Just that single word, but something in her tone made Iris wonder if the connections Lady Rivenna saw had revealed precisely who Iris had been dancing with.

“Now,” Lady Rivenna said, moving to the window and gazing out at Bloomhaven’s morning bustle. “The Summer Solstice Grand Ball approaches. Your display must be ready. It will be your final opportunity to demonstrate your abilities and establish your worth. In the eyes of society, at least,” she added with a glance over her shoulder at Iris. “You and I both know your value extends far beyond both magic and bloodline. But we must not forget your family’s expectations. Your apprenticeship here was permitted with the understanding that your social responsibilities would not be neglected. That includes presenting yourself to the best of your ability at the Summer Solstice Grand Ball.”

“I’ve been working on something,” Iris said, grateful for the shift in conversation. She gestured across the room to the various paper creations on the shelf. “A garden scene, with complex elements that transform. I thought perhaps?—”

“If I might make a suggestion,” Lady Rivenna interrupted. “Surely you don’t consider such a display worthy of the occasion?”

Iris blinked. “But we both decided my display should hide the true nature of my abilities. I certainly cannot demonstrate seeing multiple future possibilities unfolding.”

“No, of course not, but perhaps you need not tread quite so seriously.” Lady Rivenna turned away from the window as the pixies finished their work, quietly gathering their cleaning supplies. “Your debut presentation was charming but forgettable. The Solstice Ball requires something more … memorable.”

“What did you have in mind?”

Lady Rivenna placed a fresh sheet of paper in Iris’s hands. “Something that demonstrates growth, certainly. Control and precision, yes. But also something that hints at depths not immediately apparent.” She paused, her eyes meeting Iris’s with unmistakable intent. “Something that draws people in.”

Iris looked down at the blank paper, feeling its potential beneath her fingertips. “I’m not entirely sure what you mean.”

“Perhaps create something more engaging than mere transformations. Consider what paper represents. It holds stories, captures memories, preserves knowledge.”

Iris frowned. “You’re suggesting I create something narrative? Something that tells a story?”

“Precisely.” Lady Rivenna nodded in approval as the pixies lined up at the door. “Not merely a garden scene that transforms, but a tale that unfolds. A sequence of events with meaning and purpose.” She smiled slightly. “Everyone loves a good story, Lady Iris. Far more engaging than watching paper creatures move about a garden, no matter how skillfully crafted.”

The idea caught fire in Iris’s imagination. She could create an entire theatrical scene in miniature—paper figures acting out a story, with one moment flowing seamlessly into the next. Not random transformations, but deliberate progressions, the paper itself knowing where the tale was leading.

“That’s brilliant,” she said excitedly. “It would be much more memorable than what I had planned.”

“Excellent.” Lady Rivenna’s approval warmed Iris like sunlight. “Though I imagine this will require considerable practice on your part. I suggest you begin at once.” She made her way to the door, pausing only to make one final adjustment to the largest flower arrangement before departing.

As the door closed behind her, Iris’s fingers were already twitching with eager anticipation, her mind racing ahead, darting through possibilities. The blank paper before her responded instantly, creases forming and multiplying as her magic flowed freely. Not the garden scene she’d first planned, but something entirely new. A story. A ballroom in miniature, with two paper figures at its center, locked in a dance, entirely oblivious to the room shifting around them as?—

Iris sat back with an exasperated sigh, pushing the half-formed creation away. Even when attempting to focus on something that should fully absorb her mind, she could not escape Jasvian. It seemed his presence had infiltrated not only her thoughts but her magic itself, bending her creations toward him like flowers turning to follow the sun.

It was absurd. And she had no notion of what to do about it.