Page 29 of Tempests & Tea Leaves (The Charmed Leaf Legacy #1)
Chapter Twenty-Nine
In the days following the incident in the study, Iris saw so little of Jasvian that she began to wonder if he was deliberately avoiding her. Lady Rivenna kept her constantly occupied, shadowing Mrs Spindlewood one day, observing Lissian at her tea brewing station the next, and in every spare moment, working to perfect her paper-folding display for the Solstice Ball. She approached these new attempts with careful restraint, mindful of her limitations after that night’s spectacular and painful failure. When she did find time to work in the study upstairs, Jasvian was either absent or already on his way out, and even the written correspondence that had become their daily ritual had inexplicably ceased.
She wanted to ask him if he regretted that moment between them—his fingers tracing gentle patterns on her skin, his eyes holding hers with such undisguised longing that it had stolen her breath. But each time she contemplated penning such an inquiry, her courage failed her. For someone who prided herself on directness, who had boldly confronted him that very first night at the Opening Ball, this newfound hesitancy was both foreign and frustrating.
The truth was, she feared his answer. Feared that he might confirm what she increasingly suspected: that upon reflection, Lord Jasvian Rowanwood had decided a half-human apprentice with unpredictable magic was simply not worth the complications.
Although … she’d had a most curious conversation with Lucie not long after the incident in the study, during which Lucie had recounted, with evident bewilderment, how Jasvian had actually apologized to her for his long-held prejudices about humans in fae society. Perhaps, then, Jasvian’s distance had nothing to do with Iris’s heritage at all. Perhaps it was simply that he wasn’t interested in her .
So when Rosavyn and Charlotte mentioned the Stardust Night Market’s imminent arrival in Bloomhaven, Iris found herself eager for an evening filled with new sights and experiences, far from the tea house and its memories. Her grandparents had agreed to the outing—her grandmother seeming particularly keen now that she had fully recovered from the illness that had kept her from attending the masquerade and several other engagements. Iris suspected this enthusiasm had less to do with her grandmother’s desire to socialize and more to do with potential encounters with families who had eligible sons.
Whatever her grandmother’s true motives, Iris felt a thrill of genuine excitement as she approached Elderbloom Park with her grandparents in the gathering dusk. The Stardust Night Market, which arrived in Bloomhaven once a year, had transformed the far side of the park into a wonderland of magical light and impossible wares. On the wide stone bridge that spanned the Silverflow River, floating lanterns in jewel-toned shades drifted through the evening air, following browsing patrons like curious spirits. The market began on the bridge itself and extended into the eastern corner of the park, where ancient trees were festooned with twinkling faelights.
Stepping onto the bridge amidst this enchanting display, Iris gathered the folds of her fine silk shawl closer as the evening air grew cool. Her grandmother tucked Iris’s arm securely through her own, ready to navigate the scene. With the Summer Solstice Grand Ball approaching, Iris could sense her grandparents’ anxiety mounting. Despite all their careful maneuvering—and Iris’s polite engagement with any gentleman showing interest at the Season’s event—not a single fae lord had yet declared himself in earnest or sought to court her with serious intent. Even Lord Hadrian, after coming to call one afternoon, had since made himself quite scarce, despite appearing to have greatly enjoyed her company.
Iris was secretly relieved, still clinging to the hope that she might yet secure her family’s future through her connection to The Charmed Leaf Tea House rather than through marriage. If only the Starspuns could endure a few more years—long enough for her to establish herself there. Long enough for Lady Rivenna to determine the time had come to relinquish control and ownership of the tea house entirely into Iris’s hands.
Though, at the rate Lady Rivenna was going, Iris herself might be wizened and silver-tressed before that happened. The woman possessed an energy that defied reason, as if she had bargained for endless vitality itself and was utterly undeterred by the passage of time.
Which meant, Iris thought as she spotted Charlotte and Rosavyn waving to her, that she would have to face the truth she had been resisting all Bloom Season: she might, in the end, have no choice but to marry.
And, to her dismay, the notion was not entirely unappealing when she allowed herself to consider a certain sharp-edged-yet-softening fae lord. Jasvian’s touch had awakened something she had been determined to deny—a longing not just for connection, but for this specific connection. It terrified her how easily she could imagine surrendering her hard-won independence for moments like the one they had shared in the study. Was this how it began for her mother? Small surrenders that eventually amounted to a complete loss of self?
Your mother’s experience is ONE story , the notebook had said, not THE story.
But these thoughts were pointless, Iris reminded herself, when the man clearly possessed no interest in?—
“Iris!” Rosavyn called as she and Charlotte hurried over. “Lord and Lady Starspun, how delightful to see you this evening.” Both she and Charlotte offered perfect curtsies to Iris’s grandparents. “We were just admiring the Calverwick Candies stall,” she added. “They make the most extraordinary color-shifting spun sugar that supposedly tastes like your fondest memory. Might we steal Iris away to show her?”
Iris turned to her grandmother with hopeful eyes. “Would you mind terribly if I joined them for a while?”
Her grandmother’s lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval. Then she sighed, her gaze moving from Rosavyn to Charlotte before returning to Iris. “Very well,” she relented with evident reluctance. “You may go, but I expect you to behave with absolute propriety. I do not wish to hear tales of any nonsense.”
“Nonsense?” Iris protested, unable to keep a note of indignation from her voice. “Have I not been perfectly behaved these past weeks?”
“Indeed you have,” her grandmother acknowledged with the barest hint of a smile. “Which is precisely why I am allowing this liberty. Now, off you go and enjoy yourselves. Be sure to meet us back here on the bridge at the closing chimes.”
Iris’s expression softened. “Thank you, Grandmother.” She offered her grandparents a respectful nod before turning to her friends, unable to entirely suppress the eagerness in her step as they turned toward the heart of the market, her grandparents proceeding in a different direction.
“Isn’t it magnificent?” Rosavyn exclaimed, looping her arm through Iris’s. “Look at those orbs over there. When held in your palm, they reveal glimpses of the stars as seen from the most distant corners of the United Fae Isles.”
“And those enchanted gloves,” Charlotte added, nodding toward a stall where gloves fashioned from materials as diverse as pressed flower petals and shimmering spider silk were elegantly displayed. “They’re said to each bestow a unique enchantment upon the wearer’s touch.”
Iris drew a deep breath as her eyes swept across the diverse array of stalls. The sweet, spiced aroma of ember-roasted chestnuts mingled with the sharper scent of frozen moonlight being ground into fine powder at a nearby stall. Everywhere she looked, something new and astonishing caught her eye.
“I’ve heard,” Charlotte remarked in a whisper, “that if you know where to look, you’ll find certain vendors selling items of a more … questionable nature.”
“Yes, I believe so,” Rosavyn confirmed with a conspiratorial grin. “Items that are strictly regulated or outright banned within proper fae society. I doubt your grandparents would have granted their permission quite so readily if they’d been aware of?—”
“Lady Iris,” a voice called out.
Iris froze, her heart thundering and her hands growing instantly sweaty within her gloves at the sound of the familiar voice. Taking a breath, she turned to find Jasvian standing a few paces away, his tall frame unmistakable even in the shifting light of the market. Her heart performed a few more ‘concerning cardiac acrobatics,’ as her notebook had so aptly described the phenomenon.
“Jasvian,” Rosavyn exclaimed, breaking the awkward silence. “I never thought you’d deign to attend something so whimsical as the Night Market.”
“I’ve attended in previous years,” he replied stiffly. “Though not recently.”
“Well, do try not to frighten the vendors with your brooding,” Rosavyn teased. “The poor things might think you’re evaluating their stalls for tax assessment rather than enjoyment.”
Charlotte suppressed a laugh behind her hand, but Jasvian barely seemed to notice his sister’s jibe. His severe expression softened as he addressed Iris directly. “Good evening, Lady Iris. This is your first time at the Stardust Night Market, I presume?”
“Yes, it is,” she replied, suddenly acutely aware of her every movement, her every word. “It’s quite remarkable.”
“Indeed.” He hesitated, shifting his weight slightly. “I was hoping, perhaps, that you might … that is, I wondered if you would care to view the market with me?”
Though Iris kept her gaze fixed on Lord Jasvian, she could feel Rosavyn and Charlotte’s stunned silence radiating beside her.
“I haven’t been in several years,” Jasvian continued, his words coming more rapidly now. “And since this is your first time, I thought … well, there are certain vendors and magical displays that are particularly worth seeing, and I—” He stopped abruptly, clearing his throat. “I would quite like to see them with you.”
The simple admission sent warmth coursing through Iris’s chest. Rosavyn made a sound partway between a laugh and a cough, leaning closer to Iris and whispering, “I cannot imagine what?—”
“That sounds lovely,” Iris found herself saying, her voice steadier than she felt. She removed her arm from Rosavyn’s, adding, “If the two of you don’t mind?”
“I, uh—” Rosavyn coughed again. She stared at Iris with a questioning gaze, which Iris met with what she hoped was a reassuring smile. After a moment, seemingly convinced that Iris was not discreetly signaling for help, Rosavyn said, “Not at all,” though her narrowed eyes suggested she would demand a thorough explanation later. “But you must be careful not to lose track of time,” she added. “Your grandparents mentioned they would meet us on the bridge at the closing chimes.”
Jasvian nodded. “I will ensure Lady Iris returns to the bridge well before then.”
“See that you do,” Rosavyn said, her tone somewhere between teasing and stern—a sister’s prerogative, Iris supposed. With a final curious glance at Iris, Rosavyn and Charlotte headed in a different direction, not entirely out of earshot when they dissolved into giggles.
Left alone with Jasvian, Iris suddenly found herself struggling for words. The memory of his fingertips tracing patterns on her skin burned vividly in her mind, making it difficult to meet his gaze.
“Shall we?” he asked, gesturing toward the heart of the market.
Iris nodded, falling into step beside him as they moved deeper into the maze of enchanted stalls. For a while they walked in silence, both seemingly unsure how to bridge the distance that had grown between them over the past few days.
“I must apologize for my recent scarcity.” Jasvian’s voice took on that formal quality he seemed to adopt when uncomfortable, his gaze fixed on the path ahead rather than meeting her eyes. “I’ve been working with Lord Hadrian on a project of some significance. He had a rather sudden breakthrough in the design that required far more of my input than previously anticipated.”
“Oh.” The word escaped Iris on a soft exhale. Relief cascaded through her like summer rain, cooling the anxious heat that had built within her these past days. He hadn’t been avoiding her after all. The worry that had taken root in her chest withered beneath this simple, practical explanation. And this would explain Lord Hadrian’s absence as well. It seemed he had not inexplicably withdrawn his attentions. Rather, he had been occupied with what sounded like deeply absorbing work.
“And you, Lady Iris?” Jasvian’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. “How have you … that is … have you been well?” The question emerged with careful formality, as if he were feeling his way across uncertain terrain.
“Yes, quite well,” she replied, her response equally measured. “Lady Rivenna has kept me extraordinarily busy at the tea house. She has assigned me the task of hosting my own small event there, as a means of assessing my progress thus far—though not until after the Summer Solstice Ball, of course. My focus for now must remain on preparing my magical display for that night. Oh, and I’ve even had my first few lessons in tea leaf reading.” She hesitated, aware that she was rambling somewhat, but uncertain how to recapture the ease that had characterized their interactions before that night in the study. “It’s quite fascinating how the patterns reveal themselves. I was curious to know whether the readings might align with?—”
She caught herself abruptly, realizing what she had nearly revealed. Jasvian didn’t yet know the true nature of her magic. “That is,” she amended hastily, “I’ve been curious about this ancient art your grandmother still practices with such dedication. The way she finds meaning in seemingly random arrangements of leaves is quite remarkable.”
“Indeed,” Jasvian said with a nod. He took a breath as if to add something else, then hesitated before closing his mouth.
They lapsed into silence once more, Iris aching for the easy rhythm of their written exchanges. How peculiar that they could share thoughts so freely through the distance of ink and paper, yet standing here beside one another, words seemed to evaporate before reaching her lips. Would it be utterly ridiculous, she wondered, to seek out a quill and paper and write him a note here in the midst of the market simply to bridge this carefully polite awkwardness that now stretched between them?
“I’ve been reading poetry,” Jasvian said finally.
Iris glanced up at him in surprise. “Have you?” Though she’d suggested it while disguised at the masquerade, she had hardly expected him to take her advice to heart.
“Yes. Though I must confess, my appreciation for it remains limited.” His lips quirked slightly, and Iris found herself longing once again to see a genuine smile on this man’s lips. A smile that was his , not hidden by an enchantment. “The volume I found in my mother’s library was filled with what I can only describe as flowery nonsense about caged nightingales and silken whispers.”
A laugh escaped Iris before she could hold it back. “Perhaps you should try a different poet. Not all verse is quite so … lavish.”
“I had rather hoped you might recommend something more tolerable,” he said, stopping and turning to face her, his tone weighted with meaning. “After all, it was at your suggestion that I endeavored to broaden my literary horizons in the first place.”
Iris’s breath quickened at what he had just revealed. She halted, turning to look up at him fully. In that moment, the surrounding bustle of the market seemed to soften and recede, leaving them in a hushed bubble of awareness. The stiff formality he wore like armor dissolved, and what remained was the raw, unguarded openness he’d shown her that night in the study. “You knew it was me,” she said softly. “At the masquerade.”
“Not at the time,” he said. “Only the morning afterward, when I noticed the silver bangle on your wrist. The same one the mystery woman at the masquerade had worn.”
“Oh, yes. It was the only part of my ensemble that remained unchanged by the mask’s enchantment. Perhaps because it so perfectly matched the mask itself.”
“Your lack of surprise suggests you recognized me as well,” Jasvian observed with a wry twist to his lips. “What betrayed my identity?”
“It was something you said early in our conversation,” Iris replied. “It echoed a phrase from our written correspondence and could have come from no one else.”
“And yet, having discovered who I was, you chose to remain. You continued our dance rather than seeking another partner. You …”
“Spent almost the entire evening with you,” Iris finished.
He nodded. “Why?” he asked quietly.
Her heart fluttered faster against her ribcage. “Because I wanted to,” she said simply, feeling her cheeks flush slightly.
Silence fell between them, heavy with unspoken meaning. Jasvian’s mouth curved upward, not quite reaching a full smile but coming closer than Iris had ever seen outside of the masquerade. A strange new warmth began to bubble up inside her, but both of them turned away before acknowledging anything further, each seemingly reluctant to disrupt this delicate new understanding.
“Oh, look at these,” Iris said, her eyes landing on the nearest stall and its display of delicate crystal animals. A stag pawed at the velvet beneath its hooves, while a fox curled its crystal tail around itself, its eyes gleaming with amber light.
“Try this one,” the vendor encouraged, placing a tiny owl in Iris’s palm. She frowned when nothing about the crystalline figure changed. “Ah, you’ll need to remove your glove, my lady,” the vendor explained as he lifted the owl from her palm. “The enchantment cannot work otherwise.”
Iris tugged gently at the fingertips of her wrist-length glove, grateful now for Brenna’s insistence on the shorter style. Her maid had assured her, when laying out her attire for the evening, that elbow-length would be considered too formal for the Night Market. Instead, she’d chosen delicate maroon lace gloves that complemented the shifting burgundy and deep crimson hues of Iris’s gown.
The vendor proffered the owl once more, and the moment it touched Iris’s skin, the crystal bird spread its wings and a warm violet light glowed from within. “Each animal chooses the color most suited to the one who holds it.”
Jasvian leaned closer to observe the transformation, his shoulder brushing against hers. The casual contact sent a pleasant shiver through Iris. “Fascinating,” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. “The color does indeed suit you perfectly.
“Creativity and imagination,” the vendor said. “And what might it show for you, my lord?” he asked, offering a crystal wolf to Jasvian.
He hesitated, then accepted the figure. The wolf’s internal light shifted immediately from silver to a deep, rich blue. The vendor nodded knowingly. “Ah, trustworthiness, loyalty, stability. All admirable qualities befitting?—”
“Thank you,” Jasvian said, returning the wolf somewhat hastily, as if uncomfortable with the insight. “Shall we continue?” he asked Iris. “There’s a magical demonstration near the central fountain that I think you might enjoy.”
As they moved away from the stall, Iris found herself relaxing slightly. The initial awkwardness was gradually giving way to something more familiar. The cautious rapport they’d developed through weeks of written exchanges. “I missed our morning correspondences,” she admitted, surprising herself with her candor.
“As did I,” Jasvian said quietly, his gaze still directed forward. “I will admit I didn’t know where to begin or what to say after …” He trailed off, but Iris knew he meant after that night in the study . “I must have composed a dozen different messages in my head and not written down a single one of them, believing none to be right.”
Iris smiled, her eyes on the ground ahead of them as they continued walking. “I would have been happy to receive any of them, I’m sure. I—oh.” She glanced down at her hands and stopped abruptly. “It seems I’ve only one glove. I must have left the other behind at the crystal vendor’s stall.”
“I can return and look for it?” Jasvian offered.
“No, please don’t trouble yourself,” Iris replied as she tugged at her remaining glove. “My grandmother isn’t here to be scandalized,” she added as she slipped the glove from her hand, “and we can look for the other on our way back.” Without a reticule in which to store it, she held the delicate maroon lace toward him. “Might I trouble you to keep this safe for me in the meantime?”
Jasvian hesitated, his gaze fixed on the glove—that intimate garment that had, until moments ago, covered her skin. “Certainly,” he said at last, accepting the delicate item and tucking it into the inside pocket of his coat.
They reached the central fountain where a crowd had gathered to watch a lone musician standing upon a raised dais. The performer held a harp crafted from what appeared to be strings of moonlight. As the first notes rose into the evening air, they didn’t merely create sound but manifested visually above the fountain’s waters. Strands of light in soft blues and greens began to pulse with the rhythm, casting their gentle illumination across the upturned faces of onlookers. As the music intensified, the strands transformed into undulating ribbons of vibrant light that chased one another through the air above the glistening water.
The longer they stood watching the display, the more Iris became aware of Jasvian beside her. The warmth radiating from his tall frame, the subtle scent of cedar and something else she couldn’t quite identify, the way his hands were clasped perhaps a bit too tightly behind his back. The crowd shifted, pressing them closer together. Jasvian’s arm brushed against hers, and she felt him tense at the contact. But he didn’t move away.
“How are your injuries?” he asked, his gaze still fixed on the mesmerizing symphony of light and water.
“Completely healed,” she replied. “Your grandmother’s salve worked wonders.” And your magic in applying it , she added silently.
“I’m glad.” There was genuine relief in his voice. “I was quite concerned when I found you?—”
“Oh!” someone in the crowd exclaimed.
A rapid flurry of notes burst from the harp, resolving into a cascade of small, bright sparks that rained down upon the fountain’s surface—to the delighted gasps of the gathered crowd. Where each spark touched the water, concentric rings of colored light spread outward, overlapping and intertwining to create intricate patterns.
In the commotion, Jasvian’s hand brushed against Iris’s, his fingers grazing her knuckles. Neither of them moved away. A heartbeat later, Iris felt the edge of his hand nudge hers, the touch so light it might have been accidental. But then his hand shifted, his fingers sliding between hers with deliberate intent.
Her breath caught. She kept her gaze resolutely forward, staring at the shimmering, looping light as if her life depended on it, though she couldn’t have described the finer details of the performance if asked. Every nerve in her body seemed concentrated in the points where their hands connected.
Jasvian’s thumb traced a small circle against the side of her hand, the gesture so intimate that a shiver rushed through her entire body and heat filled her cheeks. Still, neither of them acknowledged what was happening, their hands now fully entwined at their sides, hidden from casual observation by the press of the crowd. Never before had Iris been so happy to have misplaced a glove.
The musician concluded his performance with a spectacular flourish that sent broad waves of indigo light sweeping over the entire fountain. The crowd applauded enthusiastically, and Iris agreed, though she silently acknowledged that no enchanted display, however wondrous, could compare to the simple, profound magic of Jasvian’s fingers laced through her own.