Page 3 of Tempests & Tea Leaves (The Charmed Leaf Legacy #1)

Chapter Three

If there was one thing Jasvian Rowanwood had learned over the years, it was that the cacophony emanating from the family living room was directly proportional to the extent of his exhaustion. Today, as the sounds of laughter, bickering, and what sounded suspiciously like magical explosions drifted down the hallway, he concluded he must be approaching the limits of fae endurance.

He paused outside, straightening his already impeccable waistcoat and steeling himself for the inevitable assault on his carefully cultivated composure. One might think that after twenty-four years in this household, he would have developed some immunity to the Rowanwood brand of chaos. Evidence suggested otherwise.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door.

The scene that greeted him was precisely the sort of ordered disorder that seemed to define his family’s existence. Aurelise was hanging precariously out of the large bay window. Kazrian was hunched over the pianoforte, the instrument’s top propped open as he fiddled with something that caused occasional sparks of blue-green magic to be spat from its depths. And Rosavyn was draped across a chaise longue, her limbs arranged in a casual sprawl that would have scandalized half of Bloomhaven’s society matrons. An abandoned game of enchanted solitaire hovered inches above her chest, the cards occasionally rearranging themselves with disgruntled flutters.

Jasvian briefly considered whether he should have remained at the peaceful country estate for the season. But someone needed to ensure his mother and siblings—and his grandmother—were properly attended to. Though Rivenna frequently reminded him that she managed perfectly well during the remainder of the year with only a small household staff to assist her. The family had long since abandoned attempts to persuade her to return to their main estate in the country with them each year. Now unburdened by family obligations, she kept the tea house open year-round, even through the quieter seasons when most of elite society retreated to their country homes.

“Must you always sit like that?” Jasvian asked Rosavyn, gesturing to her sprawled form. “One would think you were raised in a barn rather than one of the finest estates in the United Fae Isles.”

Rosavyn merely grinned up at him. “No one of consequence is here to see me, brother dear. Unless you count yourself, which I most assuredly do not.”

“Your impeccable manners are, as always, a credit to our upbringing,” Jasvian replied dryly.

Their mother looked up from her embroidery, her needle continuing to weave golden threads of magic. Her warm smile softened her elegant features. “Jasvian, there you are. Did you have a productive afternoon?”

He crossed to the sideboard and poured himself a small glass of amberberry wine, an indulgence he rarely allowed himself. “The meeting with Hadrian went well enough. He remains enthusiastic about his design for the early warning system, though I’m still not convinced it will function as intended.”

“Well, Hadrian has always been brilliant with his—Aurelise!” she called out, suddenly noticing her younger daughter’s precarious position. “Do come away from the window, dear. It’s hardly proper for a young lady to be seen hanging out of the house like washing on a line.”

Aurelise jerked back inside, a deep blush staining her cheeks. “Sorry, Mother,” she murmured, smoothing her skirts. But within moments, her curiosity clearly got the better of her, and she was inching back toward the window, though with slightly more decorum this time. Jasvian couldn’t entirely blame her. Aurelise was so painfully shy at the few social events she’d been permitted to attend last season that he suspected leaning out of windows was her primary method of learning about Bloomhaven society.

Jasvian crossed the room with measured steps and lowered himself into the chair beside his mother. He lifted the crystal wine glass to his lips, taking a slow, deliberate sip of the honey-colored liquid, hoping its warmth might ease the tension that had settled between his shoulders. Even now, during the dormant season when the mine shafts were sealed—and even at this considerable distance from the Rowanwood mines in the north—he could perceive the subtle hum of lumyrite magic that resonated deep beneath the earth’s surface.

His particular manifestation of magic allowed him to sense the building of magical energy that gathered around raw lumyrite deposits. Left unchecked, this volatile power would eventually erupt into mine tempests—violent, swirling storms of pure magical force that could tear through solid rock, collapse tunnels, and shatter crystal formations. Along with this sensitivity came Jasvian’s ability to calm these tempests before they fully formed, dispersing the wild magic with his own power.

The past year had been particularly demanding, with an unusual number of potential tempests requiring his attention. Time and again he’d journeyed north to the mountainside, spending days with his hands pressed to the earth, his consciousness extending deep below to sense the building disturbances. Each time, he’d sent his power flowing through rock and crystal, soothing the volatile magic before it could unleash its destructive force.

A sharp crack and a puff of smoke from the pianoforte startled Jasvian from his thoughts.

“Kazrian, perhaps we should send for a professional,” his mother suggested, her gentle voice barely masking her anxiety.

“No need,” Kazrian insisted cheerfully, his head still buried in the instrument’s interior. “I’ve nearly solved it. Just a minor misalignment in the acoustic enchantment threads. One more adjustment should—” Another more colorful explosion of sparks interrupted him.

“If you set the pianoforte on fire, Mother will be most displeased,” Jasvian observed.

His mother leaned a little closer and lowered her voice. “You don’t think he might actually?—”

The door swung open and Evryn sauntered in, his cravat loosened and his dark hair artfully tousled in a way that had become quite fashionable among young lords. He cast an assessing glance at Jasvian and grinned. “Well, if it isn’t Lord Responsibility himself, gracing us with his presence,” Evryn announced. “Did the weight of the entire Rowanwood fortune finally grow too heavy for your shoulders alone?”

“The weight would be considerably lighter if certain members of this family contributed anything beyond sarcasm,” Jasvian retorted.

Evryn clutched his chest in feigned offense. “I contribute invaluable wit and charm. You’re welcome.” He strolled to the table where remnants of afternoon tea still lingered, selecting a honeyed scone with exaggerated consideration. “Besides, I have it on good authority that scowling at account books is your particular talent. I wouldn’t dream of interfering with your natural gifts.”

Their mother’s lips twitched as she returned to her embroidery. “You were saying that Hadrian is optimistic. It would be wonderful if the two of you were successful in creating a far more effective warning system. To relieve so much of the burden from your shoulders?—”

“I would still need to be present during active mining periods,” Jasvian interrupted. “No mechanical system, no matter how ingenious, can replace direct magical supervision.”

“But that’s precisely Hadrian’s intention, is it not? That you needn’t monitor the mines constantly.” His mother’s brow furrowed with concern. “The strain will eventually cause harm, Jasvian. At this rate, you’ll work yourself into an early grave, between your responsibilities to the family estates and your need to be near the mines. It has only been a few years since you manifested your abilities, and already you’re?—”

“What is the alternative, Mother?” he asked, more sharply than intended. “My abilities have made the entire mining operation safer than it’s ever been before. I need to be present there during the active seasons.”

“And what,” his mother said gently as she leaned forward once more, “do you expect will happen when you are no longer around one day? If you do not implement a new system, the miners will have to return to relying solely on the tempest bells, as they did in previous generations. Are you content with that?”

Jasvian fell silent, the familiar vise of anxiety and pain tightening around his chest until breathing became an effort. The tempest bells had not been enough to save his father. Then again, neither had Jasvian’s power. “No, I am not content with that,” he said finally. “Which is why I’m continuing to work on this with Hadrian, despite my reservations.”

Her expression softened. “I know, my dear.” She patted his hand. “But you must allow for the possibility that Hadrian’s system might actually succeed and acknowledge that your constant oversight may not be necessary.”

Before Jasvian could respond, the drawing room door swung open once more, and Lady Rivenna Rowanwood swept in, her silver-streaked dark hair arranged in an elegant knot at the nape of her neck.

“Grandmother!” Rosavyn sat up, sending the enchanted cards scattering with indignant flutters.

“Good afternoon,” Rivenna said, her sharp gaze taking in the scene before her. “I see you’re all precisely where I left you this morning. How industrious.”

“Not all of us,” Jasvian corrected. “Some of us have been attending to family business.”

“Yes, Jasvian, we’re all deeply impressed by your diligence,” Rivenna said, her voice dry as she crossed the room and settled herself into the empty chair on Jasvian’s other side. “Though I note you’ve found time to join the family’s collective indolence now.”

“How was the first day of the season, Grandmother?” Rosavyn asked. “The Charmed Leaf must have been positively overflowing.”

“As chaotic as one might expect, though the day went remarkably well overall—aside from a stray hearth sprite escaping the kitchen. Things are winding down now, and my staff have everything well in control. I’ve read enough tea leaves for one day.”

Rosavyn snorted. “You’re still doing that, Grandmother?”

“One doesn’t abandon a skill honed over decades simply because the younger generation finds it quaint, my dear.”

“I do wish I could have come along,” Aurelise said from her position near the window, her quiet voice carrying a note of wistfulness.

“Aurelise, dear, there’s no need to look so forlorn,” her mother said gently. “You’re certainly welcome to visit the tea house on appropriate occasions, with proper accompaniment.”

“On the quiet days, you mean,” Aurelise replied with a sigh. “Never at the start of the season when all the interesting gossip is flowing.”

“Trust me, my dear, the gossip flows regardless of the day,” Rivenna said. “Though today was particularly interesting, I must admit.”

Jasvian studied his grandmother. Her tea house was an impressive creation, unlike anything else in Bloomhaven. Well, there was Dreamland, but that hadn’t been in operation for at least fifty years. The Rowanwood-Brightcrest feud had seen to that. But The Charmed Leaf was unique—sentient architecture combined with his grandmother’s formidable magical abilities and social acumen had created a nexus of influence that extended throughout fae society.

“Speaking of the tea house,” he said, setting down his glass, “have you made any progress in finding an apprentice yet? You won’t live forever, Grandmother, much as we all might wish it.”

Rivenna’s eyebrow arched delicately. “On the contrary, I rather hoped I would.”

“The tea house needs a successor,” Jasvian pressed. “Someone who can learn its ways, someone you can pass your knowledge to.”

“And you believe you’re qualified to determine when and how I should select this mysterious successor?” Rivenna asked, her voice dangerously pleasant.

Jasvian held her gaze. “I believe in preparation and foresight. Qualities you yourself instilled in me.”

On his other side, his mother coughed delicately. “Foresight for others,” she said in a low voice to her embroidery, “but never for his own well-being, apparently.”

“How unfortunate that I did such an excellent job,” Rivenna remarked. “Now I must endure lectures from my own grandson.”

“Grandmother—”

“When the tea house is ready for a new guardian, it will make its wishes known,” she interrupted firmly. “Until then, I shall continue managing perfectly well on my own, thank you.”

Jasvian suppressed a sigh. His grandmother had been making the same declaration for years, deflecting all suggestions with the enigmatic claim that “the tea house chooses.” As if a building, however magical, could select its own proprietor.

“And what of you, Jasvian?” his grandmother continued, a dangerous gleam entering her eye. “Have you given any thought to finding a wife this season? As you know, my dear friend Lycilla Whispermist has a granddaughter debuting this year who?—”

“I have neither the time nor the inclination for courtship,” Jasvian cut in sharply. “My responsibilities to the family and the mines consume my attention entirely.”

“How convenient,” Lady Rivenna observed. “Your obligations provide such a perfect shield against emotional entanglements.”

“I merely prioritize duty over frivolity.”

“And the Opening Ball?” his mother asked, subtly redirecting the conversation. “You will attend, won’t you? It’s important for the family to be represented.”

Jasvian barely restrained a grimace. “Is it really necessary? It’s not as though I’m seeking a match, and I have little interest in witnessing the magical displays of newly manifested debutantes.”

“It’s expected,” his mother said simply.

“Besides,” Evryn added with a grin from where he was now lounging against the mantelpiece, “someone needs to keep me from causing a scandal. Think of it as your brotherly duty.”

Before Jasvian could respond, a commotion outside drew everyone’s attention. Aurelise, who had indeed managed to return to her window perch, suddenly leaned out even further.

“Aurelise!” their mother exclaimed. “What did I just?—”

“Gossip birds!” Aurelise called excitedly. “A whole flock of them!”

Indeed, the distinctive sound of gossip birds filled the air—shrill, excited squawking that somehow managed to form garbled words. These magical creatures, neither fully bird nor fully spell, were the bane of polite society and the delight of scandal-mongers throughout Bloomhaven.

Rosavyn leapt from her chaise. “What are they saying?” she demanded, hurrying to join her sister at the window.

“Girls, please!” their mother protested. “This undignified behavior?—”

But both girls were now hanging out the window, straining to catch the gossip birds’ cries.

“Starspun half-breed!” Rosavyn repeated, turning back to the room with wide eyes. “Did you hear that? They’re shrieking about a ‘Starspun half-breed.’ What on earth does that mean?”

Lady Rivenna sighed. “It means the day has been even more interesting than I initially indicated.”

“Grandmother?” Rosavyn prompted, abandoning the window and leaning over the raised end of the chaise. “Do tell us! Who is this mysterious half-breed the birds are so excited about?”

“The term is vulgar and beneath you,” Lady Rivenna admonished. “But since you’ll hear it from less reliable sources if not from me, the Starspun family has returned to Bloomhaven for the season. Lord Errisen Starspun, his human wife, and their daughter.”

A shocked silence fell over the room.

“Human wife?” Evryn was the first to recover. “A Starspun married a human?”

“It would appear so, yes. About twenty years ago,” Lady Rivenna confirmed. “And now they’ve returned with their half-fae daughter, who it seems has manifested magic despite her mixed heritage.”

“How extraordinary,” their mother murmured.

“I should very much like to meet her,” Rosavyn declared. “A half-human fae with manifested powers! She must be fascinating.”

“You will do no such thing,” Jasvian said firmly. The last thing his sister needed was association with a social pariah, especially when she herself had yet to manifest.

Rosavyn shot him a defiant look. “You’re not the arbiter of my social circle, Jasvian.”

“No, but I am responsible for this family’s standing in society,” he countered. “A responsibility I take seriously, even if others do not.”

“Children,” their mother interjected with a warning glance at both of them. “Let’s not quarrel.” She turned to Rivenna. “What would possess Errisen Starspun to return now, after all this time? And with … well …”

“With his human wife and half-fae child?” Rivenna finished the thought. “That is the question everyone is asking. Though I suspect we’ll have our answer soon enough.” She settled back in her chair, a small smile curving her lips. “I believe the girl will be presented at the Opening Ball. It would appear, my dears, that the young Lady Iris Starspun is hoping to secure herself a match.”