Page 30 of Tempests & Tea Leaves (The Charmed Leaf Legacy #1)

Chapter Thirty

As the crowd began to disperse, Jasvian reluctantly let go of Iris’s hand. “There’s something else I’d like to show you,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse. “Away from the main thoroughfare, if you’re amenable?”

Iris nodded, not trusting her voice. He guided her through the thinning crowd toward a quieter section of the market where smaller, more specialized vendors had set up their stalls. They passed displays of enchanted feather quills, mirrors that showed glimpses of faraway places, and contraptions that transformed spoken words into delicate floating symbols.

Finally, they reached a small clearing where several wooden benches had been arranged around a central fire pit. The pit was filled not with flames but with polished stones that radiated warm light in ever-shifting hues of amber, crimson and gold, mimicking the dance of living embers.

“This is where the storytellers gather later in the evening,” Jasvian explained as they settled on one of the benches. “The stones in the fire pit are a special variety of lumyrite. They respond to emotions, brightening when the tales reach moments of excitement or dimming during somber passages.”

“It’s beautiful,” Iris said, watching the lumyrite glow and fade with a soft, rhythmic light.

Far enough from the main market now, the noise dwindled to a distant hum, lending the space an unexpected privacy. A different sort of tension now stretched between them, no longer an awkward formality but something far more potent. Something that caused Iris’s skin to tingle with awareness of his proximity. Her cheeks heated at the thought of all she wished to do—to touch his face, to lean into him, to discover if his lips were as warm as his hands had been.

The lumyrite stones flared briefly brighter, responding to some strong emotion from one of them—or perhaps both. She channeled her restlessness into studying his profile: the strong line of his jaw, the way the pulsing amber light cast shadows beneath his cheekbones, the slight furrow between his brows and the twitch of his lips as he appeared to search for words that wouldn’t come.

“I never thanked you properly,” she said.

He met her gaze. “For what?”

“Not only for calming my magic when it was spinning so wildly out of control the other night, but also for coming to my defense in the Thornharts’ maze.”

“Of course,” he replied, as if his actions had been the most obvious thing in the world. “I must thank you as well.”

“Thank me ?” Iris asked with a bewildered laugh. “Whatever for?”

“In recent weeks,” he began haltingly, “I’ve felt … a certain calmness I’d nearly forgotten was possible.” His gaze fixed on the glowing stones as he continued. “For years now, I’ve lived with a constant awareness—a vigilance that never truly fades. It’s faint, but even at this distance, I can sense the dormant magic of the lumyrite deposits, like a persistent hum at the edge of my consciousness. It had become so familiar I scarcely noticed its burden, but since you entered my life—since you began … filling my thoughts—that pressure has diminished considerably. It’s as though your presence offers a respite I didn’t realize I needed until I experienced it. I feel I am almost … at peace.”

Iris felt her face grow warm at his admission that she had been occupying his thoughts, but managed to respond lightly, “At peace? You? I find that difficult to imagine.”

To her astonishment, Jasvian’s face transformed with a genuine smile—broad and unrestrained—that reached his eyes and softened every severe line of his countenance. Iris caught her breath, certain she had never beheld a smile quite so perfectly beautiful.

Their gazes held for a long moment. The market sounds around them seemed to fade further, leaving only the soft pulse of the lumyrite and the quickening beat of Iris’s heart.

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?

Her conversation with the notebook returned unbidden to her mind. She had dismissed those words at the time, certain they were wrong. Of course she needed to guard herself—her thoughts, her feelings, her secrets. Especially the true nature of her magic, which even Lady Rivenna had cautioned her to keep private.

And yet, listening to Jasvian reveal parts of himself she suspected few were privileged to hear, something within her shifted. The wall she’d built between herself and others suddenly seemed less like protection and more like isolation. Here, in this quiet moment with Jasvian, she felt a sudden, startling urge to be known—truly known. Perhaps sharing oneself wasn’t surrender after all, but a kind of freedom she hadn’t allowed herself to imagine.

The thought sent a flutter of fear through her chest, but alongside it blossomed something stronger. Courage, and a curious sense of anticipation. What might become possible if she allowed herself this small vulnerability?

“There is something else I haven’t told you,” she said carefully. “About … my magic. My specific ability.”

Jasvian turned toward her more fully, his expression attentive. “Yes?”

“It’s … a little more than mere paper folding. In fact, it isn’t really about paper at all. It’s about seeing possibilities—all the ways something might fold or unfold, all the potential paths or outcomes that exist simultaneously. I see them sometimes when I watch people. It’s—” She broke off, confused by the way he was looking at her now, a knowing smile playing on his lips, his eyes filled with warm understanding. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I find myself unsurprised,” he said with a quiet laugh, his gaze still tracing her features with undisguised admiration. “Everything about you has proven to be far more profound than first appearances suggest. Why should your magic be any different?”

“I …” She didn’t quite know what to say to that.

“How does it work?” he asked, appearing genuinely interested. “These possibilities, these potential paths?”

“For paper, it’s as if my mind perceives all possible fold lines simultaneously. Not with my eyes, but with my magic. I can sense every potential crease, every possible configuration waiting to emerge from a single sheet. And for people, it’s as if I see potential future scenes—mere flickers of images—unfolding rapidly before my eyes, overlaying themselves on top of reality. It’s a little disorienting. Or at least, it was until I perfected a tea blend that seems to help me manage when and how the visions manifest.”

“‘Autumn & Pine,’” he murmured.

She smiled. “Yes.”

“Now I understand why the tea house chose you,” he said with quiet admiration. “My grandmother guards its deeper workings closely, though I know she has infused parts of her own magic—her ability to perceive the patterns connecting people—into the place. Now it seems clear to me that your gift for seeing possible futures perfectly complements her ability to perceive existing connections. The tea house needed someone who could glimpse what might be, not just what is.” His eyes met hers with unexpected earnestness. “It is a role uniquely yours, a position that seems fashioned precisely for your particular talents. No one could—or should—take that from you.”

His words settled around Iris like a warm cloak, acknowledgment of her value that asked nothing in return. She had begun this Bloom Season expecting to sacrifice her identity on the altar of family duty, to become someone’s wife and nothing more. Instead, she had found purpose at The Charmed Leaf. Work that would one day be hers alone, a future shaped by her own hands.

And now, sitting beside Jasvian in the flickering light of the enchanted embers, she wondered if perhaps the choice wasn’t as stark as she had believed. Could she forge her own path while also opening her heart to … whatever this was that seemed to be growing between the two of them?

The possibility unfurled in her mind like one of her paper creations, revealing new dimensions she hadn’t dared to imagine. For the first time, she allowed herself to hope that her mother’s experience wasn’t the only possible outcome. That perhaps one could be both complete in oneself and still choose to share that wholeness with another.

“Thank you,” she said softly, holding Jasvian’s gaze.

“Will you tell me more about how it works?” he asked. “It sounds fascinating.” He gestured toward the other side of the fire pit, where several people had begun to gather in anticipation of the storytelling, claiming seats on the surrounding benches. Beyond their quiet alcove, the main thoroughfare remained visible, filled with browsing patrons drifting between stalls. “What do you see now?”

“Oh, well … there are quite a lot of people about,” Iris said hesitantly. “I don’t believe I’ll be able to distinguish much more than dozens of brief glimpses.” But she took a breath anyway, focused beyond the glowing stones, and allowed her magic to flow, relaxing the careful control she maintained. The scene before her began to shift, multiple versions of reality unfolding simultaneously.

“I see … goodness, it happens far too quickly for me to have any hope of being able to describe. Uh …” She laughed, trying to grab hold of a single idea from each image before it folded into the next. “That man is eating a golden apple—someone is dancing at sunrise—and … oh!”

She blinked and stood abruptly as the lumyrite stones in the fire pit flared far too brightly, but the image of two figures entangled was now seared into her mind. “I … uh …” She blinked rapidly, but she could not stop the next few images: the train of a white dress embellished with silver stars, a dark-haired child, a pink dog?—

A pink dog? What in all the stars? She blinked again, finally forcing the possible unfolding futures away.

“What is it?” Jasvian asked, concern creasing his face as he stood.

“Nothing!” she answered, far too quickly, a flush heating her neck.

He arched a brow, his lips curving upward in curiosity. “Well, now you must tell me.”

She looked away, heat climbing further up her neck as her mind insisted on revisiting that brief moment when she’d seen herself tangled on a bed with Lord Jasvian Rowanwood in a most improper state of?—

“I must do nothing of the sort,” she said, far too loudly.

The silence stretched between them, taut with unspoken implications. Iris risked a glance at Jasvian, only to find his eyes still fixed on her face, his expression a mixture of curiosity and growing comprehension. As their gazes locked, his breathing seemed to quicken, and a telling flush began to creep up his neck, suggesting his imagination had ventured in precisely the direction she feared.

“Whatever you’re thinking,” she hastened to say, “I can assure you, you are wrong.”

Though clearly discomfited, Jasvian maintained his gaze with remarkable composure. “Is that so? And what might I be thinking, Lady Iris?”

She pressed her lips together as she turned away from him with as much dignity as she could muster, palms pressed flat against her midriff, her lungs struggling to draw sufficient breath. Never in her life had she experienced such profound mortification. She offered silent gratitude to every celestial body in existence that he could not see what she had seen. Though perhaps it was worse that his imagination might be conjuring scenarios even more?—

“I believe we should direct our discourse elsewhere,” she blurted out, turning back to face him but not quite managing to meet his eyes.

“Lady Iris,” he said softly, waiting until she dared to lift her eyes to his. “I must apologize. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable when I asked what possibilities you could see.”

“No apology necessary,” she replied quickly. “It is only … I am just …” She swallowed.

“Perhaps you would prefer to return to the main part of the market,” he suggested. “Or if you wish to rejoin your friends, I would be happy to?—”

“No,” Iris interrupted, shaking her head. “No, I’m enjoying your company.”

“Then perhaps we might discuss safer subjects,” he offered with a slight smile, gesturing for her to sit again. “I’m particularly curious about this tea blend you mentioned. The process of developing it must have been interesting.”

Iris relaxed, grateful for his redirection. “It was indeed,” she said as she took her place beside him once more, pulling her silk shawl closer around herself. “You may recall the scent of one of my earlier experiments. I believe you described it as a ‘garden gnome’s unwashed boots.’”

“Ah, that was the origin of ‘Autumn & Pine,’ was it?” he asked with a grin. “I’m relieved indeed that you improved upon the blend.”

“As am I.”

Their shared laughter eased the remaining tension between them, restoring the comfortable rapport they had been building throughout the evening.

“And you mentioned that my grandmother has tasked you with hosting your own event at the tea house,” Jasvian said, his expression curious. “What does such an undertaking entail?”

“Oh, everything,” Iris replied. “The entire affair is to be my responsibility—selecting a suitable theme, arranging the decor, curating the guest list, deciding which tea blends to feature and what delicacies shall be served.” She counted each element on her fingers. “Lady Rivenna says it will be my first true test as her apprentice.”

“Indeed, that sounds more involved than preparing for the Summer Solstice Ball,” Jasvian observed.

Iris laughed. “You’re not wrong. Though I confess, I’ve found it rather enjoyable to imagine all the details.” She lowered her voice slightly, leaning closer. “In truth, I’m planning something rather different, particularly with the guest list. I suspect I’m going to ruffle more than a few feathers in Bloomhaven society.”

“Oh?” Jasvian’s eyebrow arched with interest. “Is Bloomhaven ready for such feather-ruffling?”

“Probably not,” Iris replied with a mischievous smile. “But that hasn’t deterred me in the slightest. I’ve presented my ideas to your grandmother, and she seemed quite pleased. Though I suspect she’s equally interested in observing the reactions of her regular patrons to something so decidedly unconventional.”

She adjusted her shawl, then turned the conversation. “And what of this project you mentioned? The one you’ve been working on with Lord Hadrian that’s occupied so much of your time recently?”

Jasvian’s expression grew more serious. “A significant improvement to the tempest early warning system in the mines,” he explained. “An entirely new approach, in fact. In the past, we relied upon tempest bells, but they provided warning only once a tempest had already gained considerable strength, often too late for a complete evacuation.”

“And now the system has been replaced by you,” Iris said softly.

“Indeed. However, as you might imagine, being so frequently present at the mines has taken its toll. Hadrian has been attempting to develop an alternative. I’m not certain if you’re aware, but he possesses the ability to transfer one’s specifically manifested magic into other objects.”

“He has spoken of this, yes,” Iris said.

“For some time now, he’s been trying to translate my sensing ability into a network of detection items placed throughout the mine tunnels,” Jasvian continued. “The intention is that they would not only sense when a tempest begins to build but also incorporate my ability to calm the magic before it erupts into chaos.”

“Oh!” Iris sat straighter with renewed interest. “But that sounds truly marvelous! It would relieve you of such a tremendous burden of responsibility.”

“Indeed,” Jasvian agreed, his expression softening slightly. “I’ve harbored reservations since the beginning—entrusting lives to a mechanical system doesn’t come easily to me—but it appears that with Hadrian’s recent breakthroughs, this system may actually prove viable. We’ll begin further testing as soon as the dormant season concludes and the mines reopen.”

As they continued discussing the finer details of Hadrian’s work, more people began gathering around the fire pit. Well-dressed fae couples and small groups claimed the remaining benches, their excitement palpable as the scheduled hour for storytelling approached. Vendors circulated with trays of delicate confections and goblets filled with shimmering beverages.

A hush fell over the gathering, and Jasvian shifted a little closer to Iris. A tall fae woman with purple- and silver-streaked hair stepped into the circle, adorned in midnight-blue robes. She raised her hands, and the lumyrite stones in the fire pit responded immediately, glowing brighter.

“Welcome, travelers and townspeople alike,” she began, her melodic voice carrying effortlessly to every corner of the clearing. “Tonight, I shall share with you the tale of the Frost Prince and the Summer Maiden.”

As the storyteller wove her tale, the lumyrite stones shifted in mesmerizing harmony with the narrative, transitioning from cool blues and silvers to warm golds and ambers, then later deepening to rich purples during moments of peril before brightening to joyful whites and golds at a moment of triumph. The audience responded as one—gasping at moments of danger, sighing at tender revelations, and holding their breath during tense confrontations—while the storyteller’s graceful hands conjured delicate illusions that danced above the fire pit.

Iris would have been utterly enchanted had she been able to focus on the tale. But she could feel the occasional brush of Jasvian’s shoulder, and at some point during the storyteller’s performance, his leg had come to rest against hers. The warmth of that contact, innocent though it was, sent currents of awareness through her that rivaled the magic illuminating the story circle. She struggled to follow the narrative, repeatedly losing the thread as her attention returned, unbidden, to the press of his knee against hers and the way his hand occasionally brushed hers when he shifted position.

When the storyteller finished to hearty applause, Iris realized with a start that she could recall perhaps half the story at best. “That was extraordinary,” she managed, hoping she sounded appropriately appreciative.

“Indeed,” Jasvian agreed, his eyes meeting hers with a lack of focus that suggested he might have been as distracted as she. “Shall we explore more of the market? There’s a vendor of enchanted confections near the eastern path that I think you might enjoy.”

The remainder of the evening passed in a delightful blur as they wandered from stall to stall. Jasvian proved to be a knowledgeable guide, steering her toward the most interesting displays while sharing observations about the magical craftsmanship involved. They sampled delicate spun-sugar cages containing crystallized laughter that dissolved on the tongue with a surprising, effervescent fizz, watched a craftsman shape luminous ink into floating calligraphy, laughed together at the antics of messenger pixies carrying tiny parcels between vendors, and debated the merits of various enchanted items with a comfortable ease that belied their previous awkwardness.

So absorbed were they in each other’s company that Iris was genuinely startled when the chimes began to ring out across the market, signaling that closing time approached. “Oh!” she exclaimed, dismay evident in her voice. “I had no idea it had grown so late. My grandparents will be waiting for me.”

“Allow me to escort you back to your meeting point,” Jasvian offered, his expression suggesting he shared her disappointment at the evening’s conclusion.

They walked in companionable silence through the market, now noticeably less crowded as vendors began packing away their wares, and discovered Iris’s missing glove as they passed the crystal vendor’s stall. She pulled both gloves back on as the floating lanterns began to descend, their light dimming slightly as they prepared to guide the last patrons toward the exits.

As they neared the main thoroughfare, Iris spotted her grandparents standing with Lady Lelianna Rowanwood and Rosavyn. Charlotte, Iris noted, must have already departed. Her grandmother’s expression was fixed in a familiar frown, and Iris braced herself for disapproval—she had, after all, left her grandparents in the company of two young ladies, only to return quite conspicuously escorted by Lord Rowanwood himself.

“Iris, dear, there you are,” her grandmother said as they reached the group. But as they drew closer, Iris saw with a surge of relief that the frown was gone. In its place was an expression of keen interest, directed squarely at Jasvian. “Lord Rowanwood, how unexpected to see you here. I trust my granddaughter has not imposed upon too much of your valuable time this evening.”

“Lady Iris’s company has been nothing but a pleasure,” Jasvian replied with formal politeness, though the warmth in his voice remained.

Her grandfather regarded them with poorly concealed curiosity. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your first Night Market, Iris. Did Lord Rowanwood show you the harpist’s magical display? It was particularly impressive this year.”

Iris felt heat inch its way up her neck as she recalled the luminous symphony of melody and water—and, more significantly, the moment when Jasvian’s fingers had interlaced with her own, his thumb tracing patterns against her skin. “Yes, it was remarkable,” she replied, hoping her flush wouldn’t be visible in the dimming light.

“Well, we should be on our way,” her grandmother said, glancing between Iris and Jasvian with a thoughtful expression. “Though perhaps Lord Rowanwood would care to call on us tomorrow afternoon? We’re hosting a small gathering in the garden, nothing too formal.”

“I would be honored,” Jasvian replied without hesitation, his gaze finding Iris’s. “If Lady Iris has no objection?”

“No objection at all,” Iris said, aware of Rosavyn’s increasingly intrigued stare.

“Until tomorrow, then,” Jasvian said with a formal bow to the group, though his eyes remained on Iris. “Good night, Lady Iris. I shall?—”

He stopped abruptly, his entire demeanor transforming in an instant. The warm light in his eyes extinguished, replaced by a distant, unfocused stare. His face drained of color, and his breathing became rapid, shallow. The relaxed set of his shoulders vanished as his entire body tensed.

“No,” he murmured, so quietly Iris barely heard it.

“Jasvian?” his mother asked, stepping forward with one hand extended. “What is?—”

“No, no, no,” he muttered, his gaze still focused somewhere distant as his breathing became rapid, shallow. With a jerky bow that barely acknowledged the group, he stammered, “Please excuse me. I must go.”

Then, to the astonishment of everyone present, he turned and ran—not the measured, dignified departure of a gentleman, but a desperate, headlong rush—shoving his way through the thinning crowd with complete disregard for propriety until he disappeared from view.