Page 31 of Tempests & Tea Leaves (The Charmed Leaf Legacy #1)
Chapter Thirty-One
Jasvian ran. He tore through the thinning crowds of the Stardust Night Market with a single-minded desperation, his lungs burning, his heart hammering against his ribs. The floating lanterns that had seemed so enchanting moments ago now registered as mere obstacles, bright blurs in his peripheral vision as he dodged past startled patrons and bewildered vendors.
“Lord Rowanwood!” someone called after him. “Is everything?—”
But he couldn’t stop, couldn’t explain, couldn’t waste a single precious second. Every moment mattered now.
It had struck him without warning, a distant tremor at the edge of his consciousness. At first, he’d thought it merely his imagination. After all, the mines were dormant for the Bloom Season. Undisturbed by mining activity, the raw lumyrite should have settled, its volatile magic finding its natural balance once more. Yet the sensation had persisted, swelling almost instantly from faint unease to unmistakable dread. A tempest was building in the north.
Jasvian burst out of the market grounds and raced to the end of the bridge, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Cross the park, reach the carriage, make for The Confluence. If only he himself could move at the speed of magic.
He pushed himself harder, guilt slicing through him with each pounding step. How had he missed the early warning signs? He should have felt something earlier, should have been more vigilant. Instead, he’d allowed himself to become distracted, entranced by pleasant conversation and the warmth of Iris’s company. While he had been indulging in the simple pleasure of her hand in his, the tempest had been gathering strength, building toward disaster.
His carriage waited at the edge of Elderbloom Park, and he was endlessly grateful he’d chosen one of the swift enchanted vehicles rather than a traditional horse-drawn affair. This one could reach speeds that would make the wheels barely kiss the ground. The door swung wide of its own accord as he approached, and he leaped inside before the step had even descended.
“The Confluence!” he gasped, slamming a palm against the carriage’s interior wall. “As fast as possible!”
The carriage lurched into motion almost immediately. Inside, Jasvian gripped the leather seat, every nerve in his body straining northward as if he could somehow reach across the distance through will alone. The mines themselves were sealed, thankfully—no workers deep within the earth to be caught unaware. But the caretaker and the handful of guards maintaining the surface buildings and workshops … they were still there. If the tempest erupted before Jasvian got there, it would cause devastating damage, collapsing tunnels and potentially wrecking the structures above, endangering those few lives left to stand watch.
Even if it was only one life, if would be one too many. This was his responsibility, and if he failed now like he’d failed the day his?—
No. He would not allow himself to think about that. Not now. Not when every second might mean the difference between safety and catastrophe.
“Faster,” he muttered to the carriage. “Please, faster.”
The streets of Bloomhaven gave way to the outer districts, buildings growing sparser as they approached the eastern boundary. Through the window, Jasvian caught glimpses of the night sky, stars glittering coldly overhead, oblivious to the urgency that consumed him.
After what felt like an eternity, the carriage slowed. Before it had come to a complete stop, Jasvian had already thrown the door open and leaped out. Before him stood The Confluence, its pale stone pavilion gleaming silver in the moonlight. The circular structure sat at the precise point where all seven major ley lines of the United Fae Isles intersected. At the center of the pavilion stood the wayhouse, where Flow-Weavers took shifts attending to travelers’ needs. Light glowed in a single window.
Jasvian raced toward the wayhouse door and the simple bell pull that stood beside it. He seized the rope and tugged with desperate urgency. The deep tones echoed through the night, reverberating in the still air. The light in the window brightened.
Moments later, the door swung open to reveal a woman with seafoam green hair loose around her shoulders, dressed in fitted riding trousers and a flowing linen shirt belted at the waist. Her eyes widened at the sight of him. “Lord Rowanwood? What brings you at this hour?”
“The northern mines,” he replied, still breathless. “A tempest is building. There is no time to lose.”