Page 4 of Tempests & Tea Leaves (The Charmed Leaf Legacy #1)

Chapter Four

Contrary to what the gossip birds had been squawking all over Bloomhaven for the past several days, Iris Starspun had no intention of marrying. Marriage, as she’d witnessed, was not a path to partnership, but to oblivion. And Iris had no intention of fading away.

The Opening Ball had arrived however, and there was no getting out of it. She sat in a carriage with her parents, wearing a gown of midnight blue silk that shimmered with countless silver threads woven like constellations against the night sky. Her dark hair had been arranged in a neat but not overly elaborate coiffure, with a dusting of magical glitter that caught the light whenever she moved her head. She suspected she had been dressed deliberately to evoke the night sky, a rather heavy-handed reference to her family name. The irony wasn’t lost on her that, unlike generations of Starspuns before her, she hadn’t manifested any power remotely connected to starlight or celestial magic.

Instead, she could fold paper. Hardly the awe-inspiring magic one would expect from one of the oldest fae bloodlines in the United Fae Isles.

Iris turned to look out of the carriage window as they left Bloomhaven behind and traveled up the hill toward Solstice Hall, the High Lady’s grand summer palace, along with the rest of the prominent fae families that had gathered from across the United Fae Isles. The enchanted road was lined with cherry trees in bloom, their delicate pink petals drifting down like fragrant snow, and at the top of the hill, Iris could see Solstice Hall itself, its walls gleaming with a warm gold radiance as it reflected the fading daylight.

The closer they drew to the palace, the heavier Iris’s sense of dread became, inevitably bringing to mind the discouraging events of the past few days. It had been made painfully clear to her just how unwelcome she was in Bloomhaven society. Every outing had been an exercise in enduring sideways glances and whispered conversations that ceased the moment she drew near. Even the walk she’d taken in Elderbloom Park with the lady’s maid her grandmother had assigned to her had been disastrous. Two young women—both beautifully dressed and clearly from prominent families—had practically sprinted in the opposite direction, one almost pulling the other over, when Iris had attempted a friendly greeting.

“Remember to smile, darling,” her mother said now, breaking into her thoughts. Her mother’s own smile appeared to have been carefully pinned in place, much like the enchanted flowers adorning her pale green gown. “And if anyone makes unpleasant remarks, simply pretend you haven’t heard them.”

“I’ve had quite a bit of practice with that particular skill these past few days,” Iris replied dryly.

Her father frowned. “Iris …” he began.

“Did Grandmother and Grandfather leave ahead of us?” Iris asked, attempting a swift subject change.

“Yes, I believe they planned to arrive early,” her mother replied. “They wanted to secure advantageous positions in the ballroom.”

“And ensure proper distance from us, no doubt,” Iris muttered.

“Iris,” her father warned again. “We’ve discussed this. Your grandparents are merely … traditional in their views.”

“Traditional enough to barely acknowledge Mother’s existence? Traditional enough to address me as if I were a particularly slow child rather than a woman grown?”

“It’s understandable that they need time to adjust,” her mother said, though she was staring determinedly out of the window as she spoke. “They haven’t seen your father in nearly two decades, and they had no idea what to expect of you or I.”

“They’ve had days to adjust,” Iris protested. “And I’m not asking them to embrace Mother as their dearest friend, merely to display basic courtesy.”

“Let us set aside family tensions for tonight,” her father interjected, his tone allowing no further argument. “This evening is about your presentation to society. Your opportunity to demonstrate your magic before the High Lady herself.” He hesitated, then added, “And perhaps to make some … favorable impressions.”

Iris bit her tongue to keep from reminding him yet again that she had no intention of securing a match. The carriage began to slow, and her heart quickened. They had arrived.

Solstice Hall was a symphony of summer even at twilight’s edge. Its walls were built of a pale, sun-warmed stone, but what caught the eye were the lavish golden accents: balustrades crafted from what looked like solidified honey, window frames edged in shimmering gold leaf, and great doors inlaid with panels of polished gold that reflected the fading light with a gentle glow. Vines laden with golden-hued blossoms climbed the walls and entwined the rails alongside the grand staircase, their fragrance—a blend of warm honey and summer herbs—drifting on the still air.

Ahead of them, a steady stream of elegant carriages deposited finely dressed fae before the steps, their attire ranging from classic formal wear to the more flamboyant styles favored by certain families.

Iris’s mother reached across to pat her hand. “You look beautiful tonight,” she said softly. “Whatever happens, hold your head high. You belong here as much as anyone.”

Iris nodded, though they all knew it wasn’t true.

She accepted the footman’s hand and stepped down from the carriage, her eyes drawn upward to the towering facade of Solstice Hall. In any other circumstance, she might have paused to admire the intricate carvings that were only visible up close, or the magnificent floating lanterns that illuminated the grounds with soft, golden light. But nerves had tightened her chest to the point where she could scarcely draw breath, let alone appreciate architectural and magical wonders.

Her knees felt like water beneath her voluminous skirts, and she was grateful for the steadying presence of her father as he offered his arm. Her mother walked on her other side, her chin held high. They joined the procession of fae ascending the grand staircase, and all too soon they were swept inside Solstice Hall itself, though Iris was too nervous to register much of the grandeur surrounding them. She caught fleeting impressions of soaring ceilings, paintings of stern-faced ancestors, and elaborate lumyrite sculptures that served as both decoration and subtle amplifiers of magic. But her focus remained inward, a constant litany of instructions running through her mind. Do not trip. Do not stammer. Do not embarrass yourself or your family more than your existence already does.

A steward directed them to an antechamber where other young fae—both lords and ladies—awaited their turn to be presented. The room buzzed with nervous energy, young men straightening their cravats for the hundredth time while ladies fussed with their skirts or practiced specific gestures related to their magical abilities. Unlike Iris, they had all grown up with the expectation of this moment. They had been trained from childhood for this presentation. They belonged.

“We must leave you here,” Iris’s father said, his voice low. “Parents are not permitted in the antechamber during presentations. We will be waiting in the ballroom.”

“Good luck, darling,” her mother whispered, pressing a swift kiss to Iris’s cheek.

It seemed they were about to turn away when Iris’s father suddenly gripped her hand and leaned closer. “Remember who you are,” he murmured. “Lady Iris. Not ‘half-breed.’ Not ‘paper folder.’ You are Lady Iris Starspun, daughter of one of the oldest and most respected families in the United Fae Isles.”

Iris nodded and squeezed her father’s hand as emotion tightened her chest. Things had certainly been strained between them lately, with him expecting far more from her now than she had ever planned for herself. But even with the weight of those expectations and their differing hopes, he was her father, and the fierce, protective love conveyed in his grip was undeniable. “Thank you,” she whispered.

And then her parents were ushered away, leaving her alone among strangers who refused to meet her gaze. The room smelled of nervous perfume and anxious magic—little sparks of power that crackled in the air like static before a storm. One girl was actually producing tiny snowflakes from her fingertips, while a young man appeared to be making the potted plants grow at an alarming rate. Iris watched them with a mixture of envy and resignation until someone with a stern expression appeared to inform her it was nearly her turn.

She pressed her trembling hands against her skirts, trying to focus on her breathing.

“Lady Iris Starspun!”

The sound of her name, called out in the herald’s magically amplified voice, sent a jolt through her body. For one wild moment, she considered fleeing—running back the way she’d come, out of Solstice Hall, away from Bloomhaven, perhaps all the way to the coast where she might beg passage on a ship bound for anywhere else. But before her traitorous feet could act on this impulse, she stepped forward.

She passed beneath the towering archway into the ballroom and was immediately assaulted by the weight of hundreds of stares. The crowd had parted, creating a clear path to the dais where the High Lady sat in regal splendor.

Drawing a steadying breath, Iris began the long walk across the marble floor. She kept her gaze fixed on the dais ahead, afraid that if she looked at the faces in the crowd, her courage might fail entirely. Finally, after what felt like an age, she reached the foot of the dais. The High Lady gazed down at her with eyes the color of a winter’s night—not unkind, exactly, but utterly devoid of warmth. Her pale blue hair cascaded over shoulders draped in a shimmering silk that shifted through hues of emerald, sapphire, and gold, like the iridescent eye of a peacock feather, and atop her head sat a delicate circlet of glittering rose-hued gemstones.

“Lady Iris Starspun,” the herald announced again, “daughter of Lord Errisen Starspun and—” there was the slightest pause, where the herald had no doubt caught himself, swallowing the customary ‘Lady’ before speaking her mother’s name “—Matilda Starspun; granddaughter of Lord Caldersyn Starspun and Lady Ellesmere Starspun.”

The High Lady inclined her head slightly. “Welcome, Lady Iris. We look forward to witnessing your manifestation.”

Seated beside the High Lady was her son, Prince … Well, Iris discovered that his name had utterly escaped her. His expression of bored indifference suggested he’d rather be anywhere else. Iris afforded him the briefest glance, noting only that he possessed the same ink-blue eyes as his mother before returning her attention to the task at hand.

This was her moment. With hands that trembled only slightly, Iris reached into the hidden pocket of her gown and withdrew several sheets of pristine paper. Her magic held them suspended in the air before her as she focused on willing her power to flow outward. After another few shaky exhales, she felt that familiar sense of possibility awakening within her.

Relaxing her mind as she’d practiced countless times, she became aware of all the potential configurations, all the many ways the paper wanted to crease and bend. The possibilities unfolded in her mind like the branches of a tree, each choice leading to a different form. She had decided days ago to keep her demonstration simple—elegant but uncomplicated—to minimize the risk of embarrassment in case something went wrong.

The first sheet began to fold itself with crisp precision. Creases appeared and multiplied as if drawn by invisible hands, the paper quickly transforming through a series of increasingly complex folds until it took the shape of a butterfly with delicately patterned wings. Iris gave it the gentlest push with her magic, and it fluttered upward, its paper wings somehow moving with the grace of a living creature. A second butterfly followed, then a third, each one more intricate than the last, until a small swarm of paper butterflies danced above the assembled crowd and rose toward the ceiling.

A murmur of appreciation rippled through the ballroom. Encouraged, Iris turned her attention to the next sheets. These folded differently, petals emerging from flat surfaces, stems lengthening with impossible intricacy as she crafted paper flowers that bloomed before the eyes of the crowd. A rose unfurled its layers, a lily extended delicate stamens, a chrysanthemum revealed countless petals arranged in perfect spirals.

Finally, with a subtle shimmer, a ribbon of fabric matching the deep blue of her gown and threaded with the same sparkling silver lifted itself from the hem of her skirt. It flowed through the air and wove itself around the gathered paper stems. With graceful precision, it spun and looped, pulling the flowers together before knotting itself into a large, elegant bow, completing the illusion of a perfect, formal bouquet.

The finished creation drifted gently toward the High Lady, stopping at a respectable distance. Silence fell over the ballroom. Iris held her breath, her heart pounding so loudly she was certain everyone must hear it. She managed an awkward curtsy, unsure of the proper protocol for offering her creation to the High Lady.

A court attendant stepped forward, carefully gathering the paper bouquet in his arms, and Iris realized with a flush of embarrassment that of course the High Lady would not accept a gift directly from her hands. Especially not from the hands of a half-breed.

The High Lady examined the paper creation with polite interest. “Most unusual,” she remarked without touching it, her voice carrying effortlessly through the silent ballroom. “We have not witnessed such a manifestation before.” She returned her gaze to Iris. “Welcome to society, Lady Iris Starspun. May your magic continue to grow throughout the Bloom Season.”

It was a standard greeting, Iris knew, offered to every debutant regardless of the impression they made. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had somehow fallen short. The High Lady’s tone had been perfectly proper, neither overly impressed nor dismissive, but lacking any genuine warmth or interest.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Iris replied, her voice mercifully steady as she executed another curtsy before backing away from the dais. The herald called the next name, and the crowd’s attention shifted to the young man who must have just stepped through the ballroom doors.

Released from scrutiny, Iris felt her composure begin to crumble. Her chest tightened, and each breath seemed insufficient. She needed air, needed to escape the crush of bodies and the weight of judgment. Frantically scanning the ballroom, she spotted an arched doorway leading to what appeared to be a side terrace or garden.

Without a backward glance, Iris made for the exit, weaving through the crowd with as much dignity as she could muster while fighting the urge to run.