Page 5 of Tempests & Tea Leaves (The Charmed Leaf Legacy #1)

Chapter Five

The night air caressed Iris’s face like a balm, cooling her flushed cheeks as she stepped onto the terrace. She moved deeper into the shadows beside an enormous copper urn containing an enderwood plant, grateful for the relative solitude after the overwhelming crush of the ballroom. Above, stars glittered against the velvet darkness, their light competing with the enchanted lanterns that floated at regular intervals throughout the garden.

Iris leaned her head back against the wall, drawing in slow, deliberate breaths while beside her, the enderwood plant reached out a few of its silvery tendrils and caressed her hand. “Not now,” she whispered, her chest still heaving as she absently pushed it away. The vine persisted, wrapping gently around her wrist with a surprisingly comforting touch. After a moment, she gave up trying to discourage it. At least something in this wretched place didn’t shrink away from her.

As her heartbeat steadied, voices drifted through the open doorway from just inside the ballroom. Two men, speaking in the cultured accents of Bloomhaven’s elite.

“Come now, Jasvian,” said a warm, good-natured voice, “even you must admit this one shows promise. Oh! Look at that ice display! Impressive, don’t you think?”

Through the open doors, Iris could hear gasps of appreciation from the crowd.

“Impressive?” The second voice—which she presumed belonged to the aforementioned Lord Jasvian—was deeper, touched with what sounded like irritation. “Hadrian, you’re far too easily pleased. An ice sculpture is hardly worth remarking upon. Almost as tedious as that weak manifestation of dream magic from the youngest Brightcrest. I almost fell asleep during her display. And did you see that paper-folding nonsense? A child could do better.”

Heat flooded Iris’s cheeks, her spine stiffening even as the enderwood’s leaves brushed her skin in gentle, soothing strokes.

“Ah, yes. The Starspun girl.” The first gentleman—Lord Hadrian, was it?—cleared his throat. “Given her particular circumstances …”

“Her circumstances are precisely my point. The Starspuns have brought shame to one of our oldest bloodlines by diluting it, and clearly it shows in the inferiority of the girl’s magic. I hardly think it’s worthy of presentation to society.”

Iris’s vision blurred with tears of rage and humiliation, but what burned most was that this Lord Jasvian was only voicing what she herself had been thinking all along. That her magic was inferior, useless, unworthy. But to hear it spoken aloud, with such casual cruelty … Her fingers curled into fists. She had half a mind to step out and give him a piece of her?—

“You can’t deny it was unique,” Hadrian said, interrupting Iris’s thoughts of confrontation. “Better than watching another fire-wielder singeing the curtains or a weather-worker making it rain indoors.”

“Unique doesn’t make it useful,” came the cold reply. “The Rowanwoods have been shaping the lumyrite industry for generations. That’s proper magic—magic that builds societies, creates wealth, serves a purpose. But paper flowers? It’s bad enough having half-breeds diluting our bloodlines without them showing up during the Bloom Season to make a mockery of proper fae magic.”

“Well, at the very least, she has nice …” Hadrian trailed off, appearing to search for some redeeming quality Iris might have. “Eyes,” he finished weakly.

“Eyes,” Jasvian repeated. “Her human mother’s eyes, you mean?”

“Yes. You have to admit they’re … interesting. Upturned and a touch … elegant.”

A sound of pure derision cut through the night air. “There is nothing elegant about that girl. She’s as plain as the paper she folds.”

Iris took a step from behind the urn, ready to charge back inside and confront the opinionated man, but the enderwood tightened its grip and tugged her roughly backward. “Ow,” she hissed. Since when did plants display such strength?

By the time Iris managed to untangle herself from the surprisingly tenacious enderwood, her wrist bore delicate indentations from its grip. “Thank you for your concern,” she muttered to the plant, which rustled in what she could have sworn was satisfaction.

She marched back into the ballroom, scanning the crowd for the two lords whose voices she’d overheard, but they appeared to have moved on. Just as well—her anger had cooled enough to recognize that causing a scene would likely only confirm society’s worst assumptions about her.

“There you are!” Her mother appeared at her elbow, looking slightly flustered. “I’ve been looking everywhere.”

Iris swallowed the angry words that still crowded her tongue. “I apologize for disappearing, Mother. I … needed some air. The presentation was a little overwhelming.”

Her mother reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Your presentation was beautiful, darling. You did wonderfully.”

“Did I?” Iris couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice. “The High Lady seemed distinctly unimpressed. And I’ve just overheard what at least one member of society thinks of my ‘diluted bloodline’ and ‘paper-folding nonsense.’”

Her mother sighed, a soft sound barely audible above the sound of the music that was starting up now that the presentations were over. “People can be cruel, especially when faced with something they don’t understand or that challenges their preconceptions.”

Iris turned to face her mother directly. “How do you bear it?” she asked, suddenly desperate to know. “The whispers, the sideways glances, being treated as if you’re somehow less than everyone else simply because you were born human? How do you smile and pretend it doesn’t cut deep?”

For the first time since their arrival in Bloomhaven, her mother’s carefully maintained composure slipped. Pain flashed across her features. “It’s … difficult,” she admitted quietly. “More difficult than I expected, even knowing what your father had warned me about. I’d thought that perhaps things might have changed in the years since he left. That perhaps attitudes had … evolved. But Bloomhaven society remains entrenched in its traditions and prejudices.”

“Then why are we here?” Iris asked, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Why subject ourselves to this?”

“For you,” her mother replied simply. “For your future.”

“But this isn’t the future I want!” Her whisper was edged with desperation. “I don’t want to marry one of these awful, entitled fae lords, and even though my magic would benefit from the ancient power flowing through Bloomhaven, strengthening my abilities hardly seems worth enduring months in a place where we’re treated like unwelcome intruders.”

Iris’s mother closed her eyes for a moment and swallowed before focusing on her daughter again. “It isn’t only that, Iris. We’re here because?—”

But before her mother could finish, a familiar voice called out, “Matilda? Ah, there you are. And Iris too, excellent.” Iris’s father approached, relief evident in his expression. “I’ve been looking for you both. There’s someone I’d like Iris to meet.” His gaze lingered on his wife’s face, a look passing between them that Iris couldn’t quite interpret. “Are you well, my dear?”

“Perfectly fine,” her mother assured him, her composed mask slipping back into place.

He nodded, turning to Iris. “Lady Rivenna Rowanwood has expressed interest in meeting you. As one of the most influential figures in Bloomhaven society, her good opinion could be invaluable.”

Iris inhaled deeply and nodded. “Lead the way.”

They stepped further into the ballroom, which now hummed with activity as couples moved through the intricate steps of a traditional fae dance. Iris’s father guided them along the perimeter of the dance floor, weaving through clusters of observers until they reached a corner where several older women sat in elegant chairs, surveying the festivities with sharp eyes.

One woman in particular commanded attention, and Iris recognized her immediately from The Charmed Leaf Tea House. Her silver hair was arranged in a sophisticated coiffure, and she wore a gown of deep burgundy that set off the pale perfection of her skin.

“Lady Rowanwood,” Iris’s father said with a formal bow. “May I present my daughter, Lady Iris Starspun, and my wife, Matilda.”

Lady Rivenna Rowanwood stood and moved closer, her gaze sweeping over the three of them, lingering on Iris with an intensity that made her want to fidget. Instead, Iris straightened her spine and met the woman’s penetrating stare directly.

“So,” Lady Rivenna said without preamble, “you’re the girl who’s got all of Bloomhaven in a tizzy.”

Iris heard her father make a soft sound of dismay, but she refused to flinch. “I prefer ‘Lady Iris,’ but yes, I suppose that’s me.”

Something that might have been approval flickered in Lady Rivenna’s eyes. “Direct. Good. I have little patience for those who cloak simple truths in elaborate niceties.”

“Then we have that in common,” Iris replied, ignoring her father’s warning glance.

“Indeed.” Lady Rivenna inclined her head. “Your demonstration earlier was … unusual. In all my years, I’ve never encountered a manifestation quite like yours.”

“I’m not entirely convinced that’s a compliment, my lady.”

“Merely an observation.” Lady Rivenna waved away Iris’s comment. “Tell me about your magic. Not what it does—I saw that for myself—but how it works. What do you experience when you create those paper forms?”

Iris blinked, taken aback by the question. There were not many who bothered to ask how her magic functioned; most simply judged its appearance and moved on. “Well, it’s …” she began slowly, searching for the right words. “When I look at a sheet of paper, I can perceive all the different ways it might fold, all the potential shapes hidden within it. It’s as if the paper itself already knows all the forms it could take, and I simply … guide it toward one particular possibility.”

“Fascinating.” Lady Rivenna leaned forward slightly. “And can you see these possibilities in other things? Or only in paper?”

“Only paper, my lady,” Iris replied.

“How can you be so sure? Have you received additional training? Have you pushed yourself, tested the limits of what you can do?”

The memory of the day her magic had manifested flashed through Iris’s mind, and she suppressed a shudder. She had no desire to ‘push herself’ and experience something like that again. “I received some instruction from a manifestation expert in order to further explore my abilities,” she said carefully. “It appears paper folding is all I can do.”

In truth, this ‘instruction’ had been only a handful of lessons and had been more about learning control. There hadn’t been time for much more than that before they left for Bloomhaven.

“Ah. Interesting,” Lady Rivenna mused. “And having had no magical ability at all until your manifestation, the sensation must have been quite extraordinary. Have you grown used to the feeling now?”

A rather personal question, but Iris could hardly refuse to answer it. She glanced at her parents. Her mother gave her an encouraging look, while her father’s face bore an oddly pained expression. She returned her gaze to Lady Rivenna. “Uh, yes, it was rather like finding an unexpected door in a familiar house—surprising, but somehow it feels like it was always meant to be there.”

Lady Rivenna nodded as her fingers traced the ruby pendant at her throat. “We are all puzzles to ourselves, are we not? Finding that unexpected door was merely discovering another piece of who you truly are. Life continues to reveal these pieces to us, if we’re wise enough to recognize them.”

Iris nodded slowly, considering this. “I’ve always enjoyed puzzles,” she said eventually. “They keep the mind sharp.”

“Indeed.” Lady Rivenna’s gaze shifted to something over Iris’s shoulder. “Ah, speaking of puzzles—Jasvian, darling, come meet Lady Iris Starspun. Lady Iris,” she added, her eyes on Iris once more, “my grandson, Lord Jasvian Rowanwood.”

Iris’s blood froze in her veins. Jasvian. As in … the very man whose cutting remarks still burned in her ears? She turned slowly, already knowing what she would find. And indeed, the young lord approaching them was exactly as his voice had suggested—tall, imposingly handsome, and wearing an expression of perfect aristocratic boredom. His dark eyes swept over her in a swift, dismissive assessment.

“Lady Iris,” he said, executing a flawless bow. “I caught the tail end of your demonstration earlier. Most … interesting.”

The word ‘interesting’ dropped from his lips like a dead flower, carrying the same inflection he’d used on the terrace. Iris felt heat rising in her cheeks, but she refused to let it show in her voice. “Lord Rowanwood,” she replied, dipping into a curtsy that was just a fraction too shallow to be proper. “How fortunate that you were able to witness it. Though I realize my diluted powers pale in comparison to proper fae magic.”

He hesitated, a spark of life igniting in his bored gaze, and she saw the moment he realized she must have overheard his earlier conversation. A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I stand by what I said, Lady Iris. Decorative magic serves little purpose in society. Surely you agree.”

“On the contrary,” Iris replied cooly. “Doesn’t all magic serve some purpose? Even the smallest flower can bring joy.”

“Joy.” He drew out the word as if he’d never heard of it. He probably hadn’t, given his sour expression. “Perhaps. My point,” he said, each word precisely measured, “is that presentation to the High Lady is meant to herald the awakening of significant power. Magic that will shape and strengthen our society.” His gaze swept over her with disdain. “One questions whether the ability to fold paper rises to the level of a true manifestation at all.”

Her father made a choked sound of horror that Iris barely registered, all her attention fixed on the insufferable lord before her. “I see.” Iris matched his measured tone. “And you consider yourself the authority on what constitutes ‘true’ magic?”

“I consider myself informed enough to recognize the difference between power that sustains our way of life and mere parlor tricks.”

“How convenient,” Iris said, her careful composure beginning to crack, “that your definition of ‘true’ magic happens to align precisely with your own abilities.”

“My abilities serve a vital purpose,” he said stiffly. “Without my magic, the lumyrite mines?—”

“Oh, come now,” Iris cut in, unable to contain herself any longer. “This entire ritual is nothing but an elaborate display of peacocking. If we’re going to parade ourselves about like prized show creatures at auction, what difference does it make if some of us create paper butterflies while others boast about their ability to sense rocks?”

His jaw clenched. “No one needs your sanctimonious opinions on traditions that have sustained our society for centuries.”

“And no one needs your suffocating self-importance!”

Somewhere to the side, Lady Rivenna made a sound that was part strangled laugh, part cough. Iris had forgotten she was even there. “My dear Lord Starspun and Mrs Starspun,” she said brightly to Iris’s parents, while Iris maintained unwavering eye contact with the imperious Lord Jasvian. “Allow me to direct your attention to the enchanted ice sculpture garden, through that archway over there on the terrace. Did you know they’ve managed to create flowers that actually bloom and wilt in an endless cycle?”

Lord Jasvian, clearly unwilling to break Iris’s gaze as she attempted to stare him down, inhaled deeply. “I suppose,” he said finally, “you’re expecting an apology.”

“Not at all,” she replied. “That would require you to possess both manners and regret. I suspect you have neither.”

His mouth tightened into a thin line. “You’re remarkably forthright for someone in your position.”

“My position?” Iris arched an eyebrow. “You mean as someone whose magic you’ve deemed unworthy of society? Or perhaps you’re referring to my status as a—what was the charming term you used? Ah yes, a ‘half-breed.’”

A flash of something—discomfort, perhaps—crossed his features before they settled back into aristocratic disdain. “I was merely expressing concern for the preservation of traditional magic.”

“Traditional magic? Like the skills relating to lumyrite and the mining industry? How thrilling.”

“It serves a purpose,” he said stiffly. “A very important one at that. Where would today’s society be without lumyrite? Your frivolous little paper creations, on the other hand, we can do without.”

Oh how she hated that she’d had the very same thought. But she would sooner swallow broken glass than give him the satisfaction of knowing they shared any opinion at all. “Ah yes, how foolish of me to think some magic might be about more than profit. Tell me, my lord, do you disapprove of all art, or just the kind created by those with diluted bloodlines?”

A delicate tinkling sound reached Iris’s ears, and she realized the crystals in the chandelier above them were shivering. She refused, however, to tear her gaze from Lord Jasvian in order to look up.

“This has nothing to do with an appreciation of art. Can you not see that with each generation, with each … mingling of bloodlines, our magic grows weaker? Our ancestors could move mountains and command storms. Now we celebrate mere conjuring tricks. You, Lady Starspun, come from a line of celestial illuminators and navigators whose magic charted the stars themselves. The Starspun legacy deserves better than paper manipulation.”

The reminder that her family indeed deserved more than the simple magic she’d manifested sent a flush of shame burning across her face, but she refused to yield now. “Oh? Please enlighten me about my family’s legacy, Lord Rowanwood. I’m certain you know it better than I do.”

His eyes narrowed. “I’m sure I do not need to tell you that your ancestor transformed nautical travel across the United Fae Isles when they were still separate territories after producing the first magical star charts. I do not need to tell you of the celestial harvesters, nor of the starlight spinners.”

Indeed, he did not need to tell Iris any of these things. With each word, she felt the weight of her inadequacy more keenly.

“Imagine what magnificent starlight-related magic might have been passed to you,” Lord Jasvian continued, “if your father had chosen to marry well instead of diluting your bloodline with a human woman. Now the once-great Starspun name will dwindle to nothing more than a footnote in magical history.”

Something snapped inside Iris. “And the Rowanwoods will be remembered for what, precisely? For hoarding lumyrite-derived wealth while contributing nothing of beauty or wisdom to the world? For producing descendants so utterly convinced of their superiority that they cannot recognize true magic unless it comes packaged in profit margins?”

A flush crept up Jasvian’s neck. “How dare you assume?—”

“Perhaps if you spent less time mourning the purity of other families’ bloodlines and more time developing a personality beyond staggering arrogance, you might actually be worthy of the legacy you so desperately cling to!”

Something in Lord Jasvian’s expression shattered. Above them, an ear-splitting crack rent the air as the chandelier rattled violently, its crystal pendants suddenly bursting with light before shattering into thousands of glittering shards. Iris flinched, her gaze darting up even as Lord Jasvian’s arms flew outward, fingers curling expertly. The falling glass transformed instantly into a cascade of golden dust.

When Iris’s eyes landed on him once more, they were both breathing heavily. Her hands shook at her sides, while the remains of his control were clearly hanging by a thread.

“If you’ll excuse me, my lord,” she said coldly, “I believe I hear someone calling for more paper flowers.” And with that, she turned, brushed past Lady Rivenna and her horrified parents—who, it seemed, had not allowed themselves to be distracted by any ice sculpture garden—and marched away through the crowd.