Page 9 of Tempests & Tea Leaves (The Charmed Leaf Legacy #1)

Chapter Nine

Iris arrived at The Charmed Leaf precisely at eight o’clock the following morning, dressed in what she hoped qualified as “practical.” She’d selected a pale blue day dress with minimal embellishment, and her hair was arranged in a simple knot at the nape of her neck. She paused at the foot of the tea house’s stone steps, taking in the weathered charm of the establishment. Morning light caught on the intricate carvings adorning the heavy oak door—delicate teacups and swirling leaves etched by a master craftsman’s hand. Vines climbed the stone walls, their glossy leaves framing the entrance while clusters of tiny purple flowers cascaded around the doorframe.

Her heart fluttered a little faster as she ascended the steps. Despite Lady Rivenna’s warm welcome yesterday, Iris couldn’t quite shake her nervousness. Was the front door even unlocked at this hour? Perhaps she was meant to enter through the back, where staff might already be preparing for the day.

She startled as a gossip bird shrieked from a nearby tree. “Kissing in the lake!” it proclaimed before taking wing. Iris blinked, wondering if she’d heard correctly.

Just as she lifted her hand to knock, the door swung inward. She hesitated on the threshold, took a steadying breath, and stepped inside to find the entrance area curiously empty, with no sign of whoever—or whatever—had opened the door.

The interior of the tea house appeared quite different in the early morning light, devoid of patrons yet humming with subtle magic as if taking a deep breath before the day began. Windows gleamed, tables sat perfectly arranged, and the faint aroma of fresh-baked goods mingled with the earthy scent of brewing tea.

Lady Rivenna emerged from the kitchen on the far side of the tea house, dressed in a deep emerald gown that somehow managed to appear both elegant and entirely practical. “Ah, Lady Iris. Punctual. Good.” She beckoned with one hand. “Come. There is much to see before we open.”

“Good morning, Lady Rivenna,” Iris said, hurrying to reach the older woman. “I’m eager to begin.”

Lady Rivenna stopped in the center of the main floor, her silver hair catching the morning light that spilled through the windows. “The Charmed Leaf is more than it appears,” she began, her voice taking on a subtle cadence that suggested she was imparting something of great importance. “You see tables and chairs, walls and windows. But what we truly have here is a carefully cultivated ecosystem of magic, social currents, and information.”

She gestured toward the far corner, where a cluster of plush chairs surrounded an oval-shaped table. “That area is favored by the elder ladies of Bloomhaven. Lady Thornhart, Lady Whispermist, and myself, of course. From there, we observe everything while appearing to observe nothing.”

Iris followed her gaze, trying to see the tea house through Lady Rivenna’s eyes—not as a mere establishment but as a strategic vantage point.

“The central tables,” Lady Rivenna continued, indicating the heart of the room, “are for those who wish to see and be seen. Young lords and ladies hoping to make an impression. Families showcasing their offspring. The recently betrothed flaunting their good fortune.”

She moved toward the opposite wall, where several semi-private alcoves had been created through clever arrangement of trailing plants and decorative screens. “These nooks are for more discreet conversations. Business negotiations, delicate social maneuvers, the occasional minor scandal being carefully managed.”

“Is every seat so deliberately assigned?” Iris asked, fascinated by this invisible orchestration.

Lady Rivenna’s lips curved. “Not assigned, precisely. But the tea house has its ways of encouraging certain patterns. The chairs throughout the establishment become remarkably uncomfortable for those carrying gossip with malicious intent. Tables have been known to wobble mysteriously when occupied by guests plotting social sabotage. And tea has a peculiar tendency to go cold very quickly when consumed by anyone who has spoken ill of the Rowanwood family.”

Iris failed to suppress a smile at this last revelation. “And do you arrange all this yourself? Through magic?”

“The tea house itself plays a part,” Lady Rivenna replied. “Over the decades, it has developed … preferences. Habits. A personality, you might say. My role is to interpret and occasionally direct these tendencies.”

She then gestured toward a smaller alcove nestled against the eastern wall, where honeysuckle vines cascaded from the ceiling, partially obscuring the space from casual view. Beyond the natural curtain of greenery sat a small round table with a single chair. A window seat lined with plush cushions faced the side street, and a small shelf—seemingly floating against the wall without visible support—held several well-worn leather-bound books.

“That,” Lady Rivenna said with unmistakable fondness, “is my private alcove. The true heart of my observations. I sit there quietly, alone with a pot of tea, and simply listen to what the tea house has to tell me. No one else ever sits there.” Her gaze settled meaningfully on Iris. “Until now. This alcove will become yours as well.”

“Oh, are you certain?” Iris stammered, taken aback by the intimacy of this offering. “I’m sure I could sit somewhere else, perhaps at one of the?—”

“You will never understand the true workings of The Charmed Leaf,” Lady Rivenna interrupted firmly, “if you don’t seat yourself in that alcove daily and simply listen .” She beckoned Iris to follow once more. “Now, to the heart of our operation.”

Lady Rivenna extended her hands before her, and the kitchen doors swung open at their approach, revealing a bustling scene of organized chaos. Steam rose from copper kettles, the air sparkled with tiny motes of magic, and several small creatures darted between workstations. A cloud of flour hung suspended over the central worktable, within which Iris could just make out a tiny, industrious figure.

“This is where the true magic of our tea blends and culinary delights takes place,” Lady Rivenna declared. “Here we have our hearth sprites—” she nodded toward several faintly glowing beings tending the fires, some adjusting the iron cranes that held simmering pots over the open hearth, while others stoked the embers beneath a cast-iron stove “—kitchen pixies who maintain our equipment and assist with preparations—” several blue-tinged beings sat polishing silver tea services on a table alongside the back wall “—and of course, Orrit.”

The flour cloud parted momentarily to reveal a scowling, stout little creature no taller than Iris’s hand, his ruddy face and expressive eyebrows coated in fine white powder. A brownie, Iris guessed, though it was difficult to tell with the amount of flour that covered him.

“Orrit has been with us since the day The Charmed Leaf opened,” Lady Rivenna explained. “He is the master of our legendary scones. No one touches his dough, his ovens, or his secret recipe.”

The brownie harrumphed, clearly displeased by the interruption but apparently too busy to spare more than a skeptical glance at Iris before returning to his work.

“Don’t mind his gruffness,” Lady Rivenna added. “He takes his art seriously.”

Iris watched the kitchen’s harmonious activity unfolding, and then—between one blink and the next—the scene shifted. Suddenly she was looking at a different configuration—the same kitchen but filled with unfamiliar faces, save for one. Orrit remained at his workstation, but now he was playfully tossing a cloud of flour into the air while a small dark-haired girl sat on the edge of the worktable, swinging her feet and laughing with delight.

Iris blinked, and the scene returned instantly to its original form. What strange trick was this? Some whisper of the tea house’s unique magic?

“Lady Iris?” Lady Rivenna was watching her with a curious expression. “You seemed momentarily elsewhere.”

“I apologize,” Iris said, shaking her head slightly. “It’s just … there’s so much to take in.”

At that moment, a quick flash of heat at her ankles made Iris gasp and jump backward. She looked down to see a tiny hearth sprite darting away, trailing sparks and giggling as the hem of her dress began to smolder. She yelped and hastily batted at the fabric to extinguish the burning fabric before it could properly catch alight.

“Good thing, my dear,” Lady Rivenna said, “that you wore a practical dress as I suggested.” Her eyes gleamed with amusement. “But yes, as you were saying, there is indeed much to take in. And you have yet to meet Saffron and Lissian, both of whom shall be in shortly. But for now, let me introduce you to—ah, Lucie! Perfect timing.”

A girl entered through the back door carrying a basket of fresh herbs, and Iris recognized her immediately as the serving girl from her first visit to the tea house. She couldn’t be more than fourteen or fifteen years of age.

“Lucie, this is Lady Iris Starspun, my new apprentice.”

“Oh! An apprentice!” Lucie’s smile stretched wider. “Finally! I-I mean to say …” she stammered, her soft brown complexion taking on a deeper warmth, “how very exciting, my lady.”

Lady Rivenna arched a brow. “Exciting indeed. Lady Iris, this is Miss Lucie Fields. She is invaluable to our operation. Though she is human, she has shown remarkable aptitude for the simpler enchantments I’ve taught her, particularly those relevant to the tea house’s daily operations. She’s also developing quite impressive skills in the confectionery arts, creating delicate chocolate concoctions infused with subtle mood-enhancing magic.”

“Thank you, Lady Rivenna,” Lucie said, executing a quick curtsy. “And it’s an honor to meet you, my lady,” she added in Iris’s direction.

“Lucie’s mother is one of the most respected dressmakers in Bloomhaven,” Lady Rivenna continued, “though Lucie herself clearly has no interest in fashion.”

The girl began to stammer something else, but Lady Rivenna added, “All I mean to say, my dear, is that you are perfectly suited to working here, learning the delicate art of magical confectionery from Saffron—that’s our pastry chef—” she added as an aside to Iris, “rather than wasting your days sewing dresses.”

Lucie nodded, a smile creeping onto her lips once more.

“And this,” Lady Rivenna said as a tall woman entered from the main floor, “is Mrs Spindlewood, our hostess.”

Iris recognized her as the woman who had greeted her family during their first visit. She also noted that although the woman was fae, Lady Rivenna had introduced her as Mrs and not Lady . Iris found herself pondering the woman’s circumstances. Did she perhaps hail from a fae family of lesser standing, possessing modest means and only basic magic? Or might she belong to one of the established noble bloodlines but have failed to manifest any significant ability?

Mrs Spindlewood’s expression remained as coolly professional as Iris remembered from the first time they had met, though she did incline her head in polite acknowledgment. “I look forward to working with you, Lady Iris,” she said, her tone giving nothing away.

Lady Rivenna directed Iris toward the back door, where Lucie had entered. “We also maintain extensive gardens,” she explained as they stepped outside.

The space was divided into distinct sections—neat rows of herbs, flowers, and what appeared to be tea plants. Beyond this, Iris saw elegant outdoor seating arranged beneath the trees around a central fountain. Garden gnomes moved between the herb beds, their pointed hats bobbing as they inspected leaves and stems. Meanwhile, tiny pixies with gossamer wings flitted among the blooms, collecting the morning dew in miniature crystal vials.

“While we cultivate a small selection of tea right here, the majority of our leaves are sourced from across the United Fae Isles,” Lady Rivenna explained. “And the herbs and flowers are essential for our specialty blends. The garden gnomes have been tending these plants for decades, using methods passed down through their families. The pixies assist with harvesting ingredients at precisely the right moment—dawn-caught dew, moon-blessed blossoms, and so forth.”

“And the seating area?”

“For outdoor functions,” Lady Rivenna replied. “Though the fountain serves another purpose entirely.” She lowered her voice. “Its water flows directly from one of the seven ley lines that converge beneath Bloomhaven. The magic that infuses it enhances certain … perceptions.”

Iris was about to ask what perceptions specifically when Lady Rivenna turned and headed back inside. “Now, for the final stop on our tour. Your primary domain, at least initially.”

They re-entered the tea house and crossed the kitchen to the main floor. At the end furthest from the front door, tucked around a corner behind a wall adorned with an artful arrangement of antique teacups, Iris discovered a staircase she hadn’t noticed during her previous visit. They ascended the polished wooden steps. At the top, a small landing led to a single door, which Lady Rivenna opened with a flourish, stepping back to allow Iris to walk in ahead of her.

Beyond lay a cozy study with a large window overlooking the street that ran along the side of the tea house, flooding the room with natural light. Comfortable chairs with plump cushions were positioned near the empty fireplace, where a single hearth sprite lay sleeping, the room warm enough in the early spring that no flames were needed. Carved wooden tables held elegant vases of fresh flowers and delicate magical ornaments, while along one wall stood a modest book shelf, its contents neatly arranged.

Iris’s anxiety stirred faintly at the sight of the books, memories of the bookstore incident flashing unbidden through her mind. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. This wasn’t a shop crowded with volumes. It wasn’t a vast library. Merely a few shelves of carefully selected tomes. Her magic remained calm, dormant beneath her skin.

Two empty desks occupied the space. One larger, positioned at an angle in the corner of the room, the other slightly smaller, standing in front of the window.

“This will be your sanctuary,” Lady Rivenna said, moving toward the window and the desk in front of it. “Your place to study, to observe, to learn the deeper mysteries of The Charmed Leaf.”

“It’s perfect,” Iris breathed. Well, almost perfect, she added silently as her gaze was drawn back to the bookshelf. But that was no fault of the study itself. Perhaps here, in this peaceful space, she might finally reclaim her comfort around books, might rekindle the pure joy of being surrounded by boundless realms of ink and imagination, without fear of her magic spinning out of control.

“I assumed you would appreciate it,” Lady Rivenna replied, straightening a vase of flowers on a small side table. She crossed to a cabinet beside the bookshelf and withdrew something from its drawer. “And this—” she extended her hands, offering a leather-bound notebook of deep plum with silver filigree patterns along its edges “—is for you. To record your observations, insights, and perhaps the occasional secret.”

Iris accepted the gift with wonder, running her fingers over the intricate silver design. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

Lady Rivenna moved around the room, adjusting a book here, straightening a crystal prism there. “I hope you don’t mind hard work, Lady Iris. You will be exceptionally busy this season with three distinct goals to pursue: this apprenticeship, your social obligations, and developing your magic for a memorable display at the Solstice Ball.”

“I welcome the challenge,” Iris said, tucking the notebook beneath her arm. “I’ve never shied away from hard work.”

“Good,” Lady Rivenna replied with a satisfied nod. “Because the first patrons will arrive soon, and there is much to do. Now, let me show you how to?—”

The study door swung open without warning, and in stepped Lord Jasvian Rowanwood, his tall frame filling the doorway. He halted abruptly, dark eyes widening as they moved from his grandmother to Iris and back again. “Grandmother?” His gaze hardened. “What is she doing here?”

Lady Rivenna straightened, hands clasped serenely before her. “Ah, good morning, Jasvian. I was just showing Lady Iris around her new workspace.”

“Her new … what?” The words emerged with such careful precision that Iris could almost hear them cracking beneath the weight of his restraint.

“Workspace,” Lady Rivenna repeated, as if speaking to a child with limited comprehension. “Lady Iris has graciously accepted my offer to become my apprentice at The Charmed Leaf.”

Lord Jasvian’s face went through a remarkable series of transformations—disbelief, horror and outrage cycling in rapid succession before settling into a rigid mask of displeasure. “This is completely unacceptable.”

The hearth sprite—no longer asleep—squeaked in alarm. From the corner of her eye, Iris saw it zip across the room to hide behind the vase on one of the small tables.

Lady Rivenna arched one silver eyebrow. “I seem to recall you lecturing me at great length just days ago about my advanced years and the urgent necessity of finding a suitable successor for the tea house. By all rights, I should be thanking you for your persistent encouragement.”

“I didn’t mean—” His fingers curled into tight fists at his sides. “That is, I never suggested—” He drew a sharp breath. “You cannot possibly believe that Lady Iris is a suitable candidate.”

“I find her eminently suitable,” Lady Rivenna replied, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from her skirts. “As does the tea house itself.”

“The tea house cannot?—”

“As I’ve explained countless times, Jasvian, the tea house absolutely can and does make its preferences known. You simply choose not to listen.” Lady Rivenna turned to Iris with a slight smile. “You’ll find that’s a recurring theme with my grandson.”

Iris fought to keep her expression neutral, though the corner of her mouth twitched traitorously. Lord Jasvian’s evident distress at finding her in what he clearly considered his territory was, she had to admit, rather satisfying after his dismissive treatment of her at the Opening Ball.

He drew in another steadying breath, eyes still fixed on his grandmother. “But she’s …” He gestured vaguely in Iris’s direction.

“Perfectly capable of speaking for herself,” Iris said. “Though I understand if complex sentences are beyond your comprehension this early in the morning.”

Jasvian finally deigned to meet Iris’s gaze. “I was merely pointing out?—”

“That my magic is unsuitable?” Iris asked. “That my bloodline is impure? That I’m as plain as the paper I fold? Please, do tell me which insult you’d like to lead with today.”

“I was going to say that you’re untrained.”

“As are all apprentices at the beginning,” Lady Rivenna observed.

A tiny glowing shape momentarily caught Iris’s attention, and her gaze darted toward the door where the hearth sprite was busy sneaking out, clearly sensing the rising tension in the room.

“Well then,” Jasvian said stiffly, “now that you have shown Lady Iris the upstairs study, perhaps the two of you would prefer to continue your tour downstairs.”

“Oh no,” Lady Rivenna said, gesturing to the desk by the window. “Lady Iris will be working here, in the study. I’ve always found it the perfect place for contemplation and learning.”

The look of pure horror that crossed Jasvian’s face was so comical that Iris had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing outright.

“Here?” he echoed, his voice rising slightly. “But this is my study!”

“ Your study?” Lady Rivenna’s tone remained perfectly pleasant. “How curious. I was under the impression that The Charmed Leaf—including all its rooms, furnishings, and indeed this very study—belonged to me.”

Jasvian’s jaw worked silently for several seconds. “You know perfectly well what I mean,” he finally managed. “I’ve used this study for years. It’s my escape from the chaos of Rowanwood House, the one place where I can properly focus on business without constant interruption.”

“And you may continue to use it,” Lady Rivenna assured him. “You’ll simply be sharing the space with Lady Iris.” She paused, tilting her head slightly. “Ah, I believe I’m needed downstairs.” She moved toward the door. “Lady Iris, please join me when the two of you have finished sorting out your differences.” And before either of them could respond, Lady Rivenna swept from the room, leaving an uncomfortable silence in her wake.

Iris squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Lord Jasvian.”

“Lady Iris.” His voice was cold enough to frost glass. “I see you’ve wasted no time insinuating yourself into my grandmother’s good graces.”

“On the contrary, it was Lady Rivenna who approached me with her offer,” Iris replied, her tone matching his. “Though I must confess, had I known it would cause you such evident distress, I might have accepted even more enthusiastically.”

Jasvian’s nostrils flared. “This is my space.”

“I don’t see your name etched anywhere,” Iris observed, glancing pointedly around the room. “Nor do I see any of your personal effects. It appears to be quite simply a study that Lady Rivenna has graciously allowed you to use—and now has graciously invited me to share.”

“The desk,” he said tightly, “is enchanted to mirror my workspace at Rowanwood House. The moment I sit down, everything I’ve left at home appears here, arranged precisely as I left it. I’ve been using this arrangement for—” He stopped abruptly, as if annoyed with himself for offering any explanation at all. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Ah, how very practical of you,” Iris said pointedly.

His jaw tightened. “I see you’re still bristling from our exchange at the Opening Ball.”

“Exchange?” Iris gave a short laugh. “Is that what we’re calling it? I would have described it as you making disparaging remarks about my heritage and magical abilities, followed by my pointing out your insufferable arrogance.”

“You caused a scene,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Did I? How mortifying.” Iris pressed a hand to her chest in mock distress. “Though not nearly as mortifying as having one’s magic dismissed as ‘nonsense’ by someone who’s probably never had to question his place in society for a single moment of his privileged life.”

“You know nothing about me,” Jasvian said, his voice low and tight.

“And you know nothing about me,” Iris countered. “Yet that didn’t stop you from passing judgment, did it?”

“I spoke only truth. Your specific magic has no practical application.”

Iris stepped closer, heat surging in her veins. This close, she saw that his eyes weren’t merely dark, but a deep storm gray, circled by rims of a darker shade that gave way to startling flashes of silver closer to the pupil. “I do not have to prove myself to anyone,” she said, her voice low and measured, “least of all to you.”

“On the contrary,” Jasvian replied, not backing away from her advance, “if you’re hoping to find yourself a suitable match in Bloomhaven, then you have a great deal to prove. To everyone.”

Iris felt her retort die on her lips, hating that he was right. Her family’s financial situation meant she couldn’t afford the luxury of righteous indignation, no matter how satisfying it might be. “Are we done here?” she asked finally. “Or would you prefer to spend another few minutes glowering at me?”

“I do not glower .”

“My mistake. That must be your natural expression.” And with that, she tucked her new notebook more securely under her arm and swept past him with as much dignity as she could muster. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said without looking back, “I believe I’m needed downstairs. Unlike some, I don’t have the luxury of idle conversation when there’s work to be done.”

Then she pulled the door firmly shut behind her, taking perhaps a bit too much satisfaction in the solid thud it made as it closed.