Chapter 1 #2
Yet Aurelise found herself wondering whether it even mattered.
Unlike her brothers, who carried the weight of the Rowanwood legacy, or Rosavyn, whose prolonged lack of manifestation had become a source of family concern, Aurelise’s hopes were modest. There was no need for her to secure a brilliant match to salvage family fortunes or status.
Her mother and grandmother naturally wished for her comfort and security, but their concerns went far beyond what Aurelise herself required.
She desired a husband who would be … undemanding.
Someone who understood her need for solitude and wouldn’t expect grand passions or constant companionship.
The sweeping romantic tales that made other young ladies sigh held little appeal for her, the overwhelming emotions seeming exhausting rather than enticing.
If she could find someone who would give her the freedom to retreat into her music whenever she wished, who would allow her that private sanctuary without resentment, that would be enough.
Music was the only love affair her heart truly craved.
Although … there was R.
She tensed, disquieted as she always was when this particular thought breached the careful walls she’d built around it.
R belonged safely on paper, a collection of clever words and teasing remarks, but nothing more than that.
Already she felt too much when his letters appeared in the enchanted box, her heart racing in a way that threatened her carefully maintained composure.
She would not allow herself to imagine anything beyond their correspondence.
As she constantly reminded herself, the man behind those witty lines could be anyone.
Ancient, deceitful, nothing like the person she’d constructed in her imagination.
Not that she could ever truly bring herself to believe that.
As Marta secured the final pearl-tipped pins into her hair and her mother smoothed the elbow-length gloves she’d selected, Aurelise allowed her thoughts to drift back to the correspondence she and R had exchanged earlier that week.
Dear R,
Indeed, the season has fully established itself here, with wildflowers carpeting every meadow and tree branches heavy with blossoms. The ever-blooming roses are being absolutely insufferable about the ‘seasonal’ flowers finally making an appearance.
“Oh look who’s decided to join us after hiding all winter,” they seem to say with every petal-quivering breeze.
I wish I could properly enjoy the warmth and beauty, but I find myself unable to appreciate much lately. Anxiety has begun to claw at my thoughts with increasing persistence, for there is something rather terrifying on the horizon.
With quiet dread,
L
Dearest L,
What torment you’ve inflicted upon me! You cannot possibly introduce such ominous foreboding and then provide no details. My imagination is now running wild with possibilities!
Is it vegetables? A poetry recital where you’re expected to perform? An offer of marriage from a gentleman whose company you can scarcely endure for more than a moment?
I shall be utterly sleepless until you elaborate.
Consumed by curiosity,
R
Dear R,
If only it were something as straightforward as vegetables, or even an unwanted proposal, for at least that can be met with a graceful refusal and the matter swiftly concluded.
No, I’m afraid it is far worse: a social gathering. Multiple social gatherings, in fact.
Woefully,
L
Ah. That is indeed more dreadful than vegetables. My deepest condolences.
Thank you. I find myself in the most frustrating contradiction.
I desperately want to be included, to be part of these gatherings, to feel as though I belong.
Yet the moment I am surrounded by people, I want nothing more than to dissolve into the wallpaper.
Conversation eludes me entirely. My mind empties of all clever thoughts, and I’m left with nothing but painfully dull observations about the weather.
I have the perfect solution. When conversation fails you, simply look the other person directly in the eyes and ask, with complete seriousness: “Do you think plants have opinions about us?” I promise you it will be memorable.
I imagine such a question would be met with nothing but stunned silence and raised eyebrows.
Exactly! That blessed silence gives you the perfect opportunity to elaborate on your theories about those ever-blooming roses you speak with. Perhaps share their thoughts on proper tea service or their opinions on the latest fashions.
At which point they will determine I’ve completely lost my senses.
Perhaps. I imagine you’ll receive one of two outcomes with this approach.
Either they will light up with unexpected delight, revealing themselves as a kindred spirit who has secretly wondered the same thing about judgmental flora, in which case you’ve discovered a companion worthy of conversation.
Or they will decide you’re utterly mad and will be desperate to extract themselves from the conversation, leaving you free to retreat to a quiet corner. I see no flaws in this plan.
When you explain it that way, it does seem like surprisingly sound advice.
You’re most welcome. I am, as always, still right about everything.
R … I feel I should clarify that the roses do not actually speak to me. I wouldn’t want you to think I’ve genuinely lost my wits. (Though I do sometimes find myself assigning them personalities when I’m alone in the garden for too long.)
L for Ludicrously Concerned I Had Misunderstood,
Yes. I am aware of the sad reality that the roses do not truly speak to you. But I suspect they would have excellent opinions if they could.
Aurelise had written nothing further, settling into bed with a small smile on her lips. But barely a half hour later, the distinctive hum of the enchanted box had pulled her from the edge of sleep. Inside, she’d found a hastily scrawled note:
L,
I told myself not to ask. I promised myself I wouldn’t. But I find I cannot sleep with the question burning in my mind. Are you referring to the Bloom Season? Will you be in Bloomhaven? I know you manifested since the last Season began … Does this mean you will be debuting your magic?
Please forgive the intrusion,
R
Aurelise’s fingers had trembled as she read his words.
Did this mean he would be there too? Hadn’t he claimed to live beyond the United Fae Isles?
What if he was planning to travel to Bloomhaven, hoping that the two of them might …
meet? The thought sent a wave of panic through her chest. And so, for the first time in their long correspondence, she had deliberately lied.
Dear R,
Your intrusion is forgiven. I could never hold your curiosity against you!
Alas, my family’s circumstances prevent us from traveling for the Season this year. Such is life. Full of disappointments both small and large.
I do hope this satisfies your midnight curiosity enough to allow you peaceful slumber.
Sleepily,
L
“There,” Marta declared with a final adjustment to one of the pins. “You’re ready, my lady.”
Aurelise turned slightly, rising with care as the silk layers of her gown whispered against the stool.
For a moment, her eyes swept her reflection in the dressing table mirror.
The rose-pink silk fell in graceful lines beneath the empire waist, drifting into gauzy layers that shimmered when she shifted.
Gold embroidery traced tiny blossoms across the bodice, and a sash of ivory silk was fastened with a delicate rose-gold rosette.
She turned from the mirror, lifting her chin and lacing her fingers together, standing still beneath the careful scrutiny of three pairs of eyes.
“Oh, darling,” her mother breathed, her eyes misting. “You look absolutely beautiful.”
“Truly lovely,” Marta agreed with a proud smile.
Rosavyn, still sitting on the edge of the bed, tipped her head to one side. “I suppose you’ll do,” she said with mock indifference.
Aurelise smiled at her, while Lady Lelianna pressed a hand to her chest in horror. “Really, Rosavyn—”
“I have no doubt, dearest sister,” Rosavyn said, a wide smile stretching her lips as she stood, “that you will be the loveliest creature in all of Dreamland tonight.”
Aurelise drew a deep breath that did little to ease the tightness in her chest, her smile fixed like fragile porcelain that might crack at the slightest pressure.
Being the focus of attention was precisely what she dreaded most about the evening ahead.
She looked around for her gloves, seeking something to do with her trembling hands.
“Aurelise, dear!” Lady Nirella’s voice called out. “Your tea is ready.”
Lady Lelianna sighed and shook her head. “I still think this is most irregular timing. I shall see what mischief is transpiring between the grandmothers. Oh, the rose water! Is it—”
“My dressing table, I believe,” Rosavyn said.
Lady Lelianna turned to Marta. “Could you look for it please?”
“Of course, my lady.”
As her mother and Marta left the room, Rosavyn flicked her fingers, sending a gentle current of air to nudge the door closed with a soft, deliberate click. “Now,” she said, turning back to Aurelise and taking her hands, “how are you really—”
“Do you hate me?” The words tumbled from Aurelise’s lips before she could stop them, cutting across her sister’s question.
Rosavyn blinked. “Hate you? Whatever for?”
“Because my magic has manifested and yours hasn’t.
Because I’ll be presented tonight and you won’t.
Because they’re all fussing over me when it should have been you first. I wish it had been you first.” The words rushed out in a torrent now that the dam had broken.
“I know what they’re saying about our family, about the Rowanwood bloodline weakening, and I know it must be the most hurtful thing in the world to—”
“Lise, darling, I suspect it hurts you a great deal more than it hurts me.”