Chapter 16 #2
Aurelise nudged him lightly with her elbow, and at last he glanced her way.
She lifted both brows in silent inquiry.
He narrowed his, a faint flush rising above his collar.
They held one another’s gaze, and though neither said a word, Aurelise understood all she needed to.
Her brother’s feelings, it seemed, remained unchanged from what they had been last Season.
They both looked away. Neither of them would speak of this aloud. They both understood the impossibility of a fae gentleman developing feelings for a human girl, no matter how lovely or kind she might be. The social chasm between their worlds remained vast, despite recent progress.
Though as Aurelise glanced around the tea house, she couldn’t help but notice the subtle changes that had taken root over the past year or two.
There, at a corner table, sat Mrs. Stonemore with her daughter, both possessed of the distinctly rounded ears that marked their human heritage rather than the elegant points of fae.
Near the window, Mr. White held a teacup in one hand while reading The Gilded Gazette.
The transformation had begun with Iris, during her apprenticeship at The Charmed Leaf.
She’d hosted an event and, to the absolute horror of Bloomhaven’s traditional elite, had extended invitations to several human families.
The gossip birds had nearly molted from the excitement of carrying such shocking news, but Iris hadn’t retreated, and neither had Lady Rivenna.
Together, they’d gradually opened the doors wider, welcoming anyone who wished to experience the magic and warmth of the establishment.
But not all of society had embraced this change.
Aurelise noticed how other patrons gave the human guests a deliberately wide berth, how conversations quieted when they passed, how some fae ladies clutched their reticules a bit tighter as though proximity to humanity might somehow diminish their consequence.
It explained why, despite the official welcome, she saw so few humans among the crowd.
“Oh, Kazrian,” she said, suddenly remembering, “I wanted to ask your opinion on something. There is a peculiar chandelier in one of the drawing rooms at Solstice Hall that creates a strange thrumming, chattering sound whenever the room is full, but I discovered something rather curious. I was attempting to calm my own nerves—just a touch of my own magic, barely a whisper of melody—but the magic seemed to influence the chandelier as well. The awful noise ceased entirely.”
Kazrian’s expression sharpened with the particular focus he reserved for interesting problems. “Fascinating. Your music soothed it?”
“It seemed so. I was wondering if perhaps there might be a way to make the effect permanent? You’re so clever with understanding how things work.”
“Hmm.” He drummed his fingers against the table, already lost in thought. “If we could capture your magic first, preserve it in a form that could—Oh.” His eyes lit suddenly, focusing on something beyond Aurelise. “Lord Hadrian. Of course.”
“Lord Hadrian?” she asked, twisting slightly in her chair to follow Kazrian’s gaze.
“I see him over there! Though …” he paused. “He appears somewhat engaged at present. I might speak with him as he departs—or, if you prefer, we could extend an invitation for him to call tomorrow, before you are due to return to Solstice Hall.”
“Oh, yes. We could do that.” Aurelise’s gaze landed on Lord Hadrian and an unfamiliar woman sitting at a table on the far side of The Charmed Leaf. “Who is that with Lord Hadrian?”
The woman spoke with an easy grace, and Hadrian listened as though the rest of the world had fallen away. There was a softness in his expression, a quiet intensity. It did not take much imagination to see that his regard for her ran deep.
“That is Lady Viola Windweaver,” Mariselle informed Aurelise.
“This is her first Season in Bloomhaven, though her magic manifested two or three Seasons ago, I believe. Her family lacked the means for such travel until recently. Beyond that, I know little about her, save that her courtship with Lord Hadrian appears to have commenced almost immediately after the Season began.”
“He seems quite taken with her,” Aurelise observed with a small smile as she turned back to her siblings. “I do hope it proves a good match for them both. And yes, perhaps extend an invitation to him for tomorrow,” she added to Kazrian.
She had not previously considered Lord Hadrian in relation to her chandelier dilemma, but now that Kazrian mentioned him, his magic seemed the obvious solution.
He possessed the ability to channel another’s manifested power into inanimate objects—an art he had already demonstrated when collaborating with her elder brother Jasvian to create a device that could forewarn miners of impending tempests beneath the earth.
“It’s curious though,” Rosavyn mused. “I don’t recall your magic having that particular effect before. Influencing anything beyond yourself, that is.”
Aurelise considered this, remembering another incident she hadn’t thought significant at the time.
“Actually, something similar happened in the palace kitchens. There was general chaos and an argument that was making me anxious. I called upon my music primarily to calm myself, but … I remember now that the entire kitchen seemed to settle. I thought it mere coincidence at the time.”
Mariselle reached across the table to squeeze Aurelise’s hand, her eyes bright with genuine delight. “Your magic is growing! Developing and strengthening, exactly as it should during one’s debut Season. That’s why we’re all here in Bloomhaven, after all. Concentration of raw magic and all that.”
“Though it seems to have done absolutely nothing for me,” Rosavyn said dryly. “Multiple Seasons in Bloomhaven and my ability to make plants wither is still my most impressive magical feat.”
Mariselle let out an unladylike snort of laughter. “You do not make plants wither.”
“Fine, they merely droop mournfully in my presence, as if I’ve personally offended their leafy sensibilities.”
“I doubt you’ve ever made anything droop mournfully in your life,” Mariselle countered with a roll of her eyes. “Quite the contrary. Everything and everyone gravitates toward you like flowers desperate for sunlight.”
“As a matter of interest,” Kazrian interjected, “I don’t believe the concentration of magic in this area aids in actual manifestation. More the strengthening of one’s magic after—”
Aurelise nudged her knee against his beneath the table and shot him a warning glare. That was hardly a comment that was likely to make Rosavyn feel any better.
“Oh, don’t fret on my behalf,” Rosavyn said to her, leaning one elbow on the table and resting her chin on her palm (their mother would have fainted straight into her teacup at this point).
“When my magic finally decides to cooperate, I'm hoping for the ability to make dance cards spontaneously combust. Think of all the boring waltzes I could avoid!”
“Oh! Or the ability to create sudden bursts of harmless fireworks,” Mariselle suggested. “That could certainly help you avoid dancing.”
“Hmm, or perhaps I’d like to make gossip birds sneeze uncontrollably whenever they attempt to repeat a scandal.”
“No, no. I’ve got it.” It was Mariselle’s turn to lean forward now, eyes alight with mischief. “The ability to enchant fans to swoop at any gentleman who dares attempt something improper with a lady, pursuing him relentlessly until he flees the scene in disgrace.”
Kazrian leaned back with a sigh and a quiet laugh. “Stars help us all,” he said to Aurelise. “Once those two get started, there is simply no hope of returning to sensible conversation.”
Aurelise simply watched them over the rim of her teacup, a quiet warmth blooming in her chest. She savored each laugh and wild suggestion, knowing she would miss this easy, familiar chaos when she returned to Solstice Hall tomorrow.
And yet, the thought also brought a small smile to her lips, for she could almost hear Thimble’s enthusiastic chatter and Spark’s long-suffering grumbles waiting to fill the silence in their stead.
Different voices, perhaps, but not so different in spirit.