The drawing room of the Aldenar manor had been transformed into a strategic command center that smelled of Bergamot, dried lavender, and the faint, ozone-sharp tang of active magic.
Isella sat perched on the edge of a chaise lounge, her fingers dancing through the air as if she were playing an invisible harp. Around her, several silver tea tins drifted in a slow, hypnotic circle. With a flick of her wrist, one tin popped open, and a stream of dried leaves flew into a porcelain pot. A second later, a small burst of violet sparks erupted from the base of the teapot, and the water began to whistle at a temperature that never wavered.
"Magic makes the hospitality business so much more efficient, don't you think?" Isella chirped, snapping her fingers. A tray of miniature fruit tarts and almond biscuits lifted off the side table, bobbing through the air like small, delicious clouds until they hovered directly in front of Verona. "Taste the lemon one."
