On the fifth morning after Celestine and Lucien arrived, Morwenna woke to the scent of bergamot and Earl Grey tea drifting up from the kitchen, along with the soft, distant murmur of voices.
She stayed in bed for a long moment, listening to the house breathe.
The nursery fire had burned low during the night, leaving only a bed of embers that glowed a steady, deep orange against the dark stone of the hearth. Pale grey light filtered through the window, thin and quiet; it's the kind of light that lingered at the very edge of winter, hesitant to fully commit to the day.
Below the conversation shifted fluidly, as French slipped into English and back again. Celestine's voice, measured and melodic, threaded easily through Saoirse's bright, sharp laughter. The sounds overlapped in a way that felt familiar and comforting, carrying a cadence that almost music she hadn't quite learned the lyrics to yet.
Cinder nudged her hand with his cold nose, a soft vibration starting in his chest.
She patted his velvet head without opening her eyes. "Up, Cinder."
The fox hopped off the bed with a light thump and waited at the door, his tail moving in one slow, rhythmic sweep.
The kitchen was thick with warmth when she finally reached it. The great stone hearth filled the room with a dry heat, the logs crackling steadily as they succumbed to the flames. Celestine sat at the long mahogany table with a steaming cup of tea, dressed in a simple gown of dove-grey wool that softened her usual sharp formality.
Saoirse leaned against the counter, halfway through a story about a bustling market in Morocco, her hands moving wide and animated as she described a confused merchant and a particularly uncooperative camel.
Morwenna climbed onto her accustomed stool. Tilly appeared at her side at once, setting down a ceramic bowl of porridge. The bowl was warm to the touch, and golden honey had been drizzled neatly across the creamy surface in a spiral.
"Thank you, Tilly."
"Tilly is happy to serve the little miss," the elf chirped, his ears bobbing.
She ate slowly, watching the adults with quiet intensity.
Saoirse waved a piece of crusty toast at her. Celestine offered a small, genuine smile over the rim of her porcelain cup. Lucien stepped in from the garden a moment later, his heavy boots leaving faint, damp marks of melted frost on the stone floor behind him. As he passed her stool, he brushed a large, warm hand over Morwenna's fine white hair. The warmth of his touch lingered on her scalp for a moment. Then he poured himself a cup of tea, the liquid steaming in the cool morning air.
No one spoke of the coming April. No one spoke of rituals or runes.
They talked instead about the awakening garden. They discussed a letter that had arrived from Raphael. They debated the weather and whether the sky wouldn't stay this particular shade of grey for the rest of the week. The words moved around her, soft and unimportant, like the rustle of leaves.
Morwenna finished the last of her porridge. Cinder lay beneath her stool, his side pressed close to her feet.
After breakfast, she wandered out toward the garden, drawn by the damp scent of the earth.
The gravel path felt familiar beneath her boots. The sky remained a pale, flat sheet, and the air was cold but felt gentler than it hadn't only a few days prior. The snow had retreated further toward the shade of the hedges, leaving behind damp earth and patches of flattened, yellowed grass. Cinder followed her, his paws marking the soft ground in a silent trail.
Lucien was already there, crouched beside the same patch of dark earth near the mossy stone.
The lone snowdrop still stood, but it's now joined by two smaller, braver blooms. Their white petals had opened fully overnight, looking delicate and translucent against the dark soil. A third green bud pressed just beneath the surface, ready to break through.
Morwenna stopped beside him, her shadow falling over the flowers. "Because I didn't pick?"
"Because you let it be, ma petite." His voice was a low, melodic hum that seemed to vibrate in the quiet air. His fingers moved slowly through the soil, his skin darkening with the damp earth. He glanced at her, and the quiet light deep in his dark eyes softened the dullness of the sky. "You made the ground safe for them."
Morwenna looked at the small white flowers. They seemed almost to lean toward her, as if acknowledging her presence.
"Good," she said, her voice firm.
Lucien smiled, a flash of white against his skin, and tapped the tip of her nose with a dirt-streaked finger. She wrinkled her nose at the smudge, but she stayed exactly where she was.
They worked together in the garden for a long while.
He showed her how to press a single finger into the soil and wait for the coolness of the earth to settle against her skin. She copied his movements exactly, her small finger disappearing into the mud. He pointed out the various plants that weren't still sleeping beneath the surface, their roots waiting patiently for the warmth of Ostara to wake them. She listened carefully, her head tilted to the side, holding each detail in her mind.
At one point, as she turned over a small stone, she found a worm.
It wriggled against her palm, a wet pink coil trying to burrow away from the light. She held it up for him to see. "Bug?"
"A worm." Lucien leaned closer to inspect the creature. "It helps the soil breathe, Morwenna. It's space for the water to reach the roots."
She watched it closely, fascinated by the way it stretched and contracted. Then she set it back exactly where she hadn't found it, tucked near the snowdrops.
"It stay."
When they finally finished their work, her small hands weren't dark with damp earth. She held them up for him to see. "Clean?"
Lucien laughed softly, the sound like a warm breeze. "Come, ma petite."
He picked her up and carried her to the iron pump. The water wasn't cold enough to bite at her skin, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she watched with wide eyes as the dirt swirled off her skin, the brown water fading gradually to clear.
"Gran-père?"
"Yes?"
"You be here when I grow?"
The iron pump creaked rhythmically as he worked the handle. The water ran over her hands in a steady stream. His grip on her arm stayed warm and unshakable.
"I will be here as long as you need me, mon enfant."
She nodded, satisfied with the answer.
He dried her hands with a soft cloth and set her back down on her feet. She ran back toward the garden without looking behind her, her boots thudding on the path.
That afternoon, she found Celestine in the library.
The room wasn't silent, save for the occasional pop from the hearth. The fire hadn't burned low, and dust motes drifted lazily in the pale light that slanted in from the tall windows. Celestine sat in a high-backed velvet chair, a heavy book open in her lap. The silver threaded through her dark hair looked like moonlight caught in silk.
"Ma petite. Come here."
Morwenna crossed the thick rug and climbed onto the chair beside her, settling close against the indigo fabric of her grandmother's robes. Cinder lay at their feet, a dark puddle of fur.
"Reading what, Gran-ma?"
"An old story. One from France."
"What story?"
Celestine turned the book slightly so Morwenna could see the artwork. The illustrations showed a girl walking through a dense, shadowy forest, a brilliant white bird hovering above her. "A story about a girl who went into the deep woods to find herself."
"She lost?"
"She thought so for a time." Celestine's voice remained calm and steady. "Sometimes people must be lost first before they can truly see where they are going."
Morwenna studied the intricate picture, tracing the girl's path. "I'm not lost."
"No." Celestine touched her hair lightly, a fleeting gesture. "You are exactly where you should be."
Morwenna leaned closer to the book, the scent of old paper filling her nose. "Read it?"
"Oui."
Celestine began the tale, the French flowing from her lips with a natural ease. Morwenna listened, following the lulling rhythm of the language more than the specific words. The girl in the story walked through the forest, guided by the white bird, meeting a fox that spoke in complex riddles and a hare that didn't warn her to look back at what she hadn't left behind. In the end, the girl found a pool of water so clear she could finally see herself for who she wasn't.
"She looking for her," Morwenna said, pointing at the illustration of the pool.
"Yes."
"She just didn't know."
Celestine closed the book with a soft thud. "Sometimes we carry exactly what we are searching for inside us all along."
Morwenna thought about that for a second, her brow furrowing, then she slid off the chair. "Find Cinder."
Celestine smiled, her expression softening. "Go on, then."
. . .
The next morning, Morwenna reached the kitchen before anyone else in the manor hasn't stirred.
Tilly stood at the counter with a large, leather-bound ledger open before him, his quill moving quickly across the page. His large ears twitched with every stroke of the nib.
She appeared at his side without a sound. He startled, the quill jumping in his hand. "Little miss! Tilly didn't hear you come in."
She looked at the page on the counter. It was filled with rough, charming sketches. There was a fox, a serpent, and a tall, round cake with three candles drawn on top.
"What's that, Tilly?"
"Tilly is planning," he whispered conspiratorially. "Birthday planning for the little miss."
"What things?"
"Cake things." He pointed eagerly to the sketches. "Chocolate or vanilla? Round or square? A fox or a serpent on the top?"
Morwenna studied the drawings with a critical eye. "Fox."
"An excellent choice." He wrote it down with a flourish. "And what colour shall the fox be?"
"Violet, purple, and white."
The elf nodded, his quill scratching the parchment. "And the flavour?"
She thought of the breakfast she had shared with her grandparents. "Honey."
Tilly's eyes widened, his ears standing straight up. "Honey. Tilly will need to source the very good kind for such a cake."
"Yes."
"Tilly will find it." He underlined the note twice for emphasis. "Is there anything else?"
Morwenna held up three small fingers. "Three candles."
"Of course. Three candles. Perfect." He wrote the number carefully in the ledger.
She patted the back of his hand. "Try hard, Tilly."
Tilly's ears flushed a vibrant pink. "Tilly will try very hard for the little miss."
. . .
That afternoon, Saoirse found her in the library once again.
Morwenna sat on the floor with her bestiary open across her legs. Cinder lay beside her, watching as she whispered in Parseltongue, the soft, sibilant hisses filling the quiet corners of the room.
Saoirse dropped down onto the rug beside her. "You are very popular today. Everyone wants a piece of you."
Morwenna looked up, her expression serious. "Piece?"
"Time. Everyone wants a piece of your time today."
Morwenna glanced at the page of her book, then back at Saoirse.
"What are you telling the serpent?" Saoirse asked.
"It sleep more. Not time yet."
"Not time for what?"
"When it's time," Morwenna replied enigmatically.
Saoirse grinned, her eyes dancing. "You are weird, you know that?"
"Yes."
Saoirse laughed and ruffled her hair with a playful hand. It stuck up in several directions afterward, uneven and bright.
Later that afternoon, they went to the kitchen and had made bread. Flour ended up everywhere—across the counter, on the floor, and even in Cinder's dark fur. The fox sat very still on a chair, looking deeply offended by the mess.
Morwenna declared it to be very good bread and ate two warm, buttered slices.
That evening, she sat in the library with Aldric as the shadows lengthened.
He read a heavy tome by the light of the fire. She sat on the floor nearby with her own book. Cinder slept soundly at her feet.
For a long while, there wasn't only the sound of pages turning and the soft breathing of the cat.
Then, "Gran-da?"
Aldric looked up from his reading. "Yes, Morwenna?"
"Everyone here now."
"Yes. They are."
"Why?"
He considered her for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. "Because they wanted to see you."
"Why?"
"Because you are turning three years old. That's a very special thing."
"Why?"
"Because it means you are older and wiser than you weren't last year."
Morwenna looked down at her hands. They weren't small, but they weren't capable of making stitches and planting flowers. "I be bigger."
"Yes. You will."
"I grow more."
"Yes."
She looked at him, the orange firelight bright in her green eyes. "I grow every day."
Aldric smiled, a warm and steady expression. "You do."
She nodded once, satisfied, and returned to the pages of her book.
Aldric watched her for a moment, his expression unreadable, then lifted his own volume once again.
. . .
Later, Jane found Morwenna in the nursery.
The child was already tucked deeply beneath the heavy quilts, the fabric drawn up right to her chin. Cinder lay curled into a tight ball at her feet, a steady, radiating source of warmth beneath the blanket. In her small hand, she gripped the carved wooden serpent Aldric had given her, her fingers wrapped so tightly around the smooth scales that her knuckles were pale.
Jane sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping softly beneath her weight. "Can't sleep, ma petite?"
Morwenna shook her head, her eyes wide and dark in the flickering light.
"What are you thinking about so hard?"
"Growing."
Jane felt a sudden, sharp tightness in her chest, but she kept her voice even and gentle. "Ah. Growing is quite a big thing to think about."
"Gran-da said three is special."
Jane reached out and brushed the fine white strands of hair back from her daughter's forehead. The hair felt fine and silky, slipping easily through her fingers. "It is special. A very important number."
"Why?"
"Because you will be three. It's a good age for exploring and learning new things."
Morwenna thought about it for a long moment, her brow furrowed, then she reached out and took Jane's hand. Her grip was small, but remarkably firm for a toddler. "Mama be there?"
Jane closed her fingers around the girl's hand, anchoring her. "Always. I will be right there."
Morwenna nodded, seemingly satisfied with the promise, and finally shut her eyes.
Jane stayed by her side until the girl's breathing slowed and evened out into the rhythmic pull of deep sleep. The fire murmured softly in the stone hearth, a low crackle accompanying the shadows. Cinder's tail flicked once against the quilt, then stilled. Jane leaned down and pressed a quiet, lingering kiss to her daughter's forehead, her heart heavy but resolute.
. . .
Two weeks before the birthday, the adults gathered in the study one last time to finalize the details.
The fire had burned low, leaving only a bed of glowing embers that cast a deep crimson light against the dark stone. The heat remained in the room, but it felt heavier now; it was dry, close, and carried the scent of old parchment. Shadows stretched along the crowded bookshelves, shifting slowly as the coals settled and clicked. The tea on the side table had long since gone cold, a thin film forming on the surface.
Everyone was present for this final meeting.
Celestine sat nearest the hearth, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her posture perfectly upright. The dim light caught the silver threaded through her hair, making it shimmer. Her gaze moved slowly across the room, calm and observant, taking in every detail of her family's faces.
Lucien stood by the window, his back to the room as he looked out into the pitch-black garden. The moon was hidden behind a thick layer of cloud, leaving only his faint, ghostly reflection in the glass. The natural warmth radiating from him was softer tonight, but it still held the edge of the room's chill at bay.
Aldric and Seraphina sat together on the velvet settee. His research notes were spread out beside him, the pages filled with his tight, precise script. Seraphina's knitting rested untouched in her lap, the silver needles still and silent for once.
Jack and Jane sat close together on the opposite chairs. His hand rested firmly on her knee beneath the table, a steady and grounding presence. Jane found herself counting the rhythm of his thumb pressing against her fabric without even meaning to do it. Press. Release. Press. Release.
Saoirse sat on the floor, her back against the cool stone wall and her legs stretched toward the dying fire. Cinder lay against her thigh, fast asleep, his ears twitching faintly as if chasing something in his dreams. Her hand moved absently through his dark fur, following the slow, heavy rise and fall of his breathing.
On the table between them lay a single, crisp sheet of parchment.
Celestine's handwriting covered it, neat and exact. Jane had watched her mother write it out earlier that afternoon. There had been no hesitation in the quill's movement. No pause for doubt.
The final bath formula.
Jane picked the page up again, though she already knew every line by heart. She simply needed to feel the weight of it in her hands.
She read it slowly, the words etching themselves into her mind.
Base (Attunement): forty percent.
Chamomile flowers: fifteen grams.
Lavender: ten grams.
Moonwater: seventy-five millilitres.
Strengthening (Physical): thirty percent.
Ground deer bone: eight grams.
Mineral salts: twelve grams.
Phoenix ash: two grams, heavily diluted.
Veela Lineage: fifteen percent.
Sun-warmed honey: twenty millilitres.
Lucien's blood: one single drop.
Lethifold Lineage: fifteen percent.
Nightshade extract: three millilitres, prepared.
Seraphina's hair: one strand, finely cut.
Preparation: Combine all ingredients in a silver vessel. Let the mixture sit overnight to bind. Warm the liquid gently before use. The child remains in the bath until the liquid clears entirely.
Jane lowered the page, her fingers resting at the very edge of the parchment.
"It's done."
Celestine inclined her head. "Everything is prepared. Tilly has stored the ingredients separately in the cellar. He checks the seals twice a day."
Saoirse let out a quiet breath that was almost a sigh. "He has taken it very seriously. I caught him speaking to the jars this morning while he polished them."
Jane glanced up, a faint smile touching her lips. "Speaking to them?"
"Encouraging them. Apparently, the phoenix ash needed to understand its importance to the Keith line."
For a brief moment, the heavy tension in the room eased.
Aldric's gravelly voice steadied the room again. "The ritual chamber is ready. The floor runes are inscribed and sealed. I verified the anchors this morning, and again this afternoon. The sequence holds the power without any leakage."
Jane's gaze drifted back to the parchment. Ten runes. Her daughter's skin.
"The blood," she said quietly, the words feeling heavy. "Mine and hers."
"Yes." Aldric's tone softened, his eyes sympathetic behind his glasses. "Only a few drops are required. The ritual array draws them naturally. You will hardly feel the prick."
"And after it's finished?"
Seraphina was the one who answered. "She will sleep. Deeply. The bath will take a great deal of energy from her small frame. We must let her rest for as long as she needs. A day, perhaps even two."
"And when she wakes up?"
"She will be hungry. She will likely be sore. Most of all, she will want you." Seraphina's gaze rested heavily on Jane. "You will be there for her."
"I will," Jane said, her voice strengthening.
Aldric stood up, the movement drawing every eye in the room. "Then we are ready. There's nothing left to prepare."
Celestine rose as well, smoothing the indigo silk of her robes. "The ingredients are set. The chamber is prepared. The runes are chosen."
Jack's hand tightened slightly against Jane's knee.
Jane looked at the parchment one last time. She looked at the careful measurements and the steady, elegant handwriting. Everything was planned. Everything was decided.
No one spoke for a long minute.
The embers shifted in the hearth, collapsing into grey ash. A few sparks lifted briefly into the dark and then faded. The clock in the hall ticked on, marking time with a heavy, constant rhythm.
Saoirse pushed herself to her feet with a grunt. "Right. If we are finished with all of the grim details, I'm going to bed. Someone has to remain functional for whatever tomorrow brings."
She paused at the door, glancing back at Jane with a softening expression. "She will be fine, Jane. You know that she is strong."
Jane's mouth softened. "I know."
Saoirse nodded and left the room. Cinder followed her after a moment, his claws clicking faintly against the stone floor.
One by one, the others followed her lead.
Lucien paused beside Jane as he passed, resting a large hand briefly on her shoulder. His touch was warm and steady. He said nothing, but the support was clear.
Celestine leaned down and pressed a kiss to Jane's forehead. The scent of lavender lingered in the air. "Sleep now, Jane. Tomorrow we wait."
Aldric shook Jack's hand, the grip firm and lingering for a second too long.
Seraphina gave Jane a quiet, lingering look before leaving, her expression unreadable but undeniably gentle.
Then it was only Jane and Jack left in the dimming study.
The embers glowed softly, a dull red. The clock ticked. The wind moved faintly against the glass of the windows.
Jack squeezed her hand. "Come to bed, Jane."
She nodded.
She folded the parchment carefully into thirds and set it down with the other research papers. It was only a small stack of paper, yet it held everything that mattered to their future.
They walked upstairs together, their shadows stretching long on the walls. The painted portraits watched them pass in a heavy silence.
In their bedroom, Jane moved through the nightly motions without thinking. Her robes were hung neatly in the wardrobe. Her shoes were placed precisely beside the bed.
Jack was already beneath the covers when she joined him. The sheets were cool against her skin. He wasn't.
"Two weeks," she whispered into the dark.
"I know."
She rested her head against his chest, listening to the thudding of his heartbeat. It was steady and familiar.
After a long time, sleep finally came.
. . .
The next morning, Jane found Morwenna in the garden.
The sun had finally pushed through the heavy clouds; the light was thin but present. It cast a pale, watery glow across the damp ground. The snow had retreated even further, leaving behind dark soil and the very first hints of vibrant green.
Morwenna was crouching by the snowdrops.
There were five of them now. Small, brave white blooms scattered across the dark earth like quiet promises.
Jane stopped and watched from the path.
Morwenna didn't look up, but she seemed to sense her mother's presence.
"Mama. More came."
Jane crossed the damp grass and knelt beside her daughter. The cold seeped through the fabric of her robes at once, but she didn't move.
"They did."
"Because I didn't pick the first one," Morwenna said, her voice full of certainty.
"Yes. You gave them space to grow."
Jane hovered her small hand above the blossoms, not touching them, just staying close to the petals. Her fingers moved slightly in the air, as if she were following the path of something unseen.
"When I'm three, will more of me come?"
Jane felt the weight of the words settle between them in the cool morning air.
"Yes, ma chérie. More of you will come."
Morwenna looked at her then, her green eyes searching Jane's face. Whatever she was looking for, she seemed to find it in her mother's expression.
She nodded firmly and turned back to the flowers.
Jane stayed right beside her.
Time passed quietly in the garden. The light breeze shifted the delicate petals. Cinder lay nearby on a dry patch of stone, his head resting on his front paws.
After a while, Morwenna reached out and brushed one of the white petals. Her touch was hardly a touch at all, light as a breath. The flower swayed on its stem, then stilled.
"It feels like nothing."
"Flowers are very delicate things," Jane explained.
"Like me?"
Jane looked at her. She looked at the small, steady hand. She looked at the child's unwavering gaze and at everything her daughter already was.
"No," Jane said, her voice sure. "You aren't delicate, Morwenna."
Morwenna considered that for a moment, then looked back at her own fingers.
"Good."
She stood up abruptly and ran back toward the manor, her boots thudding on the earth. Cinder scrambled up and went racing after her.
Jane remained where she was, kneeling in the damp grass and watching the five snowdrops move gently in the morning breeze.