Morwenna slept.
The nursery remained warm, the fire crackling low in the soot-stained stone hearth and casting a soft, orange glow across the room. Grey light filtered through the tall windows, looking weak and watery behind the heavy, leaden clouds that still pressed against the manor.
Cinder remained curled at her side, his russet fur rising and falling with each slow, deep breath. His amber eyes were half-closed but never fully shut, catching the flickering light of the embers. Every few minutes his ears twitched, tracking the subtle sounds of the manor: the muffled footsteps of an adult in the corridor, a door clicking shut somewhere below, or the distant, rhythmic clatter of ceramic pots from the kitchen. His nose moved in a constant, delicate rhythm, sampling the air for any scent that might disturb her rest. He was a sentinel, his warmth pressing against Morwenna's hip.
Jane sat in the velvet-backed chair beside the bed. Her hand rested on the blankets, close enough to feel the radiating warmth of her daughter's body but not quite touching. Morwenna's face looked pale against the pillow, her fine hair spread around her head. Her breathing stayed slow and even, but every so often a small furrow appeared between her brows—a flicker of something crossing her sleeping face before smoothing away.
Jane watched each movement, holding her own breath until the tension disappeared and the child settled again.
An hour after they had brought her up, Morwenna's eyes opened. They were green and glassy, moving slowly across the room as she took in the ceiling, the window, and the dying fire, before they finally found Jane's face. Recognition flickered in them, slow but certain.
"Mama."
Jane leaned forward, her hand finally touching her daughter's cheek. The skin felt cool beneath her fingertips, lacking the vibrant, healthy heat it usually possessed. "I'm here, ma chérie."
Morwenna blinked, her brow furrowing with the effort of wakefulness. "Cold."
Jane reached for the extra blankets folded at the foot of the bed, but Morwenna shook her head weakly against the pillow.
"No. Inside."
Jane's hand stilled on the edge of the blanket. A chill deep inside the magic is a rare thing after a blood ritual—the runes are supposed to be settled, and the paths carved into her magic should have felt like fire, not ice. She buried the sudden rush of anxiety and reached for the cup of honey ginger tea on the nightstand. It remained warm; Tilly had been refreshing the liquid every hour, leaving the new cup with trembling hands and a silent bow.
"Drink this. It will help."
Morwenna drank. The tea was warm and sweet, and the ginger spread through her chest. She finished half the cup before pushing it away, her arms apparently too heavy to hold the ceramic any longer.
"Hungry."
Jane fed her small pieces of a plain biscuit. Morwenna chewed slowly, her jaw working with visible effort, her eyes drifting closed between bites. The biscuit crunched softly in the quiet room. When she had eaten two, she shook her head and lay back against the pillow. Her hand found the thick fur of Cinder's flank, her fingers sinking into the russet warmth. Her eyes closed again almost instantly.
Jane stayed where she was. Over the next few hours, the child woke twice more. Each time followed the same pattern: a flicker of green eyes, a murmur of cold or discomfort, then tea and biscuits followed by deep sleep.
By the third waking, her colour had begun to improve. The grey undertone faded from her cheeks, replaced by a faint, healthy pink. Her grip on the cup was stronger, and her fingers wrapped around the ceramic without any trembling.
"Warmer," she said. It's a simple statement of fact.
Jane kissed her forehead and let her go back to sleep.
In the lower levels of the manor, in a different chamber entirely, Aldric and Celestine worked in focused silence. The room was nothing like the ancient ritual chamber. No carved runes sat upon the floor, and no inscriptions glowed with blue magic. It's a simple space, round and warm, with smooth stone walls and a high ceiling lost in the shadows.
In the centre stood a large copper bath, its surface gleaming dully in the torchlight. Below it, a fire had been burning for hours, tended by silent house-elves who added wood and adjusted the flames with quiet precision. The heat radiated upward, warming the copper and the water within.
The bath had already been filled, and the liquid shimmered with a strange, internal light. The surface caught the torchlight and threw it back in shifting patterns of gold, amber, and deep green. The scent that rose from it was complex and layered: lavender and chamomile, honey and nightshade, a sharp mineral note, and something else that's smelled of rain on hot stone. It's the scent of magic, old and patient.
Celestine leaned over the bath, studying the liquid with the intensity of a scholar. The mixture had simmered since the night before, the ingredients slowly melding and the magic settling into the water. She couldn't feel it—a warmth that wasn't just temperature and a weight that wasn't just density. The water knew its purpose.
Aldric stood beside her, his hands clasped behind his back. "The proportions?"
"Forty, thirty, fifteen, fifteen." Celestine didn't look up. Her eyes moved across the surface, checking for any separation of ingredients or any sign the mixture hadn't blended properly. "It's correct."
"And the absorption rate?"
"Slow enough for comfort, but fast enough to complete before the water cools." She finally straightened, meeting his eyes. Her face remained calm. "This part's straightforward. The body knows what to do; it will take what it needs, I think."
Aldric nodded.
The medicinal bath is the universal foundation, the layer every family shared regardless of bloodline. It's simple and safe, performed countless times across generations. There isn't any reason to expect any complications.
. . .
The afternoon light had begun to slant through the nursery windows when Morwenna woke for the fourth time. She felt groggy, her limbs feeling as heavy as stones, but her eyes were clear. She pushed herself up on one elbow, looking around the room with slow, deliberate movements. Cinder sat up with her, his ears swivelling forward and his tail giving one hesitant wag against the sheets.
"Mama."
Jane rose from the chair. Her body ached from sitting for so long, but she didn't focus on the pain. "I'm here. How do you feel, petite?"
Morwenna considered the question with her usual gravity. Her brow furrowed and her lips pressed together. Then she said, "Tired. Warm."
"Good. That's good." Jane sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand. The fingers felt cool, but less so than they'd been earlier. "There's another part, Morwenna. The medicinal bath. Do you remember?"
Morwenna nodded. "Boiling."
Jane's mouth twitched despite the tension. "Yes. Boiling." She paused, then added more seriously, "This one is different from the blood ritual. You can sleep if you need to. The bath will work whether you are awake or not. It might even be easier to sleep through it."
Morwenna thought about this, her brow furrowing deeper. "I can sleep?"
"Yes. The bath feeds you. It gives you what you need. Your body will take it in whether you are watching or not. You don't have to stay awake for this part."
Morwenna processed this, her eyes moving across Jane's face. Then she nodded once, a small, decisive movement.
"Okay."
Jane helped her sit up fully, the blankets pooling around her waist. Morwenna blinked at the room, taking in the familiar walls, the fire, and the grey light beyond the window. Cinder pressed closer, his nose against her hip.
"Now?"
"Soon." Jane smoothed Morwenna's hair back from her forehead. The white strands felt soft and slightly damp at the temples. "We will go down when it's ready."
Morwenna leaned against her mother. Her weight felt slight and warm. Jane wrapped an arm around her and held her close. They sat like that for a long moment, listening to the crackle of the fire. Then Saoirse appeared in the doorway. "It's ready."
Jane helped Morwenna stand. The child swayed slightly, catching herself on the bedpost. Her legs were unsteady and her body was still heavy with exhaustion. Jane scooped her up without asking, cradling her against her chest. Morwenna's arms looped around her neck, her face pressed into the curve of Jane's shoulder.
"Okay. I'm ready."
Jane carried her down.
. . .
The bath chamber felt warm and humid, the air thick with the scent of herbs and something else, something ancient and alive. The copper bath gleamed in the centre of the room, steam rising from its surface in slow, lazy curls. Below it, the fire glowed orange and gold, casting dancing shadows across the stone walls.
Jane set Morwenna down slowly, keeping a hand on her daughter's shoulder until she was steady. The effort cost her dearly. Her arms trembled with a weight she had normally have carried without thinking.
She breathed shallowly, her lungs working harder than they had been after the heart blood donation. The grey undertone that had faded from her face over the past two days returned at the edges, a faint pallor beneath her skin. She steadied herself against the wall for just a second. Then she straightened and turned back to her daughter.
Morwenna stood in the doorway in her simple cotton clothes, holding Jane's hand. She looked at the bath, then at the fire beneath it, then back at the shimmering water. Her face was still, but her grip on Jane's hand tightened.
"Boiling."
Jane squeezed back. Her fingers felt cold and're trembling slightly. "Warm. Not boiling. It will feel good at first."
Morwenna nodded and let herself be led forward. Jane's steps're slower than usual. Each one required conscious effort, her legs feeling heavy as if she're wading through deep water. She kept her hand on Morwenna's shoulder, partly to guide her and partly to hold herself upright.
The family had already gathered around the edges of the room, standing at the same three-metre distance they had maintained during the blood ritual.
Jack was there, his face pale and his eyes fixed on his daughter. He saw Jane's colour and the way she moved, and he took a step toward her. She shook her head once, and he stopped. Saoirse stood with her arms wrapped around herself, her nails digging into her own sleeves.
Jane helped Morwenna remove her clothes. The child stood naked for a moment, small and pale in the firelight, her skin marked with the invisible runes that now lived beneath the surface. She looked smaller than she had been this morning, but her spine was straight and her chin was up.
Then Jane lifted her and placed her in the bath. Her arms screamed with the effort and her vision greyed at the edges for a terrible moment. She set Morwenna down gently, and then gripped the edge of the bath to steady herself. The copper felt warm under her hands. She held on until the grey receded and she could see clearly again.
Morwenna didn't notice her mother's struggle. The water felt warm, not hot, but a comforting heat that enveloped her instantly, rising to her shoulders. The scent was stronger here, wrapping around her. Lavender, chamomile, something sweet like honey, and something deep and earthy.
She sighed. Her eyes fluttered closed. The warmth seeped into her tired muscles and into her bones, into the places where the runes still hummed with residual energy. It felt so good. The tension had been living in her shoulders since the blood ritual had begun to melt away.
Jane knelt beside the bath. Her knees hit the stone hard, but she didn't feel it. She's already counting the seconds until she could stand again. "Baby, is this okay?"
Morwenna nodded without opening her eyes. The warmth spread and the scent deepened. The water shimmered around her, catching the firelight and throwing it back in golden ripples.
Her breathing slowed. Her head tilted back against the rim of the copper bath and her lips are parted slightly. Within minutes, she's asleep.
Jane watched her daughter's face relax. The furrow between her brows smoothed and the tightness around her mouth eased. She looked young and peaceful, like a child who had simply fallen asleep in a warm bath after a long day.