The bathwater drained with a soft, gurgling sigh, the sound echoing against the porcelain and the nursery washroom's stone walls.
Morwenna stood on the nursery's thick, cream-coloured rug, wrapped in a fluffy white towel that was almost as large as her entire body. Cinder sat on the bed behind her, his amber eyes tracking every movement with the focused, unblinking attention he gave to anything involving his person. The fox's tail twitched occasionally, brushing against the silk duvet.
Steam rose from her skin in faint, lazy curls, carrying the clean scent of lavender soap and the water's lingering warmth. The fire in the hearth crackled softly, throwing long, dancing shadows across the stone floor and the furniture's dark wood.
Jane knelt on the rug beside her. The towel felt warm from being draped over a chair near the fire, and she pressed it gently against her daughter's pale skin to absorb the last traces of moisture. She dried the child's arms first, using long strokes from shoulder to wrist, before moving to her legs and working methodically.
Morwenna stood perfectly still, watching her mother's hands move with her usual patience.
"Arms up, ma chérie."
Morwenna lifted her arms toward the ceiling. Jane pulled a soft cotton shirt over her head, a pale blue garment with short sleeves and a small pocket on the chest. The fabric felt light and strange against her skin after months of wearing nothing but silk and velvet. She looked down at herself, observing the way the cotton draped in a more structured, stiff way. It didn't cling like her usual clothes.
"It's cotton." Morwenna said. She rubbed the fabric between her thumb and forefinger to test the weave.
"Yes, it's cotton. Most children in the mundane world wear clothes like this every day."
Morwenna looked down at the shirt again, pulling at the hem to watch it stretch and then spring back into shape. "It moves."
"It does."
Jane reached for the trousers. They were soft denim, light blue, with an elastic waistband that made them easy to pull up. Morwenna stepped into them one leg at a time, her small fingers gripping Jane's shoulder for balance. The denim felt rougher than the shirt, a sturdy and thick texture that was entirely new. She ran her hands over her thighs, feeling the ridges of the fabric under her palms.
"Now the socks."
They were white with small pink flowers embroidered along the edge. Morwenna sat on the floor to put them on, the rug feeling soft beneath her. She picked up the first sock, examined the heel, and then stretched it over her foot. Her brow furrowed with deep concentration as she worked the fabric around her heel, pulling it up until it sat properly against her ankle. The first one went on correctly.
The second sock gave her trouble. She pulled it on, but it went on crooked, the heel ending up somewhere near her ankle. She looked at it for a moment and then at her other foot where the sock sat properly. The difference was obvious. Jane waited, offering no interference.
Morwenna looked at the crooked sock and then at her mother. Jane said nothing. She looked back at her foot, grabbed the bunched fabric, and pulled the sock off entirely. She set it on the rug beside her, picked it up again, and tried once more.
This time, she worked more slowly. She held the sock open with both hands, positioned her toes carefully, and eased it over her foot. She pulled it up, adjusted the heel, and smoothed the fabric over her ankle. It went on right. She looked up at Jane, her expression serious and quietly pleased.
"I did it."
"You did."
The trainers were blue with white stripes. They had laces—real ones, not the magical closures or silver buckles of the shoes she wore inside the manor. Morwenna picked one up and turned it over in her hands, examining it from every angle. She squeezed the toe to feel the fabric's give and pressed her thumb into the sole, feeling how it gave slightly and then pushed back.
"What are these?"
"Shoes for outside. For walking on pavement and grass and all the things you haven't walked on yet."
Morwenna stuck her foot into one, but it was too big. Jane had bought them that way, knowing she would grow. The shoe flopped on her foot, the heel gaped, and her toes were nowhere near the front.
"Too big," Morwenna said.
"You will grow into them. For now, we practise." Jane showed her how to pull the laces tight and tie them. Her fingers moved slowly and deliberately so Morwenna could see each step. "Cross, loop, and pull. Cross, loop, and pull." She finished the knot and looked at her daughter.
Morwenna nodded. She pulled the laces loose and tried it herself.
The laces tangled into a messy heap. She tried again, but they tangled even worse. She made a small sound in the back of her throat, her jaw setting with determination. She looked at the mess of laces, then at Jane's hands, and then back at her own.
"Again," she said.
Jane watched her try four more times. Each attempt brought its own small failure: a loop too loose, a cross that slipped, or a tangle that required starting over. Morwenna's brow stayed furrowed, and her tongue poked from her mouth's corner. She didn't look up and didn't ask for help.
On the fifth attempt, the laces formed something that looked vaguely like a bow. It wasn't quite right, not the way Jane had shown her, but it was closer. The loops were uneven, one much larger than the other, and the knot was lumpy, but it held. Morwenna looked at it and then at her mother.
"Good," Jane said. "We will practise every day."
Morwenna gave a small nod. She looked down at her shoes and wiggled her toes inside them, feeling the space and the way the fabric moved with her feet. Then she stood and took three steps across the rug, feeling the strange weight of them and the way they changed how her feet met the floor.
"Different," she said.
"Yes."
She took three more steps, turning slightly to feel how the shoes moved with her pivot. Then she looked back at Jane. "I like them."
Jane smiled. "Good."
The morning room felt warm with firelight and the rich scent of breakfast. The long table was set, but the plates held things Morwenna had never seen before. There was rice in a bowl, steamed and fluffy, with small pieces of bright vegetables mixed through. There were noodles in a shallow dish, slick with a dark sauce that smelled of soy and something savoury.
Eggs were scrambled with tomatoes, their red and yellow colours bright against the plate's white porcelain. Small dumplings were steaming gently, their wrappers translucent and revealing the filling within.
Morwenna sat in her usual chair, staring at the spread. Her new shoes were still on her feet; she had refused to take them off.
Tilly stood near the sideboard, his large ears twitching with barely contained excitement. He had been up since before dawn, consulting three different cookbooks and testing recipes with the single-minded focus of an artist. His small hands were still dusted with white flour, and there was a smear of something dark on his apron.
"The little miss likes breakfast?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly with hope.
Morwenna looked at the rice, the noodles, and the dumplings. She pointed at the rice. "What is it?"
"Rice, little miss. Steamed rice with vegetables."
She picked up her spoon. It was a real spoon, not the magical utensils she was used to, but plain metal. She scooped a small amount and brought it to her nose first, sniffing the steam. Then she touched it with her tongue before finally putting the whole spoonful in her mouth. She chewed slowly, her brow furrowed as she processed the new texture. The rice felt soft and slightly sticky, while the vegetables were firm, each with its own distinct flavour. She swallowed.
"Good," she said.
Tilly's ears went pink, and he made a small sound which he quickly suppressed.
Seraphina sat at the table with her tea, watching the scene. The firelight caught the silver in her hair. "The menu will change regularly now. Not just British food, but European, Asian, and anything else Tilly wants to try."
Jane nodded. She had a cup of tea in front of her, but she wasn't drinking it. "We need her accustomed to different tastes and different textures. The mundane world isn't just porridge and toast."
Morwenna had moved on to the noodles. She picked one up with a fork, examined it, and then ate it. Her eyes widened slightly. She picked up another and ate it faster. "Noodles," she said.
"Yes."
She ate another and then pointed at the dumplings. "What is it?"
"Dumplings. Meat inside."
Morwenna picked one up carefully, holding it between her thumb and forefinger. She bit into it, and the wrapper gave way, letting the filling spill warm onto her tongue. It was pork with ginger and a savoury depth she couldn't name. She chewed slowly, processing the complexity, and then reached for another.
Tilly made a small sound that might have been a sob. He pressed his hands together and watched her eat, his large eyes shining with pride. Seraphina caught Jane's eyes across the table and smiled, and Jane smiled back.
Saoirse was the last to arrive. She came in with her hair still damp from a shower, wearing comfortable clothes that looked as if they had been pulled from a drawer at random. She wore a worn jumper, old trousers, and socks that didn't match. She dropped into her chair, reached for the teapot, and poured herself a cup before she had even fully opened her eyes.
"Smells good," she mumbled. She took a long drink and then blinked at the table. "What is all this?"
"A new menu," Seraphina said. "Tilly is expanding his repertoire."
Saoirse looked at the spread and then at Morwenna, who was now attempting to eat noodles with her fork. The results were mixed; noodles were slipping off, dangling, and being caught by hand at the last moment. She looked at Tilly, who was practically vibrating with pride by the sideboard.
"Right," she said, setting down her cup. "I'm leaving tomorrow."
The table went quiet instantly. Jack set down his fork, the sound of metal against ceramic sharp in the silence. "Tomorrow?"
Saoirse shrugged, but something flickered underneath the movement. "I have been cooped up in this house for a year. A full year, Jack. If I stay any longer, my muscles will twist into knots and I will forget how to move."
Jane's expression shifted. She had known this was coming; they all had. Saoirse wasn't a creature built for staying still, and a year in one place was an eternity for her. But knowing didn't make the words easier.
"Morwenna is fine now," Saoirse continued, watching her niece eat. "She is healthy, she is strong, and she is eating noodles with her fingers." She gestured at the child, who had indeed abandoned the fork entirely. "She has both of you, and Mum and Dad, and the entire manor looking after her. She doesn't need me underfoot."
"You aren't underfoot," Jack said.
"I absolutely am." A ghost of her usual grin appeared. "I have been underfoot for twelve months. Tilly has been very polite about it, but I know he has stepped over my legs at least four hundred times."
Tilly's ears twitched. He said nothing, but his expression suggested the number might be higher.
Saoirse leaned forward, her elbows on the table. Her voice dropped, losing its teasing edge. "Besides, I can search for information while I travel. The phoenix thing. The cold fire. I have contacts all over the world, Jack. People who owe me favours and people who know things they shouldn't."
Jack stayed quiet for a long moment. The fire crackled. Morwenna reached for another dumpling. Cinder, who had followed them down, sat under the table with his head on his paws, waiting for anything that might fall.
"How long?" Jack asked.
"About a year." She looked at Morwenna. "I will be back before she turns four. I want to be here for that."
Morwenna looked up at the mention of her age and held up four fingers. She looked at them and counted silently. "Four?"
"Four," Saoirse confirmed. "When you turn four, I will be here. I promise."
Morwenna considered this, looking at Saoirse for a long moment with steady green eyes. Then she reached for another dumpling. Saoirse grinned, her expression softening for just a moment. She looked at Jack. "I will come back. I always do."
Jack nodded. He picked up his fork and set it down again, not trusting his voice.
Saoirse turned to Jane. "And I want to travel with my dear brother next year. And my brilliant niece. And my best sister-in-law, too." Real warmth sat underneath her usual cheek.
Jane smiled. "We will hold you to that."
Saoirse stood up, stretching her arms above her head. "Good. Now, I'm going to pack. Tilly, save me some of those dumplings. I will be back for lunch."
She walked out before anyone could say anything else. Her footsteps echoed in the corridor and then faded into the house's distance.
The table remained quiet after she left. Morwenna reached for another dumpling, and Tilly materialised at her elbow with a fresh plate before her hand had even fully extended. She took one, bit into it carefully, and chewed with focused attention.
Jack picked up his fork and set it down again, staring at the space where his sister had been sitting. He looked at the cooling tea she had abandoned and at the mismatched socks she had left on the floor.
Seraphina spoke quietly. "She will be back before you know it. She always comes back."
Jack nodded but didn't speak.
Aldric reached for the teapot, refilling his cup with steady hands. "The research is important. If anyone can find what we need, it's Saoirse. She has contacts even I don't know about." He paused. "And she needs to move. You know that."
Jack nodded again.
Morwenna finished her third dumpling and looked around the table. Her green eyes moved from face to face, reading the adults. She saw the tightness in her father's jaw, the stillness in her mother's hand, and the way her grandparents waited. She didn't understand all the words, but she understood the shape of them.
"Saoirse coming back," she said.
Jack looked at her, the tightness in his jaw easing just slightly. "Yes. She always does."
Morwenna nodded, satisfied, and reached for another dumpling.
The table emptied gradually. Aldric and Seraphina retreated to the library, their voices low as they discussed research leads. Jack stood, kissed Jane's forehead, and followed them. The morning room grew quieter as the fire crackled and the dishes slowly vanished.
Jane stayed at the table with Morwenna. The child ate methodically, working through the remaining dumplings. When the plate was empty, she pointed at the other dishes. Jane named them again: rice, noodles, eggs with tomatoes. Morwenna repeated each word, her pronunciation careful.
"Which one did you like best?"
Morwenna considered this, her brow furrowed. She pointed at the empty dumpling plate. "Dumplings."
"Those were your favourite?"
"Yes." She paused. "And noodles. And rice. And eggs." She looked at Jane. "I liked all."
Jane smiled. "That's good. That is how it should be."
Morwenna slid off her chair, her feet hitting the stone floor. She was only in her socks now, having kicked off her shoes under the table. She looked at the blue trainers sitting neatly where she had left them. She considered putting them back on but decided against it. She walked to the window instead, her socked feet silent on the stone.
The garden stretched beyond the glass, grey and green. The snowdrop patch was a distant white smudge near the hedge. She counted quickly. Nineteen. No, twenty. The new one was smaller and just barely open, but she could see it.