Time moved differently when you were waiting for something, especially when you couldn't stop looking forward to it.
Morwenna had learned this over the past weeks, though she couldn't have put the sensation into words. The days stretched and compressed; sometimes they dragged so slowly she could feel each hour pressing against her ribs like a physical weight, and sometimes they snapped forward so fast she blinked and another morning had already arrived. She had been waiting for almost a year.
It wasn't the heavy waiting she had known when her Gran-père and Gran-ma left, which was the kind that settled in her chest like a cold stone. This was different. This was the waiting of a held breath, of a hand hovering just above a smooth surface, or of a body coiled and ready to spring into motion.
The mundane world.
Her family had been preparing her for it for months. They used books with glossy pages, persistent questions, and bright pictures of cars and buses. She saw playgrounds with slides that curved like silver snakes, and streets where people walked without magic and still found their way home.
Jane had told her about traffic lights and crosswalks, explaining the little green man who appeared when it's safe to cross the road. Jack had described London's streets, the shop windows filled with things no one needed and everyone wanted, and the parks where children ran and screamed and fell down only to get up again.
Morwenna listened to all of it. She stored every word in the same place she kept the names of snowdrops, the shapes of ancient runes, and the weight of frost in her palm. Her curiosity only grew, rising higher until it felt as if it might spill over her lips.
She imagined herself doing all those things. She would walk on pavement that wasn't stone. She would watch a traffic light change from red to green. She would ride in a car, which Jane said was like a carriage but faster and without horses. That part made no sense to her, but she believed it anyway. She would eat food from a place called a restaurant, where people brought you things you hadn't cooked yourself.
Sometimes, when she thought no one was watching, she let herself feel the excitement.
She was in the nursery, alone except for Cinder, who watched her from the bed with his ears perked. She had been trying to tie her trainers, but the laces kept tangling into knots. She had been focusing so hard her tongue had slipped out between her lips. Then suddenly, she thought of the bus. It was the big red bus from the picture book, the one that carried so many people at once that Jane had said, "More than our family." Morwenna had tried to imagine that many people in one place and failed.
A laugh slipped free. She clapped a hand over her mouth, her green eyes wide, then laughed again because her hand was there and that made the whole thing even sillier.
Cinder's tail thumped against the mattress.
She glanced at the door, but no one came. She looked back at her trainers and the laces that had come undone again, and her body did something strange. It vibrated, like the kettle her mother mentioned when the water was about to boil.
A soft hum ran through her, starting in her stomach and spreading to her fingers, her toes, and even the tips of ears. Her hands curled at her sides and her knees bent slightly, as if she might spring up at any moment and run somewhere, anywhere.
She asked her mother about the mundane world every day now.
What were the colours of the doors? Did the birds look the same? Would there be other children to play with? Did the moon look the same from there?
Jane answered each question with the same steady patience, though sometimes her mother's smile shifted, as if she were saving the answer for later, for when Morwenna could finally see it all with her own eyes.
"Tomorrow," she whispered.
Or maybe it was today. She had lost track. The days had blurred together, each one bringing her closer to something she could almost touch.
Saoirse had promised to be back before her birthday, and Saoirse kept her promises. When she came back, they would go to the mundane world. The real one. The one with cars and buses and playgrounds and people who didn't know magic existed.
Morwenna's hands left the floor. She stood, took two steps, and ran. The corridor was empty, but she ran down it anyway, her trainers slapping against the stone floor and her white hair flying behind her. She didn't know where she was running to; she just needed to move. Her legs pumped and her arms swung and her breath came in short, sharp gasps that were almost, but not quite, laughter.
She stopped at the top of the stairs. Below her, the entrance hall spread out in grey stone and silver light. The central fountain murmured. The portraits watched. She leaned over the railing, her fingers gripping the polished wood, and looked down at the empty space.
She imagined Saoirse there. She saw her standing in the middle of the hall with her dark hair wild, her grin sharp, and her voice loud enough to fill every corner. She would come through the front door, not the Floo, because she was Saoirse and she never didn't anything the ordinary way. She would sweep Morwenna up before the girl could even run to her, and she would laugh, and the laugh would be the first real thing Morwenna had heard in months.
Morwenna's body vibrated again. She pressed her forehead against the railing and let the feeling happen.
. . .
In the mornings, Morwenna sat on the rug with her books spread around her. The board books with the thick pages were scattered, their bright covers showing cows and buses and playground slides. She knew them by heart now. She didn't need to look at the words anymore; she just looked at the pictures, her finger tracing the lines of a building, the curve of a slide, or the round shape of a steering wheel.
"Bus," she whispered to Cinder, who lay beside her with his head on his paws. "Car."
Cinder's ears swivelled. He was very patient with this.
She turned to the page with the playground. A girl went down a slide, her arms up and her mouth open in a laugh that was frozen in the picture. Morwenna had asked Jane what the girl was feeling, and Jane had said it was joy. Morwenna had asked if she would feel that too, and Jane had said yes.
She closed the book and held it against her chest. Her trainers were beside her, the laces undone, waiting for a day that was still weeks away. "The stone will be here soon," she told Cinder. "From the mountains. It's never warm."
Cinder's ears flattened slightly. He didn't understand the stone. He understood her, mostly, but the stone confused him.
It was something she thought about when she was supposed to be napping. She thought about the phoenix that fell from the sky like a star. These things lived in her head now, alongside the pictures of buses, and she didn't know how to sort them yet. They were all just things she was waiting to understand.
Tilly appeared in the doorway, the house-elf's large ears twitching. "The little miss wants lunch?"
She looked at the window. The light had shifted from morning to afternoon without her noticing. She had been sitting there for hours, probably, and her legs were asleep. "Yes."
She stood up and her legs buzzed with pins and needles. She grabbed the doorframe to steady herself while Cinder pressed against her ankles, waiting for her to move. She ate lunch in the morning room, alone except for Tilly and the portraits.
The old woman with white hair watched her from her frame, her painted head tilted. Isolde was asleep, which she did sometimes in the afternoons, but Edmund was awake, his eyes following Morwenna's fork from plate to mouth.
"Are you excited?" Edmund asked.
Morwenna chewed her food and swallowed. "Yes."
"When I was small, I wanted to see the sea. I had never seen it. I thought about it every day. It was all I could think about."
Morwenna looked at him. "Did you go?"
"I went. It was very loud. The water moved all the time, and it smelled strange, and I didn't like it at first." Edmund smiled, his painted mouth curving slowly. "I liked it later. After I got used to it."
She finished her lunch and carried her plate to the kitchen. Tilly took it from her with both hands, his large eyes bright. "The little miss is very ready," he said.
"Yes."
He made a small sound, something between a laugh and a sigh. "Tilly will pack good things for when the little miss travels. Snacks, and warm things, and..."
"You aren't coming," she said.
Tilly's ears drooped. "Tilly will stay. The manor needs Tilly. The little miss will come back."
She patted the elf's hand. "I will come back."
She went back to the morning room and climbed onto the settee. The books were still spread across the low table. She looked at the bus, the car, and the playground. She looked at the girl going down the slide, her mouth open and her arms in the air.
She imagined herself on the slide. Her arms were up, her mouth was open, and the wind was in her hair. She let out a small, silly laugh. Her whole body shook with it, and she clamped her hands over her mouth, but it kept coming. It was a bright sound that bounced off the stone walls.
The old woman cleared her throat from her frame. "Are you quite all right?"
She nodded, still laughing, her shoulders shaking with joy.
Isolde woke up. "What is happening?"
"She is excited," Edmund said.
Morwenna laughed harder.
. . .
Morwenna had been on her way to the library, Cinder at her heels, when the front door slammed open with a sound that echoed like thunder through the high rafters. The portraits all turned at once. The central fountain rippled, and the water sloshed against the stone basin. Saoirse stood in the doorway, her black hair messy and her eyes flashing with life.
She was thinner than Morwenna remembered. Her face was sharper, the bones more visible under her skin, and her hair was shorter. It was hacked off unevenly at her shoulders as if she had done it herself with something that wasn't scissors. Her travelling cloak was torn at the hem and stained dark with something that might have been mud or might have been something else.
She was grinning. "Little monster," she said. "I'm back."
Morwenna ran. She didn't think about it. Her legs moved before her brain caught up, her trainers slapping against the stone and her arms pumping. Cinder barked behind her, surprised, and then he was running too.
She hit Saoirse at full force. Saoirse caught her, staggered back a step, and then her arms were around Morwenna. Her face pressed into Morwenna's hair and her whole body shook with laughter that sounded as if it had been stored up for months.
"You are heavy," Saoirse said. "You are so heavy! What have they been feeding you? You are enormous, you are..."
Morwenna squeezed her neck. She could feel Saoirse's shoulder bones under her hands and the sharp ridge of her spine. She was too thin, but she was here.
"You came back," Morwenna said.
"I said I would." Saoirse pulled back, her hands on Morwenna's shoulders, and looked at her face. Her eyes were bright, there was dirt on her cheek, and her grin was the widest Morwenna had ever seen.
"You climbed a mountain," Morwenna said.
"I climbed several mountains."
"Was it cold?"
Saoirse's grin widened. "The coldest thing I have ever felt. And I have felt you make frost in July."
Jane appeared at the top of the stairs. She came down slowly, her eyes fixed on Saoirse's face and the torn cloak. "Saoirse."
Saoirse looked up. Her grin softened into something smaller, something that looked more like relief. "Jane."
"You are thin," Jane said, her French accent softening the concern.
"I'm efficient."
"You look like you haven't slept in a month."
"I have not. There are a lot of stars in the Himalayas. You can't just not look at them."
Jane made a sound that was almost a laugh. She stepped forward and put her arms around Saoirse, and Saoirse let her, which was a thing she did always do. They held each other for a moment longer than their usual greetings, and when they pulled apart, Jane's eyes were bright.
"Welcome home," Jane said.
Saoirse nodded. She didn't say anything, but her hand came up and pressed against Jane's shoulder for a second in a quick, hard pressure. Then she was moving again, already talking about the journey, about the mountains, and about the cold that was so deep it felt like falling.
Morwenna followed her into the entrance hall, half-walking and half-skipping, her hand reaching for Saoirse's sleeve every few steps. Cinder had appeared from somewhere and was weaving between their legs, his tail a blur.
"I need to sleep," Saoirse announced. She stopped in the middle of the hall and stretched, her arms reaching toward the high ceiling and her back arching. "I need to sleep for three days. Maybe four. Maybe a week."
"That can be arranged," Seraphina said from somewhere behind them.
"But first," Saoirse crouched down, bringing herself to Morwenna's height. Her face was tired, the kind of tired that settled into bones and stayed there, but her eyes were bright. "I have to eat something that isn't dried meat and prayer. I have to let my body remember what it feels like to be warm."
Morwenna nodded. She understood needing to rest. She had needed to rest after the ritual, after the fever, and after all the things that had taken more from her than she knew she had.
"But after." Saoirse's voice dropped. Her hand came up and she tapped Morwenna's nose with one finger. "After I'm done resting, I have something to tell you. Something special."
Morwenna's eyes went wide. "What?"
Saoirse's grin turned sharp. She pressed a finger to her own lips, then to Morwenna's. Her black eyebrows went up and her eyes danced with mischief. "You will find out," she said.
Then she winked. The wink was quick and bright, and it landed in Morwenna's chest like a spark. She didn't know what it meant, not yet, but she knew it meant something.
It meant secrets. It meant the kind of thing you didn't tell everyone, only the people you chose. She nodded again, harder this time, and Saoirse laughed and stood and disappeared up the stairs with Jack following to make sure she found her room.