Sylvaine Rosier left after breakfast, just as punctually as she had arrived.
She came downstairs at the exact moment the meal began, the soft rustle of her skirts accompanying the grandfather clock's ticking. She ate without lingering, exchanging a few words with Jack about a pending Keith family matter between bites of toast.
When breakfast ended, she accepted the carved serpent Morwenna solemnly offered her, handling the polished wooden figure with care.
Then she rose, already ready to leave.
"Thank you," she said to Jack and Jane. For a moment, genuine warmth softened her usual reserved expression. She looked at Morwenna and rested a hand briefly on the girl's head. "Happy birthday, little one."
"Bye," Morwenna replied, watching her with a serious expression.
Sylvaine's lips curved into a faint smile. She collected her heavy wool travelling cloak from the rack by the door and stepped into the Floo. The fire flared green, casting emerald light across the dining room before returning to its usual orange glow.
Morwenna watched the hearth for a moment, then turned towards Viviane, who sat two seats away. She pointed at the empty chair beside her without saying a word, clearly expecting Viviane to move.
Viviane obliged and took the seat.
By mid-morning, the household had naturally divided into two groups. The French gathered in the sitting room, while the British settled in the study. No one had arranged it that way. Everyone simply went where they felt most comfortable.
The sitting room was filled with morning sunlight. Celestine worked through her correspondence, her quill scratching across cream-coloured parchment, while Lucien sipped his tea and looked out at the gardens.
Raphaël had found something interesting in the Keith library and was absorbed in reading. Luelle sat with the preserved indigo flowers Morwenna had received as a gift spread across her knees, explaining various preservation charms to Elara with animated gestures.
Jane occupied the armchair nearest the window, sunlight catching the strands in her hair.
Viviane sat on the floor, a position she would never have adopted in professional company. Morwenna sat on her lap, with Cinder stretched across both of them. The fox's tail occasionally twitched against Viviane's arm as Morwenna examined the buttons on her travelling cloak.
« Celui-ci (This one), » Morwenna said, pointing at a button.
"That one is decorative," Viviane whispered conspiratorially.
Morwenna tugged at it with her left hand, frowning in concentration.
"It does nothing," Viviane confirmed.
Morwenna tried again, as though pulling harder might reveal some hidden mechanism.
« Toujours rien (Still nothing). »
She studied the button suspiciously, apparently unconvinced that she had exhausted all possibilities.
Jane watched them over the rim of her teacup. Her family was gathered around her, and the morning passed without demands or interruptions. The blue journal remained locked away upstairs, and for now, she allowed herself to enjoy the peace.
Meanwhile, the British had gathered in the study.
Jack was already at the heavy oak desk when his parents arrived. Aldric considered an early start part of a Head of House's duties. The position required a sharp mind and constant attention to even the smallest details of the family's affairs.
He settled into the high-backed armchair by the window with a leather-bound book and began reading without disturbing his son. Jack appreciated his father's ability to share a room without expecting conversation. They had worked side by side for years, and neither needed to fill the silence. The occasional rustle of a page and the ticking clock were enough.
The fire burned steadily in the hearth while Jack's quill moved across the parchment on his desk.
Seraphina took out her knitting.
Few outsiders knew about this particular hobby. It seemed at odds with the composed, formidable image she presented to the world, but she approached knitting with the same care she gave everything else. The Keith family owned more finely crafted wool garments than any other dark family in Britain, much of that thanks to her skill.
She settled by the window and worked on a complicated pattern in forest green and silver. Her polished bone needles moved swiftly through the yarn, their soft clicking joining the sounds of the study.
This was how the Keith family spent its quiet mornings in private. There were no formal postures or carefully maintained appearances, no need to impress anyone. They could simply sit together and get on with their own work.
The peaceful morning lasted until Saoirse appeared.
She leaned against the dark wooden doorway in casual clothes that looked as though she had pulled them at random from a travel trunk. Her dark hair was gathered into a messy bun, with a few loose strands framing her face.
She held a steaming cup of tea in one hand and absently scratched Cinder behind the ears with the other. The fox had followed her from the sitting room to the study, and she had made no attempt to send him away.
She looked at Jack.
Then she looked at his desk.
A closer look made her eyes widen.
Letters were stacked in neat but intimidating piles. Open ledgers lay beside three documents awaiting formal signatures, their wax seals ready. A half-finished letter in Jack's precise handwriting occupied the centre of the blotter, while another pile of correspondence had spread towards the silver inkwell.
Saoirse stared at the mess of paperwork with growing horror.
"This," she said slowly, breaking the silence, "is a normal day for you?"
"More or less," Jack replied without looking up. His quill continued moving across the page.
Saoirse approached the desk as though investigating the aftermath of a natural disaster. She set her tea on one of the few empty patches, picked up the top letter from a smaller pile, and read the first three lines. Then she returned it to its exact place and looked at her brother.
"Every day?"
"Most days."
She stared at the top of his head for a moment before placing a hand on his shoulder and patting it three times with exaggerated sympathy.
"Little brother," she said gravely. "Your life is so difficult. Now I understand why I chose not to have it."
"Good thing," Jack replied, the corner of his mouth twitching.
"I would be bald by now." She touched her own hair to make sure it was still there. "Not a single strand left. Just a shiny, stressed scalp reflecting the candlelight."
"Someone has to do it."
"Someone didn't have to do it. Someone chose to. That distinction matters, Jack."
"I appreciate the clarification."
From his armchair, Aldric spoke without looking up from his book.
"Saoirse. Stop bothering your brother."
She turned, keeping her hand on Jack's shoulder.
"Bothering?" Her dark eyebrows rose. "I'm offering comfort."
"You are interrupting a man who is trying to work."
"I'm acknowledging his suffering."
"He doesn't need acknowledgement. He needs quiet."
Aldric lowered his book and peered over its edge. His expression was the same one he had given Saoirse for more than thirty years.
"How," he asked calmly, "did I produce you?"
Saoirse opened her mouth, but he continued before she could answer.
"I'm calm. Your mother is calm. We are composed people. We raised composed children." He glanced towards Jack, whose quill continued scratching across the parchment. "One composed child."
Then he looked back at his daughter.
"And then whatever you are."
"Daddy!"
Saoirse immediately adopted the high, wheedling tone she had perfected at the age of nine, usually when asking for a new broom or another week in somewhere. Jack's quill faltered, leaving a small blot of ink on his parchment.
"Am I not your beloved daughter? How could you scold me in front of Jack? In front of Cinder?" She gestured dramatically towards the fennec fox, who was sniffing the mahogany desk leg. "Cinder is right there. Think of his delicate sensibilities!"
Cinder's ears twitched at the sound of his name, but he remained occupied with the intriguing scents of old wax and wood polish.
"Cinder is a fox," Aldric said flatly, returning to his book. "He has no opinion on the matter."
"You can't prove that. He might be judging you right now."
Aldric's jaw tightened slightly. He let out a long breath, closed his book, and marked his place with one finger.
"How old are you, exactly?"
"Old enough to know better," Saoirse replied brightly, her eyes gleaming with mischief, "and young enough not to care."
Before he could respond, she crossed the room and perched on the arm of his chair. A moment later, she slid straight into his lap as naturally as if she were still a little girl.
She was no small woman. The heavy chair groaned beneath their combined weight, and the leather creaked as its wooden frame shifted.
Aldric accepted the intrusion with the weary resignation of a father who had long since stopped expecting his daughter to behave sensibly. He kept hold of his book, though he had to raise it to see over her shoulder.
"You are thirty-six years old," he said, his voice muffled against her shoulder.
"I know." Saoirse settled more comfortably into his lap, as though the Head of House's chair were the most natural place for her to sit. She looked up at him, resting her chin against his chest. "Still young enough to do this, though. Daddy. Beloved father. Light of my childhood."
"Don't."
"Star of the Keith firmament."
"Saoirse."
"Daddy."
"You are thirty-six years old."
"Age is only a number."
"It's a number that suggests you should sit in your own chair."
"Aldric."
Seraphina set her knitting aside. Her bone needles clicked together as she tucked them into the yarn. Then she rose and crossed the room.
She stopped beside her husband and looked at their daughter sprawled across his lap. Without a word, she took Saoirse by the shoulders and lifted her out of the chair, moving her to her own side with the ease of someone who had been relocating this particular child from inappropriate places since infancy.
"How could you compare our daughter to a monkey?" Seraphina asked. Her voice was stern, though a hint of amusement showed in her eyes.
Aldric blinked.
"I haven't used the word monkey."
"You were thinking it."
"I was thinking several things, none of which involved primates."
Saoirse leaned out from under her mother's arm and stuck her tongue out at him. Aldric glanced at the ceiling as if asking some higher authority for patience.
"This," he said, gesturing towards the two of them, "is what happens when you spoil her."
"I spoiled her," Seraphina replied smoothly. "And I spoiled Jack. Equally. Look at them."
"My point exactly."
"What is wrong with Jack?" Saoirse asked, glancing towards the desk, where her brother continued working as though none of this concerned him.
"Nothing is wrong with Jack. He is composed, responsible, and runs this family with admirable competence."
"Jack is buried under paperwork at nine in the morning."
"He is doing what a Head of House does."
"Jack hasn't looked up once since I entered the room."
"That's called discipline."
Saoirse patted Aldric's knee.
"You love me more," she declared confidently.
"Saoirse," Seraphina warned.
Saoirse closed her mouth at once. She looked at her mother, then seemed about to protest.
"Saoirse."
This time, she stayed quiet and leaned against Seraphina's side, accepting a temporary ceasefire in the ongoing family dispute.
Aldric studied his daughter for a moment. Then his expression grew more thoughtful.
"When," he asked, "are you going to settle down?"
Saoirse straightened so abruptly that she nearly escaped her mother's hold. She took a step back, raising both hands defensively.
"Absolutely not. We aren't doing this."
"It's a reasonable question."
"It's an ambush."
"Your brother has a child. You are thirty-six."
"You mentioned that already."
"It deserves repetition."
Saoirse turned to her mother, her eyes wide with a desperate appeal for help.
"Mommy."
Seraphina considered the matter with the patience of someone who had been listening to this argument since Saoirse was twenty-two. She glanced at her daughter's travel-worn clothes, then towards the window.
"You do spend a great deal of time travelling," she observed.
Saoirse stared at her mother in open betrayal.
"Whose side are you on, then?" she asked in a wounded whisper.
"I don't have sides. I simply make observations," Seraphina replied, her knitting needles clicking as she worked through a difficult turn in the pattern.
"That wasn't an observation. That was a direct attack."
"A child would be lovely, Saoirse. Truly."
"Mommy."
"I'm not pressuring you, darling."
"You are cornering me."
"I'm merely saying that Morwenna is wonderful, and having more grandchildren would be wonderful for the family, too."
"And where are they supposed to come from? Will they simply pop out of a stone?" Saoirse demanded, gesturing towards the windows. "I travel constantly! I barely have a permanent address. I live out of trunks, and half the time, I don't even know which country I will be in by next Tuesday!"
"People have managed with less," Aldric remarked without looking up from his book.
"People have made exceptionally poor decisions with less."
"You could travel less. It's a choice."
Saoirse stared at him as though he had suggested she stop breathing. For a moment, she stood motionless, her tea cooling in her hand.
"No."
"Saoirse."
"No. Daddy, I love you, but no."
Jack finally set down his quill. The soft click against the desk drew everyone's attention. He leaned back in his chair, his green eyes bright with amusement as he looked at his father.
"Father, you know she gets it from you."
Aldric slowly turned his head, peering over his spectacles.
"The restlessness," Jack continued. "The energy. The inability to sit still unless something completely occupies your attention." He gestured towards Saoirse, who looked ready to argue with the entire room. "Where do you think that came from?"
Aldric opened his mouth, then closed it again. He looked at Saoirse before turning back to Jack.
"That's entirely different. My interests are scholarly."
"Are they? Truly?"
"I'm a composed man, Jack."
"You reorganised the entire Keith library in three days because you disliked the catalogue system. You barely slept until you finished."
"That was a necessary improvement to the archives."
"You reorganised it again six months later because you found a better cross-reference system."
"Efficiency is important in a private collection."
"Father." Jack picked up his quill and tapped the feather against his chin. "She inherited it from you. Mother makes the trait look charming, but you provided the raw material."
Aldric fell silent, looking between his two children as the fire crackled in the hearth.
Seraphina's eyes sparkled with laughter, though her expression remained composed.
Saoirse pointed triumphantly at her brother.
"I love him. He is my favourite brother."
"I'm your only brother, Saoirse."
"Still my favourite."
Aldric looked up at the ceiling with long-suffering resignation. Seraphina's knitting needles resumed their steady clicking.
"He isn't wrong, Aldric," she said mildly.
He turned towards his wife, but she remained focused on the green and silver wool in her hands.
"I'm surrounded," Aldric declared with mock dignity. "Surrounded by disloyal people."
"We are very loyal," Saoirse called from the settee, where she had settled with her legs swinging over the edge. "We are loyal to the truth."
"The truth? Is that what we are calling it now?"
"The truth that you are exactly like me, and it bothers you to see yourself reflected in someone else."
"I'm nothing like you. I'm a picture of restraint."
"Daddy."
Aldric raised his book and hid behind its leather cover, bringing the discussion to an end.
The study gradually returned to its usual quiet, though it was a little warmer and more chaotic than before. Saoirse sprawled across the settee, her feet hanging over one arm while her tea sat forgotten on the floor. Aldric held his book at a stiff angle, apparently determined to ignore the reality of his children.
Jack returned to the daunting stack of parchment on his left.
The stack on his right remained exactly as tall as before.
He had long suspected that acknowledging it would only encourage it.
He was beginning to think it had already grown powerful enough to threaten him.