Late February slipped towards March beneath grey skies and the slow thaw of winter.
The manor grounds grew muddy as the earth soaked up the melting snow and rain. The gravel paths became slippery, and the lake finally shed its thin layer of ice, revealing dark water that rippled beneath the passing wind.
Morwenna spent more time indoors, sheltered from the damp cold. She often stood at the nursery window, her pale face close to the glass, watching the grounds outside turn into shades of muddy brown and moss green. Her breath fogged the pane whenever she leaned too close.
With so much time indoors, her knitting improved considerably.
Two stitches became four, and before long, she had made an uneven rectangle of navy-blue wool. It was crooked and lumpy, but the warmth of her hands had softened the yarn. More importantly, she had made it herself, and she carried it everywhere.
Whenever she passed someone in the hallway or morning room, she held it up proudly.
"I made this."
Seraphina always examined it with the same care, holding it up to the grey daylight and turning it between her fingers.
"You did," she would say, smoothing her thumb over the uneven stitches. "Your tension is improving. Look here, little one."
She pointed out a row where the stitches were more even than the rest, a small sign of how much Morwenna had improved.
Morwenna leaned closer, squinting at the wool until her nose nearly touched it.
"Perfect?"
"Almost. With a little more practice, you will soon be able to make something useful."
Morwenna nodded solemnly, satisfied with that answer. She tucked the knitted piece into her green serpent pouch, beside the small cloth bundle containing her dagger's sheath. After pressing a palm against the pouch to make sure everything was secure, she went off to find Saoirse.
Meanwhile, the library had become Aldric's second home.
Stacks of old books covered the tables, their leather bindings worn with age. Aldric worked through them one by one, his attention unwavering. The scratch of his quill against parchment filled the room, accompanied by the occasional crackle of the fire.
Jack joined him most afternoons, reading over his father's shoulder and gradually becoming more familiar with the intricate language of runes.
They had narrowed their search to the essentials.
The Keiths had never been particular about whether a rune came from one island tradition or another. What mattered was whether it held its shape, endured within the blood, and responded to magic without distorting it. If a rune met those requirements, they kept it.
One afternoon, Aldric cleared a space on the mahogany table and laid out a fresh sheet of parchment.
"These are the six Keith runes," he said.
He wrote them down one by one, allowing the ink to dry between each symbol.
Algiz (ᛉ), Protection.
The rune represented a connection to something greater than oneself. Its shape resembled a person raising their arms, open and unafraid. When inscribed, it brought warmth along the spine, much like the reassuring feeling of being protected even when standing alone.
Ehwaz (ᛖ), Trust and partnership.
This rune governed the bond between the body and its magic, helping the two work together as one. Its shape consisted of two lines joined at an angle, like two horses moving side by side. Those who bore it felt a steady pulse beneath their skin, reassuring as a heartbeat.
Uruz (ᚢ), Strength and endurance.
Representing the wild ox, this rune stood for untamed but grounded strength. Its curved lines suggested power held firmly under control. When applied, it caused a deep, familiar ache in the muscles, like the pleasant exhaustion after a long day of play.
Nautiz (ᚾ), Necessity and the discipline that comes from restraint.
Known as the need-fire, this rune represented the pressure that forced change, like the friction between two stones that produced a spark. It felt like being gently held in place, unable to move but without any sense of fear.
Isa (ᛁ), Stillness, focus, and preservation.
The simplest of the six, Isa was a single vertical line, like ice forming across a still pond. It brought a cool clarity to the mind, much like holding frost in one's palm during a moment of perfect quiet.
Othala (ᛟ), Inheritance and what rightfully belongs to oneself.
This rune represented a home, an enclosed space, or ancestral land. Its angular shape marked boundaries meant to protect rather than confine. When applied, it brought a deep sense of belonging in the centre of the chest, like roots finally finding rich soil after a long journey.
Jack studied the parchment, his gaze lingering on the familiar symbols.
"I remember these," he said quietly. "Perhaps not their names, but I remember how they felt."
Aldric nodded. "That's to be expected."
"Uruz especially. The ache stayed with me for weeks."
His father's expression softened briefly. "The body remembers strength long after the mind forgets the lesson."
Jack let out a slow breath and looked over the six runes again.
"Six. We still need four more."
The letter from Celestine arrived on a damp Thursday morning, delivered by an owl whose feathers were still wet from the rain.
Jane opened it at the breakfast table, holding the parchment carefully between her hands. Across from her, Morwenna watched her mother while eating her porridge, her silver spoon slowing with each bite.
Jane read the letter once, then went through it again, her eyes moving over Celestine's elegant handwriting. When she finally looked up, a flicker of hope had brightened her expression.
"Maman sends her love. She has also sent us something."
She turned the parchment around so the others could see the symbol Celestine had drawn.
It was the Awen symbol.
Three distinct lines rose upwards, meeting at the top like rays of light breaking through heavy clouds. Unlike the runes Aldric had been studying, it didn't come from the Norse or Germanic traditions. It belonged to the Evans line, part of an older branch of their family's ritual practice.
Jane read Celestine's explanation aloud.
"It encourages the flow of magic without placing a burden on the soul. For children with multiple inheritances, it reminds the blood that different lineages can move together naturally."
Aldric leaned closer to examine the symbol, studying its angles until he had memorised their arrangement.
"It should fit," he said. "It doesn't conflict with the Keith runes. Instead of forcing the different lineages together, it helps bridge the gaps between them."
Jack glanced at Jane, his brow furrowing.
"And what will she feel when it's applied?"
Jane continued reading.
"A gentle vibration. A soft hum beneath the skin. No pain, just a presence."
The letter passed around the breakfast table, each adult taking a closer look at the drawing and its accompanying notes.
Morwenna followed it with her eyes, turning her head as it moved from one person to the next. When it finally left her sight, she looked back at Jane.
"Grand-ma?"
"She sent us something to help you, ma chérie."
Morwenna seemed satisfied with that answer. She returned to her porridge and finished the rest of her breakfast.
.....
That afternoon, Jane sat with her daughter in the morning room.
Morwenna was arranging her wooden animals in neat lines across the rug, placing each one with surprising care. Her small hands moved with clear purpose, and she kept adjusting their positions until everything was exactly where she wanted it.
Cinder lay among the toys, quite content to serve as a mountain or an obstacle whenever Morwenna decided he was in the way.
She spoke to him softly in Parseltongue, her quiet hissing words steady and unhurried.
Picking up a carved fox, she placed it on the rug, studied its position, then moved it a little to the left. She adjusted it once more before finally nodding in satisfaction.
Jane sat on the settee, her embroidery forgotten in her lap as she watched.
There was a purpose behind nearly everything Morwenna did. Even her pauses seemed deliberate, as though she were working something out in her head. Every so often, she tilted her head as if listening to something no one else could hear. Then she would reach for another wooden animal without looking and find it exactly where she expected.
Jane slipped a hand into her pocket and took out the small journal she used to record her daughter's development. She uncapped her quill and began writing.
February 24.
Arranging her wooden animals. Adjusts their positions by small amounts until satisfied. She seems unwilling to leave anything out of place.
Speaks to Cinder in Parseltongue, using short sentences. Appears to pause for a response. Can reach for objects without looking and rarely misses.
Jane capped her quill and returned her attention to the rug.
Morwenna suddenly looked up, meeting her mother's gaze.
"Maman watching."
Jane smiled. "Yes, ma chérie. Maman is watching you."
"Why?"
"Because I like watching you play."
Morwenna considered her answer for a moment, then nodded and returned to her animals.
Jane opened her journal again and added one final observation.
Noticed me watching, accepted my explanation, and returned to playing without becoming upset.
. . .
Finding the right channelling runes proved far more difficult.
Aldric found references scattered across a dozen old texts. Some described runes designed for specific bloodlines, while others recorded the sensations they produced without showing their actual forms. He compared the accounts, checked them against one another, and gradually ruled out dozens of possibilities.
Eventually, three runes emerged as the strongest candidates.
The first was the Veela Rune.
It belonged to no widely known tradition. Instead, it was a custom mark developed generations ago for a Keith who had married into the Veela bloodline. The surviving notes were sparse, but their descriptions were clear enough.
The rune consisted of five to seven curved, parallel lines rising from a base line. Its shape resembled heat shimmering above a fire or warmth rising from the skin.
It represented grace, presence, and a connection to living things. When activated, it produced a gentle warmth that spread outwards from the mark. The sensation was neither harsh nor burning, but more like stepping into the sunlight after several days of grey weather.
Aldric found the earliest useful account in a journal dated 1723. The handwriting was cramped, and the ink had faded with age, but the words remained legible.
The child responded well. The warmth did not frighten her. She said it felt like being held by someone who loved her. The mark settled cleanly, without rejection.
Aldric copied the rune onto a fresh sheet of parchment, carefully checking its shape against the original.
The second was the Lethifold Rune.
This was another custom mark, developed within the Noctua line for those who carried shadow in their blood. Its shape consisted of three or four angular, folded forms, resembling cloth draped into sharp creases.
It represented stillness, concealment, and acceptance of what lurked in the dark. When activated, it produced a sensation of cool depth, bringing such complete quiet that the outside world seemed muffled. It did not feel cold. Rather, it was the absence of noise.
The surviving account dated back to 1589. The writer had tested the rune on herself before using it on anyone else.
I sat within the circle and allowed the rune to take hold. For three hours, I felt nothing but quiet. No thoughts, no worries, only the deep stillness of a forest at night. When I finally rose, my husband said I had not moved once. I had not even blinked. The rune works.
Aldric read the passage twice before copying the symbol.
The third was Jera (ᛃ).
Unlike the other two, Jera came from an established runic tradition. Known as the harvest rune, it represented cycles and the return of things in their proper time. Its shape consisted of interlocking forms that suggested the turning of a year, one season following another.
Jera stood for natural progression and trust in the changing seasons. When activated, it created a steady rhythm of expansion and release, much like breathing or waiting with the knowledge that the wait would eventually end.
Aldric found references to this rune in every text he consulted. Its effects were well documented, and there were no reports of serious complications when it was used correctly.
One account summed up its purpose in a single line.
Jera teaches patience. The child who carries it learns that not everything comes at once. Some things arrive only after the turning.
Aldric sat back and studied the three symbols he had copied.
Veela warmth. Lethifold stillness. Jera's turning.
He thought of Morwenna, carefully arranging her wooden animals until every piece was in its proper place. He remembered her standing at the nursery window, watching the snow fall without complaint, content to wait for the world outside to change.
The more he considered the three runes, the more suitable they seemed.
Each offered something different, yet none demanded that she become something she was not. Together, they might give her magic the support it needed while allowing her to grow at her own pace.
Jack found Aldric in the library late one evening.
The fire had burned low, leaving the room lit mostly by candles. Their flames reflected in the dark windows, while Aldric sat surrounded by stacks of parchment, his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. A half-empty cup of tea sat cold beside him.
"You are still at it," Jack said quietly.
"I'm nearly finished." Aldric gestured towards the papers spread across the mahogany desk. "Six Keith runes, one Evans rune from your mother-in-law, and three channelling runes. Ten in total."
Jack pulled a chair closer and sat down. The wood creaked in the quiet room.
"Read them to me. All of them."
Aldric picked up the top sheet and began, his voice steady as he went through the list.
1. Algiz (ᛉ). Protection. A warmth along the spine.
2. Ehwaz (ᛖ). Trust. A rhythmic pulse beneath the skin.
3. Uruz (ᚢ). Strength. A deep ache in the muscles.
4. Nautiz (ᚾ). Necessity. A gentle, guiding pressure.
5. Isa (ᛁ). Stillness. A cool clarity of mind.
6. Othala (ᛟ). Inheritance. The feeling of roots finding soil.
7. Awen. Flow. A gentle vibration beneath the skin.
8. Veela Rune. Presence. A spreading golden warmth.
9. Lethifold Rune. Shadow. A deep, quiet stillness.
10. Jera (ᛃ). Cycles. Rhythmic expansion and release.
When Aldric finished, silence settled over the library.
He lowered the page and looked up.
Jack had gone very still. One hand rested unconsciously against his left forearm, just beneath the sleeve that concealed the runes from his own first ritual. He wasn't thinking as the Head of House Keith. He was thinking as a father.
His gaze remained fixed on the list. Ten symbols. Ten permanent marks that would be inscribed into his daughter's skin.
Slowly, he reached out and touched the parchment beside Algiz, tracing its clean lines with his fingertip.
"I carry this one," he said.
"Yes."
"It helped me when the magic felt like too much."
"It did."
Jack let out a slow breath, then picked up the page bearing the Veela Rune.
"This warmth. It won't hurt her?"
"It was designed specifically to avoid that."
"And the Lethifold Rune? The stillness?"
"It won't leave her alone in the dark. It will help keep her steady."
Jack returned the page to the desk and met his father's eyes.
"We choose these."
Aldric nodded slowly. "They offer the best balance we have found in all these records."
"Jane needs to see them."
"Tomorrow," Aldric promised.
They remained at the desk for a while longer, the runes spread between them like a map of unfamiliar territory. They had chosen a path, but neither could know exactly what awaited their daughter at its end.
....
The following evening, the family gathered in the study for the final review.
Jane sat at the desk with the parchment spread before her in the lamplight. Jack stood beside her, resting a hand on her shoulder. Aldric and Seraphina sat together on the sofa, while Saoirse settled in her usual place on the rug.
Jane read every page carefully, tracing each symbol with her fingertip and going through every description of what Morwenna would feel.
When she finished, she sat motionless, staring at the ink.
"She will feel all of these?"
"Yes," Aldric replied.
"All at once?"
"No. One after another, until all ten have settled and found their balance."
Jane drew a shaky breath.
"The Veela Rune. The warmth. It should feel comforting to her?"
"It should."
"And the Lethifold Rune?"
"Stillness, not emptiness, Jane."
She nodded slowly, taking in the distinction.
"Ten," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "And we watch from a few metres away."
"Yes."
"She will be able to see us."
"Yes."
Jane closed her eyes briefly, her lashes resting against her cheeks. When she opened them again, her expression had steadied.
"Then we do this."
Seraphina spoke gently from the sofa. "She won't remember the pain the way we remember our own. What will stay with her is the comfort she receives afterwards, and the fact that we were there."
Jane turned to her, searching her face.
"Are you certain?"
"I've seen it happen twice before. They remember the comfort that follows."
Jane leaned against Jack, drawing strength from his steady presence. His hand remained on her shoulder.
The next morning, Morwenna discovered a patch of bare earth in the winter garden where the frost had finally melted away.
The snow had disappeared from that spot, leaving dark soil exposed to the air. She crouched beside it, studying the ground as though she expected something to happen if she watched long enough.
Saoirse found her there a little later.
"What are you looking at?"
"Nothing yet. But Gran-ma said things grow here."
"They do. It just takes time."
Morwenna touched the small stone tucked inside her pouch, then looked up at the pale sky.
"How long?"
"A few weeks. Perhaps a month."
"A month."
She repeated the word slowly, as if trying to understand how long she would have to wait.
Then she nodded, rose to her feet, and headed back towards the manor. Cinder trotted close behind her.
. . .
That night, Jane opened the pale-blue journal and added one final entry.
Late February. Runes chosen. Ten marks. She knows nothing of it yet.
She closed the journal and locked it in the drawer. The key turned with a small metallic click.
For a moment, she sat with one hand resting on the polished wood, thinking of the daughter who had no idea what her family was preparing for her.
Then she stood and went to check on Morwenna.