On the fifth morning after Celestine and Lucien arrived, Morwenna woke to the scent of bergamot and Earl Grey tea drifting up from the kitchen, accompanied by the distant murmur of voices.
She lay in bed for a while, listening to the house.
The nursery fire had burned down overnight, leaving a bed of deep orange embers in the dark stone hearth. Pale grey light filtered through the window, faint and cold, lingering between winter and the coming spring.
Downstairs, the conversation shifted between French and English. Celestine's measured, melodic voice mingled with Saoirse's bright laughter, the two overlapping in a familiar rhythm. To Morwenna, it sounded almost like music whose words she had not yet learned.
Cinder nudged her hand with his cold nose, a soft rumble rising from his chest.
She patted his velvet head without opening her eyes. "Up, Cinder."
The fox hopped off the bed with a light thump and waited by the door, his tail sweeping slowly from side to side.
By the time Morwenna reached the kitchen, the room was warm and filled with the scent of burning wood. Logs crackled in the great stone hearth. Celestine sat at the long mahogany table with a steaming cup of tea, dressed in a simple dove-grey wool gown that softened her usual formal appearance.
Saoirse leaned against the counter, halfway through a story about a busy market in Morocco. Her hands moved animatedly as she described a confused merchant and a camel that refused to cooperate.
Morwenna climbed onto her usual stool. Tilly appeared beside her at once and set down a ceramic bowl of porridge, its creamy surface decorated with a neat spiral of golden honey.
"Thank you, Tilly."
"Tilly is happy to serve the little miss!" the elf chirped, his ears bobbing.
Morwenna ate slowly, watching the adults.
Saoirse waved a piece of crusty toast at her while Celestine offered a small smile over the rim of her china cup.
A moment later, Lucien came in from the garden, his heavy boots leaving faint, damp marks where the frost had melted on the stone floor. As he passed Morwenna's stool, he gently brushed a hand over her fine white hair. His palm was warm, and the feeling lingered briefly on her scalp.
He poured himself a cup of tea, steam rising from the dark liquid.
No one mentioned April. No one spoke of rituals or runes.
Instead, they talked about the garden beginning to wake, a letter from Raphaël, and whether the sky would remain the same dull shade of grey for the rest of the week. Their conversation flowed around Morwenna as she finished her porridge, much like the rustling of leaves outside.
Cinder lay beneath her stool, pressed close to her feet.
After breakfast, Morwenna wandered into the garden, drawn by the damp scent of the earth.
The gravel path was familiar beneath her boots. The sky remained pale and overcast, but the air was gentler than it had been a few days earlier. The snow had retreated further into the shade beneath the hedges, revealing damp soil and patches of flattened, yellow grass. Cinder followed close behind, his paws leaving a trail of prints in the soft ground.
Lucien was already there, crouching beside the same patch of dark earth near the moss-covered stone.
The first snowdrop still stood, now joined by two smaller blooms. Their white petals had opened fully overnight, delicate against the dark soil. Beneath them, a third green bud was beginning to emerge.
Morwenna stopped beside Lucien, her shadow falling across the flowers.
"Because I didn't pick?"
"Because you let them be, ma petite." His voice was low and warm. He ran his fingers through the damp soil, dark earth clinging to his skin, then glanced up at her. "You gave them a safe place to grow."
Morwenna studied the little white flowers. They seemed almost to lean towards her, though she could not tell whether the breeze was moving them.
"Good," she said firmly.
Lucien smiled and tapped the tip of her nose with a dirt-streaked finger. She wrinkled her nose at the smudge but did not move away.
They spent a long while working together in the garden.
Lucien showed her how to press one finger into the soil and feel its coolness. She copied him carefully, pushing her small finger into the mud. He pointed out the plants stirring beneath the surface, their roots waiting for the warmth of Ostara to bring them further to life. Morwenna listened closely, her head tilted as she took in each new detail.
While turning over a small stone, she discovered a worm.
It wriggled across her palm, its pink body stretching and contracting as it tried to escape the light. She held it up to Lucien.
"Bug?"
"A worm." He leaned closer to examine it. "It helps the soil breathe, Morwenna. It makes little spaces for water to reach the roots."
She watched the creature for a moment, fascinated by its movements, before returning it to the damp earth near the snowdrops.
"It stay."
When they finished, her small hands were covered in dark soil. She held them up for Lucien to inspect.
"Clean?"
Lucien laughed softly. "Come, ma petite."
He picked her up and carried her to the iron pump. The water was cold, but not enough to hurt her skin. Morwenna did not pull away. Instead, she watched as the dirt washed from her hands, turning the water brown before it gradually ran clear.
"Gran-père?"
"Yes?"
"You be here when I grow?"
The iron pump creaked as Lucien worked the handle, water running steadily over her hands. His hold on her arm remained warm and secure.
"I will be here as long as you need me, mon enfant."
Morwenna nodded, satisfied.
He dried her hands with a soft cloth and set her down. She immediately ran back towards the garden, her boots thudding against the path.
That afternoon, she found Celestine in the library.
The room was nearly silent, broken only by the occasional pop of the fire. Dust drifted through the pale light slanting in from the tall windows. Celestine sat in a high-backed velvet chair with a heavy book open in her lap, the silver strands in her dark hair catching the light like threads of moonlight.
« Viens ici, ma petite. »
Morwenna crossed the thick rug and climbed onto the chair beside her, settling close against her grandmother's indigo robes. Cinder curled up at their feet, his russet fur forming a small, warm bundle.
"Reading what, Grand-ma?"
"An old story. One from France."
"What story?"
Celestine turned the book so Morwenna could see the illustrations. They showed a girl walking through a dense, shadowy forest, with a brilliant white bird hovering above her.
"A story about a girl who went into the deep woods to find herself."
"She lost?"
"She thought she was, for a time." Celestine's voice remained calm. "Sometimes, people must lose their way before they can understand where they are going."
Morwenna studied the picture, tracing the girl's path with one small finger.
"I'm not lost."
"No." Celestine gently brushed her hair. "You are exactly where you should be."
Morwenna leaned closer to the book, breathing in the scent of old paper.
"Read it?"
"Oui."
Celestine began the tale, speaking in French with an easy, natural rhythm. Morwenna listened, drawn more to the music of the language than to the meaning of every word. Its cadence carried her along like a lullaby.
In the story, the girl travelled through the forest guided by a white bird. She met a fox who spoke in riddles and eventually came upon a pool so clear that it revealed truths she had never understood about herself.
At the end, she stood before the still water and saw not only who she was, but also who she was not.
"She looking for her," Morwenna said, pointing at the picture of the pool.
"Yes."
"She just didn't know."
Celestine closed the book with a soft thud.
"Sometimes, what we are searching for has been inside us all along."
Morwenna thought about that, her brow furrowing as she tried to understand. Then she slid off the chair.
"Find Cinder."
Celestine smiled, her expression softening.
"Go on, then."
....
The next morning, Morwenna reached the kitchen before anyone else in the manor had woken.
Tilly stood at the counter with a large, leather-bound ledger open before him, his quill moving quickly across the page. His long ears twitched with every stroke.
Morwenna appeared beside him without a sound. He startled, nearly dropping his quill.
"Little miss! Tilly didn't hear you come in."
She looked at the page. It was covered in rough but charming sketches: a fox, a serpent, and a tall, round cake with three candles on top.
"What's that, Tilly?"
"Tilly is planning," he whispered conspiratorially. "Birthday planning for the little miss."
"What things?"
"Cake things!" He pointed eagerly at the drawings. "Chocolate or vanilla? Round or square? A fox or a serpent on top?"
Morwenna examined the sketches with a serious expression.
"Fox."
"An excellent choice!" Tilly declared, writing it down with a flourish. "And what colour shall the fox be?"
"Violet, purple, and white."
The elf nodded, his quill scratching across the parchment. "And the flavour?"
Morwenna thought of the breakfasts she had shared with her grandparents.
"Honey."
Tilly's eyes widened, and his ears stood straight up.
"Honey! Tilly will need to find the very best kind for such a cake."
"Yes."
"Tilly will find it." He underlined the note twice. "Anything else?"
Morwenna held up three small fingers.
"Three candles."
"Of course! Three candles. Perfect!" He carefully recorded the number in her ledger.
She patted the back of his hand.
"Try hard, Tilly."
The elf's ears turned a vibrant pink.
"Tilly will try very hard for the little miss!"
. . .
That afternoon, Saoirse found Morwenna in the library again.
Morwenna sat on the floor with her bestiary open across her legs. Cinder lay beside her as she whispered in Parseltongue, soft hisses filling the quiet corners of the room.
Saoirse dropped onto the rug beside her.
"You are very popular today. Everyone wants a piece of you."
Morwenna looked up, her expression serious.
"Piece?"
"Your time. Everyone wants a piece of your time today."
Morwenna glanced at her book, then back at Saoirse.
"What are you telling the serpent?" Saoirse asked.
"It sleep more. Not time yet."
"Not time for what?"
"When it's time," Morwenna replied enigmatically.
Saoirse grinned, amusement dancing in her eyes.
"You are a strange little thing, you know that?"
"Yes."
Saoirse burst out laughing and playfully ruffled her hair. Morwenna's fine white hair stuck up in several directions, leaving her looking rather dishevelled.
Later, they went to the kitchen to make bread. By the time they finished, flour covered the counter and floor, with some even finding its way into Cinder's fur. The fox sat stiffly on a chair, looking thoroughly offended by the whole affair.
Morwenna declared the bread very good and ate two warm slices spread with butter.
That evening, she sat with Aldric in the library as the shadows lengthened.
He was reading a heavy tome by the fire, while she sat nearby on the floor with a book of her own. Cinder slept soundly at her feet.
For a long while, the only sounds were the turning of pages and the fox's soft breathing.
Then Morwenna spoke.
"Gran-da?"
Aldric looked up from his book. "Yes, Morwenna?"
"Everyone here now."
"Yes, they are."
"Why?"
Aldric's eyes briefly flicked towards the doorway, as if checking whether anyone else was nearby. He then studied her, considering how best to answer.
"Because they wanted to see you."
"Why?"
"Because you are turning three years old. That is a very special thing."
"Why?"
"Because you will be older than you were last year, and a little wiser, too."
Morwenna lowered her gaze to her hands. They were still small, but she could make stitches now. She could press seeds into the earth and pat the soil back into place.
"I be bigger."
"Yes. You will."
"I grow more."
"Yes."
She looked up at him, the orange firelight shining in her green eyes.
"I grow every day."
Aldric smiled warmly.
"You do."
Morwenna nodded once and returned to her book.
Aldric watched her for a moment before lowering his gaze to his own tome. Whatever thoughts crossed his mind, he kept them to himself and continued reading.
.....
Later that evening, Jane found Morwenna in the nursery.
Her daughter was tucked beneath the heavy quilts, the covers pulled up to her chin. Cinder lay curled at her feet, a warm bundle beneath the blanket. Morwenna clutched the carved wooden serpent Aldric had given her, her small fingers wrapped tightly around its smooth scales.
Jane sat on the edge of the bed, making the mattress dip slightly.
"You cannot sleep, ma chérie?"
Morwenna shook her head, her eyes wide in the flickering firelight.
"What are you thinking about so hard?"
"Growing."
Jane felt a tightness in her chest but kept her voice gentle. "Ah. Growing is quite a big thing to think about."
"Gran-da said three is special."
Jane brushed the fine white strands away from her daughter's forehead. Her hair felt soft and silky between her fingers.
"It is. Three is a very important age."
"Why?"
"Because you will be three. You will have more things to explore and learn."
Morwenna considered this, her brow furrowing. After a moment, she reached for Jane's hand and held it. Her grip was small but surprisingly firm.
"Maman be there?"
Jane closed her fingers around her daughter's hand.
"Always, ma chérie. I will be right there."
Morwenna nodded, apparently satisfied with the answer, and finally closed her eyes.
Jane stayed beside her until her breathing grew slow and even. The fire crackled softly in the stone hearth, its light shifting across the walls. Cinder's tail flicked once against the quilt before settling again.
Jane bent down and kissed her daughter's forehead, lingering for a moment before straightening. Her heart felt heavy, but her decision was firm.
. . .
By mid-April, with only two weeks remaining before Morwenna's birthday, the adults gathered in the study for one final meeting to settle the remaining details.
The lamps had been lit early, their steady amber glow giving the room the solemn feel of a place where important vows were made.
Everyone was present.
Celestine sat nearest the hearth, her hands folded neatly in her lap and her posture as upright as ever. The light caught the silver strands in her dark hair. She looked around the room, quietly taking in each face.
Lucien stood by the window, gazing out at the dark garden. Thick clouds had hidden the moon, leaving only his faint reflection in the glass. His natural warmth seemed less noticeable tonight, though he still brought a little comfort to the otherwise chilly room.
Aldric and Seraphina sat together on the velvet settee. His research notes lay spread beside him, filled with his tight, precise handwriting. Seraphina's knitting rested untouched in her lap, the silver needles still for once.
Jack and Jane sat in chairs opposite them. Beneath the table, his hand rested on her knee, steady and reassuring. Without realising it, Jane found herself counting the rhythm of his thumb against her clothing.
Press. Release. Press. Release.
Saoirse sat on the floor with her back against the cool stone wall and her legs stretched towards the dying fire. Cinder had followed her downstairs after Morwenna fell asleep and was now resting against her thigh. Saoirse absently stroked his fur, her hand rising and falling with his breathing.
A single sheet of parchment lay on the table between them.
Celestine's neat, precise handwriting covered the page. Jane had watched her mother write it that afternoon. Her quill had moved without hesitation, as though every detail had already been settled in her mind.
The final bath formula.
Jane picked up the parchment, even though she already knew every line by heart. She needed to hold it, to feel its weight in her hands.
She read through the measurements one more time.
1. Base (Attunement): 40%.
Chamomile flowers: 15 grams.
Lavender: 10 grams.
Moonwater: 75 millilitres.
2. Strengthening (Physical): 30%.
Ground deer bone: 8 grams.
Mineral salts: 12 grams.
Phoenix ash: 2 grams, heavily diluted.
3. Veela Lineage: 15%.
Sun-warmed honey: 20 millilitres.
Lucien's blood: one single drop.
Jane's eyes lingered on that line despite herself.
4. Lethifold Lineage: 15%.
Nightshade extract: 3 millilitres, prepared and diluted three times.
Seraphina's hair: one strand, finely cut.
~ Preparation: Combine all ingredients in a silver vessel and leave overnight to bind. Warm the mixture gently before use. The child must remain in the bath until the liquid clears completely.
Jane lowered the parchment, her fingers resting along its edge.
"It is done."
Celestine inclined her head. "Everything is prepared. Tilly has stored the ingredients separately in the cellar and checks the seals twice a day."
Saoirse sighed. "He has taken this very seriously. I caught him talking to the jars while polishing them this morning."
Jane looked up, a faint smile touching her lips. "Talking to them?"
"Encouraging them. Apparently, the phoenix ash needs to understand how important it is to the Keith line."
For a moment, the tension in the room eased.
Then Aldric spoke, his voice bringing their attention back to the matter at hand.
"The ritual chamber is ready. The floor runes have been inscribed and sealed. I checked the anchors this morning and again this afternoon. The sequence holds the power securely, with no leakage."
Jane looked down at the parchment again.
Ten runes. Painted onto her daughter's skin with blood and old magic.
"The blood," she said quietly. "Mine and hers."
"Yes." Aldric's voice softened. "Only a few drops are needed. A pinprick from you and one from Morwenna. We will mix them into the ritual ink."
"And after it is finished?"
Seraphina answered this time.
"She will sleep. Deeply. The bath will take a great deal of energy from her little body, so we must let her rest for as long as she needs. A day, perhaps even two."
"And when she wakes?"
"She will be hungry and probably sore. More than anything, she will want you." Seraphina held Jane's gaze. "You must be there for her."
"I will." Jane's voice was firmer now.
Aldric rose, drawing everyone's attention.
"Then we are ready. There is nothing left to prepare."
Celestine stood as well, smoothing the indigo silk of her robes.
"The ingredients are ready. The chamber is prepared. The runes have been chosen."
Jack's hand tightened slightly on Jane's knee.
She studied the parchment one last time, taking in the careful measurements and her mother's elegant handwriting. Every detail had been considered. Every decision had been made.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
The embers shifted in the hearth, collapsing into grey ash. A few sparks rose into the darkness before fading. Beyond the study, the hall clock continued to tick, marking the passing seconds.
Saoirse pushed herself to her feet with a grunt.
"Right. If we are finished with all the grim details, I am going to bed. Someone has to remain functional for whatever tomorrow brings."
She paused at the door and glanced back at Jane, her expression softening.
"She will be fine, Jane. You know how strong she is."
Jane managed a small smile. "I know."
Saoirse nodded and left. Cinder followed a moment later, his claws clicking softly against the stone floor.
The others began to leave as well.
Lucien paused beside Jane and rested a large hand on her shoulder. His touch was warm and steady. He said nothing, but she understood what he meant.
Celestine bent to kiss Jane's forehead.
"Sleep now, Jane. Tomorrow, we wait."
The faint scent of lavender lingered after she straightened.
Aldric shook Jack's hand, holding the grip a moment longer than usual. Seraphina gave Jane one last look before leaving, her expression difficult to read but unmistakably gentle.
Soon, only Jane and Jack remained in the study.
The embers glowed a dull red. The clock ticked steadily, and the wind brushed faintly against the windowpanes.
Jack squeezed her hand.
"Come to bed, Jane."
She nodded.
Carefully, she folded the parchment into thirds and placed it with the other research papers. It was only a small sheet of paper, yet it held so much of their daughter's future.
They went upstairs together, their shadows stretching along the walls as they passed beneath the silent gazes of the painted portraits.
In their bedroom, Jane went through her usual evening routine without thinking. She hung her robes neatly in the wardrobe and placed her shoes beside the bed.
Jack was already beneath the covers when she joined him. The sheets felt cool against her skin, but he was warm.
"Two weeks," she whispered into the darkness.
"I know."
She rested her head against his chest and listened to his heartbeat. It was steady and familiar, just as she needed it to be.
After a long while, she finally fell asleep.
.....
The next morning, Jane found Morwenna in the garden.
At last, the sun had broken through the heavy clouds. Its light was faint but welcome, casting a pale glow over the damp ground. The snow had retreated further, revealing dark soil and the first hints of fresh green.
Morwenna was crouching beside the snowdrops.
There were five now, their small white blooms scattered across the dark earth like quiet promises.
Jane stopped on the path to watch her.
Morwenna did not look up, but she seemed to sense her mother's presence.
"Maman. More came."
Jane crossed the damp grass and knelt beside her daughter. The cold seeped through her robes, but she paid it no mind.
"They did."
"Because I didn't pick the first one," Morwenna said with quiet certainty.
"Yes. You gave them room to grow."
Morwenna held her small hand above the blossoms without touching them. Her fingers moved slightly, as though she were following something invisible in the air.
"When I am three, will more of me come?"
Jane felt the weight of the question settle between them.
"Yes, ma chérie. More of you will come."
Morwenna turned to look at her. Her green eyes searched Jane's face, and whatever reassurance she needed, she seemed to find it there.
She nodded firmly before turning back to the flowers.
Jane stayed beside her.
They sat together in the quiet garden as a light breeze stirred the delicate petals. Nearby, Cinder lay on a dry patch of stone with his head resting on his front paws.
After a while, Morwenna reached out and brushed one of the white petals. Her touch was barely there, as light as a breath. The flower swayed on its stem before settling again.
"It feels like nothing."
"Flowers are very delicate things," Jane explained.
"Like me?"
Jane looked at her daughter: at her steady little hand, her unwavering gaze, and the quiet certainty with which she faced the world.
"No," Jane said firmly. "You are not delicate, Morwenna."
Morwenna considered this, then looked down at her fingers.
"Good."
She rose abruptly and ran towards the manor, her boots thudding against the damp earth. Cinder scrambled to his feet and raced after her.
Jane remained kneeling in the grass, watching the five snowdrops sway gently in the morning breeze.