The fire burned low in the nursery hearth, its embers glowing a dull crimson beneath a thin layer of gray ash. The scent of charred oak and dried lavender lingered in the warm air, mixed with the faint metallic smell of the medicinal bath that still clung to the room.
Jane hadn't moved from the velvet-backed chair since they had carried Morwenna upstairs from the lower levels. She sat with her back rigid and her hands resting palms-up in her lap, her fingers loosely curled and motionless.
It was as though she had forgotten how to close them, or perhaps she no longer had the strength to try.
Her robes were still damp around the collar, the heavy silk dark and cold where she had held her daughter's limp body against her chest. She hadn't changed or eaten. All she had done was sit there and watch the slow, shallow rise and fall of the wool blankets covering Morwenna.
Cinder had barely moved either. He lay pressed against Morwenna's side, his russet fur standing out against the white linens. His amber eyes remained fixed on her face, alert and fiercely protective even in the dim light.
Every few minutes, he would press his nose against the child's small wrist, waiting as though he could feel the faint beat of her pulse. Once he was satisfied, he would settle down again, only to check on her a little later. He kept watch without rest, unwilling to leave her side.
Tilly appeared in the doorway, his arrival marked only by the soft sound of his feet against the stone floor. He stood there for a moment, his large, watery eyes fixed on the bed and his ears drooping against his head.
Then the house-elf crossed the room with a trembling hand and placed a steaming cup of honey-ginger tea on the nightstand.
Jane didn't look at him or react to the quiet clink of ceramic against wood. Tilly said nothing. He simply retreated to a corner and waited in silence, ready to help whenever someone needed him.
The door opened again with a soft creak, and Celestine stepped inside. She crossed the room and knelt beside Jane's chair, paying no attention to the hard floor beneath her skirts. Taking her daughter's cold hands in hers, she held them firmly.
"Jane, you need to eat."
Jane blinked, her eyelashes brushing her pale cheeks. Her gaze moved slowly from the bed to her mother's face, as though even that small effort took more strength than she had left.
"I can't leave her."
"No one is asking you to leave her." Celestine's voice was steady, giving Jane something firm to hold on to when everything else seemed to be slipping away.
Her usual Evans composure remained intact in the set of her jaw and the clarity of her gaze, though the redness around her eyes betrayed how much she was struggling. "But you need to eat. Everyone is in the dining room. You can be back in twenty minutes."
"I can't."
"You can." Celestine squeezed her hands, her grip firm and insistent. "Bitsy will sit with her. Tilly will stay, and so will Cinder. She won't be alone for even a second."
Jane turned back toward the bed. Her eyes settled on Morwenna's pale face and the white hair spread across the pillow like spun silk. Then she looked at the little hand resting against Cinder's thick fur. The nursery was so quiet that the silence itself seemed to press against her, leaving her unable to think of anything beyond the child lying in front of her.
"Twenty minutes," she whispered at last, her voice barely audible.
"Yes."
Jane slowly rose from the chair, but her legs nearly gave way beneath her. A wave of exhaustion struck her, leaving her muscles weak and trembling.
Celestine caught her by the arm and held her steady until the dizziness passed. Then she helped her daughter out of the nursery, and they made their way downstairs together, their footsteps echoing through the quiet manor.
The dining room was full, but none of its usual warmth remained. Food covered the long mahogany table, yet no one seemed to notice it.
Aldric sat at the head of the table, his face marked by exhaustion and deep lines of grief. Seraphina sat beside him, equally silent.
Jack sat between his mother and Saoirse, his shoulders hunched and his gaze fixed on a single spot on the white tablecloth. The scratches Jane had left on his arm were still visible, angry red marks against his skin. He hadn't bothered to heal them.
Beneath the table, Saoirse kept one hand on his knee, her fingers pressing lightly into the fabric of his trousers as though trying to remind him that she was there.
Lucien sat on the other side of the table, his Veela warmth reduced to barely a flicker. His usual radiance had given way to a hollow stillness as he stared at nothing in particular.
Across from him sat Raphaël and Luelle. Luelle's eyes were red and swollen from crying, and Raphaël kept an arm around her shoulders, his fingers tapping an absent, restless rhythm against her arm.
Viviane sat stiffly in her chair, her Beaumont composure barely holding together. Her hands were clasped so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. Elara stood by the window, her figure dark against the glass as she gazed out into the gathering night.
Sylvaine sat in a corner, watching the room with her usual unreadable expression. She remained silent, taking in everything without revealing what she was thinking.
Jane took the seat between Lucien and Elara. The movement felt mechanical, as though she were simply following instructions without fully understanding what she was doing.
Elara immediately reached out to steady her. Jane leaned against her godmother's shoulder, her head heavy and her remaining strength almost gone.
Tilly and the other house-elves brought out more food. Plates were filled with roasted meats and vegetables, and steam rose from the dishes before slowly fading into the air. Yet no one reached for a fork.
At last, Aldric broke the silence. His voice came out rough and gravelly, strained from disuse and everything he had been holding inside since Morwenna's screams had finally stopped.
"I spoke with the ancestor."
Every head at the table turned toward Aldric.
"The old woman in the portrait at the end of the gallery." His voice gained a little strength, though the weight of the night still hung over every word.
"She has watched this family for centuries, longer than any of us have been alive. She has seen every Keith child undergo their rituals. Every single one."
He paused, his gaze drifting toward the candles flickering in the center of the table.
"She told me she has never seen anything like this. Not in any Keith child, not in all her centuries of watching our bloodline."
Jack raised his head. His face was still ashen, and his eyes looked hollow, as though the grief had drained everything else from him.
"She told me something else." Aldric lowered his gaze to his hands, his fingers tracing the grain of the wooden table.
"The phoenix line is still there. It's still part of Morwenna. But the way it manifests is different. Something has changed. The ancestor believes we need to discover what kind of phoenix Morwenna carries, what form it has taken in her."
Saoirse's voice was rough from crying. "How do we do that?"
"Research. The library, the archives, every text we have on phoenix variations and magical lineage manifestations. We need to find anything that might explain why her magic fought the phoenix essence instead of accepting it." Aldric paused, his expression growing grim.
"For now, the only thing we know for certain is that frost is one of the ways her phoenix manifests."
Jack's head remained raised. Something stirred behind the emptiness in his eyes, a faint spark of focus, perhaps, or simply another kind of pain.
"Frost."
"The frost on the bath, the cold that came from her. That was Morwenna's own magic. It wasn't the ritual fighting her. It was her magic fighting the ritual, protecting itself from something it didn't recognize as kin." Aldric met his son's eyes, his voice softening. "It isn't your fault, Jack."
Jack's jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists against the table, his knuckles turning white.
Before anyone else could speak, Seraphina rose and drew him into her arms. She held him against her chest as she had when he was a little boy, offering him the same comfort she had given him countless times before.
At first, Jack remained rigid, his body resisting the embrace as though he no longer knew how to accept comfort. Then something inside him finally gave way. His shoulders began to shake with silent, uncontrollable tremors. He made no sound, but his grief was plain for everyone to see.
Beneath the table, Saoirse took his hand and held it tightly.
"See? It isn't your fault, Jack," Seraphina murmured, keeping her arms around him. "Even the ancestor has never seen anything like this. How could you have known? It isn't your fault."
Jack said nothing. His fists remained clenched against the tabletop, his knuckles pressing hard into the wood.
Saoirse leaned closer, her voice low but firm. "We all saw the frost, Jack. At the party, on the windows. None of us ever imagined her magic would interfere with the ritual. Not once. You weren't the only one who failed to see this coming."
Celestine spoke from across the table, her voice calm and measured despite the grief in her eyes.
"This isn't your fault, nor is it Jane's for suggesting the Veela and Lethifold threads. You both made your decisions based on what you knew, and the rest of us agreed with them. Please, don't keep blaming yourself for something none of us could have predicted."
She paused before continuing, her tone growing gentler.
"Think about how Morwenna would feel if she woke up and saw her parents like this. You know your daughter. You know how closely she watches everyone around her and how easily she notices when something is wrong. She would blame herself for your pain, and that would only make her recovery harder."
Lucien's voice joined hers, carrying the gentle, almost musical quality of his Veela heritage.
"Please, Jack. If you can't do it for yourself, then do it for us. Do it for Morwenna."
Jane's shoulders trembled as silent tears slipped down her cheeks. She pressed her face against Elara's shoulder, unable to hold them back any longer.
The tears soaked into the fabric of her godmother's robes, but Elara said nothing. She simply tightened her arm around Jane, offering her the steady support she needed.
After a moment, Saoirse spoke again.
"Father has already said we can search for more information about phoenixes. Isn't that better than sitting here crying over what has happened? The more we learn, the better our chances of finding a way to help her."
She glanced around the table, her expression serious despite her tear-stained face. "Two years may sound like a long time, but it really isn't."
Luelle nodded, her voice thick from crying. "She is right. We all want Morwenna to grow up healthy and happy. And..." She glanced at Raphaël, who gave her an encouraging nod before she continued.
"We need to document everything. We shouldn't treat this as a standard Alberich case. Morwenna has two prominent magical lineages from each parent, giving her four magical creature lines of equal weight. Now we know that at least one of them may have a mutation in its manifestation. That's important information."
Raphaël picked up where she left off. "We can begin by recording everything we already know: the frost, the cold, and the small, accidental displays of magic that have been appearing over time. From now on, we should document every test we conduct and every reaction we observe, no matter how small."
He looked around the table, meeting each person's gaze in turn. "We need to find out how to keep Morwenna safe. And if we can understand what happened to her, we may be able to help other children as well, whether they belong to our family or another house."
Nods went around the table, slow and solemn. The atmosphere in the room had shifted. Their helpless grief remained, but now it was accompanied by a sense of purpose.
Aldric looked at Jack, then Jane, and finally at the room full of people who had come to celebrate a birthday and stayed to face something none of them had expected.
"Then that's what we will do."
....
The next morning, the library became a war room.
The scent of old parchment, vellum, and drying ink filled the vast space. Books covered nearly every available surface, their leather spines catching the morning light.
Heavy tomes stood in stacks like small towers, while scrolls spilled from their wooden cases, their curled ends spreading across the mahogany tables.
Aldric worked at the main table, surrounded by texts on magical creatures and inherited traits. Across from him, Seraphina searched through references to phoenix variations, her quill scratching steadily as she cross-checked one text against another.
Saoirse had claimed a corner and buried herself in a pile of thick bestiaries. Her dark hair had begun slipping from its tie, falling across her face as she bent over the pages.
Raphaël and Luelle had taken over the eastern wall, pulling every book they could find on elemental manifestations from the high shelves.
Lucien worked alongside them, his presence offering a quiet warmth amid the library's growing disorder. He searched for texts on magical creature lineages and passed each book to whoever needed it, moving with practiced ease.
Celestine had settled into a reading nook near the window, where the natural light made it easier to decipher the faded ink of the oldest French texts. Her quill moved steadily across the parchment as she recorded every reference she found to cold or frost associated with avian bloodlines.
Viviane had claimed a desk near the card catalogue. She was writing to her Beaumont contacts, researchers she knew in France, and anyone else who might have access to texts missing from the Keith library. Her handwriting remained precise and efficient, even as the pile of letters beside her continued to grow.
Sylvaine sat apart from the others with a stack of genealogical records that smelled of dust and age.
She traced the phoenix bloodlines through Keith history, searching for even the faintest mention of a cold manifestation or an unusual reaction during a maturity ritual. Her quill scratched steadily across the parchment, its quiet rhythm blending with the rustle of turning pages.
The library had become a place of tireless work. Pages turned, books changed hands, and notes accumulated in orderly piles. No one spoke unless they needed a reference or wanted to confirm something they had found.
Jack was there, too. He sat at his father's right hand, turning pages with mechanical precision. He read, took notes, and passed relevant texts to Aldric without being asked. He had spoken fewer than three words all morning, his face still pale and drawn, but he continued working.
For now, that was enough.
. . .
In the nursery, Jane remained in her chair beside Morwenna's bed. Her daughter still hadn't woken.
Sometimes, Morwenna whimpered in her sleep, making small, high-pitched sounds that tightened Jane's chest and caught her breath in her throat.
At other times, the child would grow so still that Jane could barely see her breathing. She would lean forward, her heart pounding as she watched the blankets, counting each passing second until they finally rose again.
Cinder never left Morwenna's side. Whenever she whimpered, his ears flattened against his head, and he let out a low, worried chuff. When she grew too still, he pressed his nose against her wrist, checking for the warmth of life beneath her skin.
He watched over her constantly, never allowing himself to relax.
Elara appeared in the doorway shortly after noon, her shadow stretching across the floor. Jane looked up at the sound of her arrival. Her eyes were red and bloodshot, and exhaustion had left her face a dull gray. She hadn't slept at all.
Elara crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped beneath her weight as she reached into the deep folds of her robes and took out the silver bracelet.
"It's ready," she said softly. "The new layer is in place."
Jane stared at the silver band. It gleamed in the gray light filtering through the windows, its finely engraved script catching the faint glow from the fire.
She reached out and touched the metal with a trembling finger. It felt warm, warmer than it should have been, and a faint, steady pulse of magic hummed beneath its surface.
"Will it hold?"
"Yes."
Elara leaned forward and fastened the bracelet around Morwenna's small wrist. The silver settled against the child's pale skin. For a moment, Morwenna's face seemed to relax. The deep furrow between her brows eased, and her breathing grew deeper and more regular.
Elara sat back and turned her attention to Jane. The dark hollows beneath her eyes and the limp way her hands rested in her lap made it painfully clear how little strength she had left.
"You need to sleep."
"I know."
"Not here. In a proper bed."
"I can't."
Elara fell silent. For a while, the only sounds in the room were the crackling fire and the wind brushing against the windows.
Then she moved from the bed to the floor and settled beside Jane's chair, resting her back against it. Reaching up, she took Jane's hand in hers.
"Then I will sit with you."
Jane lowered her gaze to her godmother. She looked at Elara's gray-streaked hair and composed face, the same face that had been a source of comfort since Jane was a little girl. She looked at the hand holding hers, warm and steady, and felt something inside her loosen.
"You stayed," Jane whispered. "You never stay this long."
Elara didn't answer. She simply held Jane's hand and watched Morwenna breathe.