Roxane's footsteps echoed softly through the corridor before dawn, following the same steady rhythm every morning.
She opened the nursery door without knocking, her arrival as dependable as the sunrise. The fire had burned low overnight, leaving only a bed of embers glowing dull orange beneath a thin layer of gray ash.
Morwenna was already awake, sitting up in bed with Cinder curled at her feet. Her green eyes fixed on the doorway, watching with such quiet attention that it seemed she had been counting the seconds until her great-grandmother arrived.
Roxane crossed the room, her indigo robes rustling softly against the floorboards. She placed both palms against Morwenna's chest, feeling the steady beat of her heart and the renewed flow of magic beneath her skin. She remained there for a long moment, her eyes half-closed as she concentrated on the rhythm of the child's magic.
Then she moved her fingers to Morwenna's throat to check her pulse. Her touch was clinical, but there was something reassuring about the familiar routine. She ran a hand down the child's spine, gently checking for any lingering tension or signs that something was still wrong.
Morwenna remained perfectly still throughout the examination, her gaze following Roxane's face.
Roxane reached into her robes and took out a small glass vial. The liquid inside was so dark it looked almost black. When she removed the stopper, a sharp scent of bitter herbs and crushed iron filled the room, accompanied by something ancient that seemed to cling to the air.
Morwenna accepted the vial without being asked. She drank the contents in three brave swallows, then handed the empty glass back to her great-grandmother.
Roxane examined Jane next. She pressed her palm over her granddaughter's heart and kept it there for a long while, her eyes half-closed as she focused on the tired, hollow rhythm beneath the skin.
Then she made Jane drink from one of the same dark vials, though Jane complained considerably more than Morwenna had. Roxane dismissed every protest with the ease of a woman who had been ignoring her granddaughter's stubbornness for decades.
Little by little, the sickly gray undertone faded from Jane's skin, replaced by a healthier color as her body began to replenish the heart blood she had given. The fine tremor in her hands gradually weakened until it disappeared altogether.
She was sleeping in a proper bed again, at least. On the first night, Roxane had marched her to the master bedroom and stood guard in the doorway until Jane finally agreed to lie down.
Jane still spent most of the day in the nursery chair, unwilling to leave Morwenna for long, but she now slept deeply at night. The dark hollows beneath her eyes slowly began to fill, and some of the color returned to her face.
By the end of the first week, Morwenna laughed again.
It happened one quiet afternoon while Roxane was telling a story about a great-great-aunt who had once tried to curse a stubborn goat and ended up being chased through the château gardens for three hours.
Morwenna listened from her nest of silk pillows, her eyes following every change in her great-grandmother's expression.
When Roxane reached the part where the goat finally turned around and chased the aunt back toward the house, Morwenna's mouth opened, and a small sound escaped her.
At first, it was little more than a sharp, surprised breath. Then the sound grew into laughter, bright and clear, with a warmth that had been missing from the nursery for far too long.
Jane looked up from her chair, her heart leaping at the sound. Roxane stopped in the middle of her sentence, and for a moment, neither woman said a word. They simply watched Morwenna laugh, her small body shaking with delight as a healthy pink spread across her cheeks.
Roxane smiled. It softened her entire face, easing the usual severity of her features and bringing a rare light into her eyes.
The second week brought another welcome change. Morwenna began walking again.
After so many days confined to bed, her legs felt heavy and weak, as though they could barely support her own weight.
One morning, Roxane brought in a smooth wooden bar, polished until its surface felt cool beneath the fingers. She helped Morwenna stand beside the bed and guided her small hands onto the wood.
Morwenna gripped it with both hands, her knuckles turning white. Her jaw tightened with determination as she steadied herself.
"Again," she said.
Roxane helped her take three hesitant steps, then four. They slowly made their way back to the bed, where Morwenna could rest before trying again.
The wooden bar creaked faintly beneath her grip as she pulled herself forward, and they repeated the exercise every morning.
Her legs trembled with the effort, and beads of sweat gathered on her forehead, but she never asked to stop. Whenever she began to lose her balance, she tightened her grip, took a steadying breath, and tried again.
By the end of the second week, she could walk from the bed to the window and back without holding on to anything.
She stood by the glass, looking out over the sprawling garden, where the first snowdrops had begun to bloom. Carefully, she counted them on her fingers, her face serious as she made sure not to miss a single flower.
"Nineteen," she told Cinder.
The russet fox's tail gave a soft, approving thump against the floor.
During the third week, Morwenna ran.
Jane was in the morning room when she heard the sound of small feet pounding down the corridor. She looked up just as Morwenna appeared in the doorway, breathless and flushed with triumph, with Cinder bounding happily behind her.
"Look," Morwenna said.
She dashed across the rug, her little feet moving lightly over the fabric, then jumped onto the velvet settee and bounced once. Jane caught her before she could tumble off the other side.
Morwenna burst into laughter, the same bright, carefree sound that had returned to her weeks earlier. Jane pulled her close and laughed with her, her eyes stinging with relief. Cinder circled them excitedly, his russet tail wagging while his ears swiveled in every direction.
That evening, Roxane announced her decision at dinner.
She set her silver fork against the porcelain plate. The soft clink was enough to cut through the quiet murmur of conversation.
"I need to return to France."
The table fell silent.
Jane's hand stopped halfway to her water glass. She lowered it without taking a drink, her appetite disappearing at once.
Roxane looked around the table, her green eyes moving from one face to the next with the same careful attention she gave everything else.
"I have been here for three weeks, and Celestine and Lucien have been here even longer." She paused, allowing everyone time to absorb her words. "The family needs its Matriarch, and the archives need their Keeper."
Celestine nodded slowly. Her composure remained intact, though the reluctance in her eyes betrayed how little she wanted to leave.
"Mother is right. We have stayed longer than we should have."
Lucien said nothing at first, keeping one hand on Celestine's back in a quiet gesture of support. When he finally spoke, his words carried their usual unhurried, melodic rhythm.
"Ah, I suppose it's true. The gardens in France must be missing us by now, n'est-ce pas?"
Jane looked at her mother, then at her grandmother, feeling the distance that would soon separate them once more.
The Channel would lie between them again, turning a familiar presence into letters and occasional visits. She swallowed, but the words she wanted to say remained caught in her throat.
Across the table, Morwenna continued eating, spearing another roasted potato with her fork and concentrating on her meal as though nothing had changed. She was only three. The weight of goodbyes and the ache of being separated from those she loved would come with time.
The next morning, Roxane visited the nursery for the last time.
Jane was already sitting in her usual chair, while Morwenna sat on the bed with Cinder, her legs swinging over the edge of the mattress. Pale gray morning light filtered through the leaded windows, catching the white strands of her hair.
Roxane checked Morwenna first, examining her pulse and breathing before assessing the flow of magic through her core. She placed her palm against the child's chest and held it there, her eyes half-closed as she concentrated. After a long moment, she opened them and gave a short, decisive nod.
"Good. Strong." She looked directly at Morwenna. "Your next blood ritual will be in a year. Your grandmothers and grandfathers will help you prepare for it."
Morwenna nodded. She seemed to have grown accustomed to the idea of the rituals now. One each year until she reached eleven. It was a pattern she could understand, even if she was still too young to grasp everything it meant.
Roxane turned to Jane and took her granddaughter's face between both hands, just as she had done weeks earlier. For a long moment, she studied Jane's features, her gaze searching and thoughtful.
"You will be fine. Rest, eat, and sleep. No heroics."
Jane's throat tightened. "Thank you, Grand-mère."
Roxane kissed her forehead before straightening and walking toward the door. There, she paused and glanced back at Morwenna.
"Be good, petite."
Morwenna nodded solemnly. "I will."
With that, Roxane left the nursery.
. . .
By the time they gathered in the entrance hall, the room felt unusually full. The air carried the scent of woodsmoke mixed with the lingering aroma of morning tea.
Aldric and Seraphina stood near the Floo, while Saoirse leaned against the banister with her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Jack stood beside Jane, one hand resting supportively against the small of her back. Near the kitchen door, Tilly hovered with his large eyes shining with tears and his ears pressed flat against his head.
Celestine and Lucien stood beside Roxane in front of the great fireplace, their indigo traveling robes catching the dim morning light. Their trunks had already been sent ahead to the château by the house-elves.
Jane hugged her mother first, then her father, holding on for a little longer than usual. When she finally stood before Roxane, she found herself unable to speak. Every word she could think of seemed too small to express the gratitude she felt for everything her grandmother had done.
Roxane settled the matter herself, drawing Jane into a brief but firm embrace. She smelled of lavender and old parchment, the same familiar scent Jane remembered from her childhood.
"Write to me," Roxane instructed in a low, commanding voice. "Tell me everything. Leave nothing out."
Jane nodded, the knot in her throat making it impossible to answer.
Saoirse hugged all three departing family members in turn, her usual lively energy subdued but still present beneath the sadness. Jack shook hands with Lucien, then Celestine, and finally Roxane. His grip was firm and steady. He said nothing, but he didn't need to. The understanding between them ran deeper than words.
Nearby, Aldric and Seraphina exchanged a few quiet words with Celestine and Lucien, discussing their next visit and promising to share any new research findings. Even now, with their family preparing to part, the familiar rhythm of family responsibilities continued, carrying on as it had for generations.
Then Morwenna stepped forward.
She stood in the middle of the entrance hall, between her parents and the fireplace. Cinder settled at her feet, his russet ears pricked forward as he watched her expectantly.
"Look at me!" Morwenna announced, her voice clear and surprisingly loud.
She clasped her little hands together and closed her eyes. The hall fell silent at once. Her face tightened with concentration, her brow furrowing and her lips pressing into a thin line, just as they did whenever she worked through a difficult problem.
The air around her began to change. It wasn't a sudden drop in temperature. Instead, a strange vibration passed through the hall, raising the fine hairs on everyone's neck.
Morwenna opened her eyes and spread her hands apart.
A snowflake pattern bloomed in her left palm. The crystals were intricate and almost transparent, catching the torchlight and scattering it into shifting, kaleidoscopic patterns. From one angle, they shimmered with icy silver. From another, they nearly disappeared, leaving only the delicate outlines of branching frost. The pattern rotated slowly, turning in a silent orbit above her hand.
In her right palm, flames rose.
Yet this was no ordinary fire. Its base burned with an icy silver light, the flames perfectly contained despite their constant movement. Higher up, the color shifted into something resembling blue crystal, clear and transparent, bending the light behind it. The flames gave off no heat, yet they flickered and danced with the same fluid grace as any living fire.
The snow turned in one palm while the cold flames danced in the other, both held steady by the little girl without the slightest sign of strain.
It was an impossible duality, yet Morwenna made it look easy.
She grinned, her eyes shining with triumph.
"Tada~ Surprise! I practised this so hard!"
Her voice rang through the hall, echoing against the stone walls.
For a moment, no one reacted. The adults stared at her hands, watching the frost and flame coexist as though the laws of magic had suddenly been rewritten before their eyes. The only sound was the heavy thump of Cinder's tail against the stone floor.
When no one said anything, Morwenna's grin gradually faded. She looked down at her hands, then up at the adults staring back at her with stunned expressions.
"What?"
Jack was the first to find his voice. It came out rough, as though the question had scraped its way past his throat.
"Morwenna. How did you do that?"
She glanced at her hands again, looking genuinely puzzled that he even needed to ask.
"I practised."
"But..." Saoirse stepped forward, her green eyes fixed on the cold flames. "That's wandless and wordless magic. That's..."
She trailed off, unable to find a word that could adequately describe what she was witnessing.
Morwenna shrugged. Silver light reflected in her eyes as the snow and fire continued to turn in her palms.
"The cold is mine. The fire is mine too. It doesn't burn hot."
She tilted her head, studying the blue flames with quiet curiosity.
"It's different."
Lucien moved closer, drawn by a familiar sensation deep within his own blood. The Veela light surrounding him flickered in response to the magic radiating from the child.
"Cold fire? Ice fire? I have never seen anything like this, I think."
He turned toward Roxane, seeking the Keeper's perspective.
Roxane's expression remained composed, but her eyes shone with an intensity rarely seen by those who knew her. She crossed the hall and knelt before Morwenna, bringing herself to the child's eye level.
Even her centuries of practiced restraint couldn't entirely conceal the wonder breaking through her composure. "How long have you been able to do this, petite?"
Morwenna thought about the question, her brow furrowing as she counted backward through the days.
"A few days. After I could walk again." She looked at Roxane earnestly. "I wanted to show you before you left."
Celestine came to stand beside her mother, her gaze moving between the flames and Morwenna's face.
"Show me the snow."
Morwenna lifted her left hand. The snowflake pattern drifted upward, rotating slowly as it caught the torchlight.
Celestine reached out and touched one of its delicate branches. When she drew her finger back, it was cold and slightly damp.
"Frost," she murmured. "Real frost. But you created it from nothing."
Morwenna nodded.
"It's easier now. Before, it just happened when I wasn't thinking."
She closed her right hand, and the cold fire vanished instantly. Then she closed her left, and the snowflake dissolved into the air.
With both displays gone, she stood quietly in the middle of the hall, small and bright-eyed, looking up at the adults as though waiting for them to tell her what they thought.
The adults exchanged long, meaningful glances.
Aldric spoke first. His voice carried the weight of everything they had endured over the past few weeks, but beneath it lay a deep sense of wonder.
"We have another lead."
Saoirse nodded slowly, still staring at the empty space where the cold flames had been.
"A clue. A real one. We aren't just guessing anymore."
Seraphina moved to her husband's side and rested a hand on his arm, steadying herself against the sudden rush of hope.
"A phoenix that manifests as frost. Cold fire. That's specific enough to search for. It must be documented somewhere."
Jack remained silent, standing slightly apart from the others with his hands in his pockets as he watched his daughter.
Morwenna looked up at them with the familiar expression she wore whenever she didn't quite understand a conversation but knew it concerned her. Cinder sat close to her feet, his russet ears swiveling between the adults as he tried to follow their reactions.
Jane noticed Jack's gaze shift toward her and looked at him.
His expression remained controlled, but his eyes revealed the struggle he had kept buried for weeks. The guilt and fear that had weighed on him since the ritual went wrong hadn't disappeared, yet something had finally begun to crack through them.
For the first time, a little warmth was finding its way into the heavy emptiness he had carried in his chest.
Roxane rose to her feet, the folds of her indigo robes settling around her. "This changes things," she said quietly. "Not the danger, but the search. We finally know what we are looking for."
Her gaze lingered on the space where the cold fire had burned. "A phoenix that manifests as frost. Cold fire. That's specific, and it's something we can search for."
Celestine nodded, her jaw setting with renewed determination. "The Hive holds records of phoenix manifestations. Now we know which ones to look for. We will find something."
Morwenna watched them with her head tilted slightly to one side. She didn't fully understand the weight of their words, but she could feel the change in the air around her.
The heaviness that had hung over the manor for weeks had begun to lift, making room for something that had been missing for far too long.
Hope.
Jane knelt and gathered her daughter into her arms, the soft silk of Morwenna's dress brushing against her skin.
"You are incredible," she whispered into Morwenna's white hair. "Do you know that?"
Morwenna considered the question with her usual seriousness.
"Yes."
Jane laughed, her eyes wet with tears. It wasn't the strained, hollow sound of someone trying to reassure others that she was fine. This time, the laughter was genuine, full of relief and love.
Saoirse was next. She swept Morwenna into her arms and lifted her off the ground, spinning her around once before the child could protest. Cinder yelped and scrambled out of their way, his tail whipping behind him.
"You little monster! You absolute little monster! That was amazing!"
Morwenna burst into laughter, the same bright, carefree sound that had returned to the nursery weeks earlier.
Jack took his turn next.
He held Morwenna close, resting one hand against the back of her head, and said nothing. He didn't need to. She fit against his chest just as she always had, small, warm, and solid. Her arms looped around his neck, and she pressed her face into the curve of his shoulder.
He could feel her heartbeat, fast and light beneath his hand. It was the same rhythm he remembered from when she was a newborn, when he had held her for the first time and realized that his life would never belong to him alone again.
He closed his eyes and breathed in her familiar scent.
For weeks, he had carried a weight in his chest, like a stone that had settled there when Morwenna screamed in the bath and he could do nothing to reach her.
With each passing day, it had grown heavier. He had spent hours in the library turning pages and searching for answers that refused to appear, then passed his nights watching his daughter sleep and wondering whether he had failed her.
He had pushed for the balanced path. He had insisted on the Veela and Lethifold threads. He had sat in the study with his father and helped choose the runes, the proportions, and the path her magic would take.
They had followed everything they knew to be right, yet Morwenna had still suffered. The frost had risen and fought against the very thing that was supposed to help her.
It was my fault, he had told himself. All my fault.
But now she was in his arms, warm and whole, laughing as though the past few weeks had never happened. She had done something no Keith child had ever done. She had taken the magic that had caused her so much pain and turned it into something beautiful.
While the adults searched through books, exchanged letters, and struggled to understand what had happened, she had quietly practiced on her own until she found a way to control it.
She had found her own way forward.
It isn't my fault. It isn't anyone's fault. This is simply Morwenna, finding her own path.
Jack opened his eyes.
Morwenna had pulled back to look at him, her green eyes steady and full of concern.
"Dada is okay?"
He swallowed, his voice rough when he finally answered.
"Dada is okay."
She patted his cheek, just as she did whenever she wanted to comfort someone. Then she wriggled in his arms, asking to be put down. Jack lowered her to the floor and watched as she moved away.
For the first time in weeks, the weight in his chest was gone.
Aldric and Seraphina each kissed Morwenna's forehead, their eyes bright with emotion. Lucien gently touched her hair and murmured something in Veela, his melodic voice soft enough that only those nearby could hear. Whatever he said made her smile.
Celestine held Morwenna's face between her hands, studying her green eyes before giving a single, approving nod.
Roxane was the last. She knelt before Morwenna once more and took both of her small hands in hers. They were warm and delicate against her own.
"You are going to become something extraordinary," Roxane said. "Far more than any of us expected, and perhaps more than any of us can imagine."
She gave Morwenna's hands a gentle squeeze.
"Be careful with your magic. Learn to understand it slowly, and let it grow with you."
Morwenna looked at her great-grandmother, taking in the familiar green eyes that matched her own and the face that had witnessed centuries of history.
"I will," she promised.
Roxane kissed her forehead before rising to her feet.
The Floo flared emerald green.
Celestine stepped through first, her indigo robes disappearing into the flames with a soft whoosh. Lucien followed, the warmth of his Veela magic flickering briefly before vanishing with him.
Roxane remained beside the hearth for a moment longer. She turned to look at the family gathered in the entrance hall, taking in each familiar face one last time.
Her gaze rested on Jane, then Jack standing steadily beside her. Morwenna stood between her parents, small and bright, with Cinder pressed close against her legs. Finally, Roxane looked toward Aldric, Seraphina, and Saoirse.
Then she stepped into the fire.
The emerald flames rose around her before settling back into the hearth.
They were gone.
Morwenna remained in the middle of the hall, watching the empty fireplace. One hand sank into Cinder's thick russet fur, and the fox turned his ears toward her as though waiting to see what she would do next. Jane rested a hand on her daughter's shoulder, offering a quiet, reassuring presence.
Morwenna looked up at her.
"Will they come back?"
Jane gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze.
"Soon."
Morwenna nodded and turned toward the stairs, with Cinder following closely behind her. At the bottom step, she paused and glanced back at the fireplace, where the last green sparks were slowly fading.
"Bye, Grand-mère," she whispered.
Then she climbed the stairs and disappeared into the upper hall.
. . .
In the master bedroom, Jane sat at the desk with her baby-blue journal open before her. The fire burned low in the grate, casting long shadows across the room as she uncapped her quill and began to write. The soft scratch of its nib against the paper was the only sound.
May 21.
She showed us today. Wandless and wordless magic. Snow in one hand, cold fire in the other. She said she had been practicing.
Only three weeks have passed since the bath, and she is already doing things we can't explain.
Grand-mère said this changes things. We finally know what to look for: a phoenix that manifests as frost, perhaps one that produces cold fire.
For the first time, our search has a direction.
- -
Flashback
The first time, Morwenna hadn't meant to do it.
She was standing by the nursery window, watching the garden. Dozens of snowdrops had appeared across the dark soil, their white petals scattered among the green leaves. She pressed her palm against the glass, as she often did, and felt the cold seep into her skin.
Frost began to spread beneath her hand.
She watched as silver crystals branched outward across the glass, forming patterns like tiny, intricate trees. It was beautiful, and somehow, she knew it belonged to her.
She pulled her hand away and examined her palm. Nothing had changed. Her skin was still pale and smooth.
Curious, she pressed it against the glass again.
The frost returned.
She did it twelve times that afternoon. By the end, her palm had gone numb, and Cinder had given up trying to understand what she was doing. He settled on the bed with his head resting on his paws, occasionally turning his ears toward her whenever she pressed her hand against the window again.
The next day, Morwenna decided to try something different.
She sat on the floor with her back against the bed, Cinder resting beside her, and held out one hand. She thought about the cold, remembering the frost and the familiar sensation of it spreading beneath her skin.
Nothing happened.
She tried again, concentrating harder and willing the cold to appear.
Still nothing.
She spent an entire hour trying, but all she gained was an aching arm. By then, Cinder had fallen asleep beside her.
Morwenna tried again the following morning.
This time, something stirred.
It wasn't in her hand, but deep inside her chest. A faint flicker of cold, quiet and familiar, stirred within her. She focused on it, reaching for it the same way she had reached for the frost on the window.
The feeling responded slowly, almost reluctantly, like a dream she was struggling to remember.
Then a snowflake appeared in her palm.
It was tiny, no bigger than her thumbnail, and almost transparent. It spun gently in the air, catching the morning light and scattering it into faint silver glimmers.
Morwenna stared at it, holding her breath.
A moment later, it vanished.
She remained where she was for a long time, her hand still outstretched and her green eyes wide with wonder. Cinder had woken up and was watching her, his ears pricked forward.
"Again," she whispered.
And she tried again.
It took three days before she could keep the snowflake steady. Five days before she could make it last longer than a single breath. After a full week of practice, she could turn it, spin it, and make it dance above her palm.
The fire came later.
That morning, the snow had come easily, but Morwenna wanted to do more. Frustrated by her lack of progress, she sat on the bed and held out her right hand.
She thought about warmth, remembering the fire in the hearth and the comforting heat she felt whenever Lucien stood nearby.
Nothing happened.
Then she remembered the ritual. She remembered the terrible heat that had fought against her cold, the pain that had filled her body, and how desperately she had wanted it to stop.
That heat hadn't belonged to her.
But what if there was a different kind of heat? One that did belong to her?
What if—
A tiny spark appeared in her palm.
It was barely visible, flickering for an instant before dying out.
Morwenna gasped, and Cinder's ears immediately snapped forward.
She tried again.
Nothing happened.
She tried once more, then again and again, until her hand trembled with exhaustion and she had to stop.
The next morning, she tried again, but nothing appeared. She spent the afternoon attempting to summon another spark, only to meet the same failure.
The following day brought no better results. Then, on the day after that, a spark finally appeared before vanishing almost immediately.
Morwenna refused to give up.
The next day, a small flame rose above her palm.
It was weak and unsteady, but there was no mistaking what it was. Its base glowed with an icy silver light, while the tips shifted into a clear blue, like the color of a crystal. It gave off no heat, yet it was unmistakably fire.
Morwenna stared at it until it finally disappeared.
After that, she practiced every day.
She practiced in the mornings, in the afternoons, and whenever she had a quiet moment to herself. Little by little, she learned to summon the snowflake and the cold fire whenever she wanted, keeping each one steady in her palm without letting it fade.
Then she began working on something more difficult.
Holding both at once.
Snow in her left hand, cold fire in her right.
She practiced until she could keep them both in place, then until she could make them move together, with snow spiraling around the flame and the blue light flickering through the delicate silver flakes.
By the time Roxane was preparing to leave, Morwenna could do it without either one disappearing.
On the morning of her great-grandmother's departure, she woke before dawn and practiced one last time.
A snowflake spun steadily above her left palm, while the cold fire burned quietly in her right. Neither wavered nor faded.
For the first time, both were exactly as she wanted them to be.
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