Nimue watched from the window as the land began to fold inward. The flat, open farmland she had watched for the past hour started to swell into low, rolling hills that rose and fell like a heavy green sea.
The grass was much greener here, appearing lush and thick, while old hedges divided the fields into uneven patches. Gray stone walls ran along the narrow roads, and sheep grazed on the hillsides, their white coats standing out against the green landscape.
A small stream wound through a meadow, its surface glittering whenever the sunlight caught it. Beyond the next rise, Nimue caught sight of a village green dominated by an enormous oak tree. Its thick branches spread wide over the grass, casting a broad patch of shade beneath them.
Thornwell was a small, ancient village. Its stone cottages stood close together along the winding road, their colorful doors and flower-filled window boxes adding warmth to the weathered buildings. There was a little school, a post office, a pub with a hanging sign, and an old church whose tower rose above the rooftops.
Yet the thing that caught Nimue's attention most was the people.
Several villagers had come out of their houses to watch the car pass. Some stood beside their garden gates, while others gathered near the village green. A few waved at Thomas, but most seemed far more interested in the people riding in the back.
They looked as though they had been waiting for this moment for a very long time.
"Do they know who we are?" Nimue asked.
Thomas glanced at her through the rearview mirror. "Some of them do, little miss. The Keith family has been part of this village for generations, even if most people have never met anyone from the main branch."
He nodded toward a man standing outside the pub.
"Mr. Davies, for example. His grandmother was a Keith, and so was his mother. Quite a few families here have Keith blood somewhere in their family trees."
Nimue looked back at the villagers. Some wore curious expressions, while others seemed almost excited. She couldn't tell whether they were simply interested in the arrival of visitors or whether the return of the main family meant something more to them.
The car continued past the village green before turning onto a private road. Ahead stood a pair of stone pillars covered in moss, with iron gates between them. Thomas drove through the open gates and followed a long driveway lined with beech trees.
At the end of the drive stood Thornwell Manor.
It was a three-story house built from pale stone, with tall sash windows and a white-columned portico sheltering the front entrance. The dark wooden door had been polished until it shone, and a carved Keith crest decorated the stone above it. The design was simpler than the crest on Jack's signet ring, but Nimue recognized the phoenix and serpent at its center.
The manor was smaller than Keith Manor, yet it was still an impressive house. Its walls and windows showed their age, but everything appeared well cared for.
Thomas brought the car to a stop in front of the entrance before getting out and opening the door for them.
"Welcome to Thornwell," he said.
Jack stepped out first, then helped Jane and Nimue down from the car. The moment Nimue's feet touched the ground, she noticed the different smells carried by the breeze. Fresh-cut grass, woodsmoke, and another sweet, green scent filled the air. She couldn't quite identify the last one, but she liked it.
Before she could look around any further, the front door opened.
A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped outside. His silver hair caught the sunlight, and his face reminded Nimue of Aldric's, particularly the shape of his jaw and the lines around his eyes. He looked to be in his sixties, but he stood straight and moved with the ease of someone who was still in good health.
"Jack."
The man's voice carried a note of surprise and warmth as he approached.
Jack smiled and clasped his hand. "William. It has been a long time."
"Far too long." William shook his hand firmly before turning to Jane. "And you must be Jane. Welcome to Thornwell. We are very glad to have you here."
"Thank you for having us," Jane replied.
William's gaze then fell on Nimue.
For a moment, he said nothing. His expression softened, and something in his eyes changed as he looked at her. It was as though he were seeing a part of his family that he had heard about for years but had never expected to meet in person.
Nimue looked back at him, curious about his reaction.
"I'm Nimue," she introduced herself.
William lowered himself into a crouch so that they could speak at eye level. His smile was gentle, though his eyes still held a trace of emotion.
"I'm William, your father's cousin. You can call me Cousin William, Uncle William, or simply William if you prefer. We are family, after all."
Nimue remembered what her father had told her about the mundane Keiths. They carried the blood of the family even though they couldn't use magic, and their loyalty had never been forgotten. They were part of the bridge between the magical and mundane worlds, just as the villagers' reactions had suggested.
She studied William's face for another moment before making her choice.
"Uncle William."
His smile widened.
"That sounds just right."
Footsteps sounded from inside the house, and a gray-haired woman appeared at the top of the steps behind him. Her face was kind, and she wore a welcoming smile. A boy of about twelve followed her out, standing a little behind her shoulder as he examined the newcomers with open curiosity.
"Welcome," the woman said warmly. "We have the rooms ready. The one for family."
Her words were simple, but Nimue sensed that the room meant more than an ordinary guest bedroom. It was the good room, perhaps even one that had been kept ready for years in case the main branch ever returned. The thought made her wonder how long the people of Thornwell had been waiting for this visit.
"Thank you," Jane said. "That's very kind of you."
"Come inside, then. You must be tired after the journey."
William led them through the front door into a cool, quiet entrance hall. A curved wooden staircase stood against one wall, its polished banister reflecting the light from the windows.
Oil portraits hung along the walls, their colors faded by centuries of sunlight. The people in the paintings remained still, unlike the enchanted portraits at Keith Manor, but their eyes seemed to follow Nimue as she passed.
She wondered how many Keiths had walked through this hall over the years.
William began leading them upstairs. The wooden steps creaked softly beneath their feet, worn down in the middle by generations of people climbing them. A faded, dusty-red runner stretched along the staircase and continued down the upper corridor, where more portraits hung between the bedroom doors.
At the far end, William stopped in front of the last door.
"This is yours."
He opened it and stepped aside to let them enter.
The bedroom was spacious, with a large window overlooking the village green. A high bed stood against one wall, covered with a white counterpane.
Beside the window was a small table holding a vase of fresh flowers, and the pale blue wallpaper had faded in places with age. A thick rug covered much of the wooden floor, its colors softened by years of use.
It was nothing like the nursery at Keith Manor, with its silk curtains, velvet cushions, and ancient magic woven into the room itself. This bedroom was simpler, but there was something warm and peaceful about it. The air smelled faintly of beeswax and sunlight, and everything had been arranged with care.
Nimue walked toward the window.
From here, she could see the village green and the enormous oak tree standing in its center. The school was quiet, and the pub's sign swung gently in the breeze. Beyond the rooftops, the church tower rose against the rolling hills, which glowed green and gold in the afternoon light.
She watched the scene for a while, taking in the unfamiliar sight of a village that seemed to have changed very little over the years.
Then, quite suddenly, she felt tired.
It wasn't the ordinary tiredness that came after a long day of walking or playing. Her legs felt heavy, and even keeping her eyes open seemed to require more effort than it should. The exhaustion reminded her of how she had felt after the blood rituals, though this time there was no pain, only a deep need to rest.
"Maman."
Jane was beside her almost at once. She rested a hand against Nimue's back, warm and steady.
"Sleep for a while, sweetheart. We will be here when you wake up."
Nimue didn't argue. She climbed onto the bed, where the sheets felt cool and smooth against her skin. The pillow carried a faint scent of lavender. Cinder jumped up after her, turned around twice at the foot of the bed, and settled down with a contented sigh.
His warmth spread through the blankets, and Nimue's eyes soon closed.
When she woke again, the light in the room had changed. The afternoon sun had grown deeper and more golden, and the shadows had shifted across the floor. For a moment, she lay still, trying to remember where she was.
Then she heard voices downstairs.
There was the clatter of plates, the murmur of conversation, and an occasional burst of laughter. Cinder lifted his head, his ears turning toward the door.
Nimue sat up and rubbed her eyes. She was still wearing the clothes she had traveled in that morning, though her shirt was wrinkled and her shorts had become creased from sleeping. Her white hair had come loose and tangled around her shoulders.
She climbed out of bed, and Cinder followed her as she made her way into the corridor.
The house seemed quieter now that she was awake enough to notice it. She walked past the portraits and down the staircase, following the sounds of conversation until she reached a doorway at the back of the house.
It led into a dining room with tall windows overlooking the garden. A long table stood in the center, covered with a white cloth and set with plates, dishes, and silver candlesticks.
Several people had gathered around it.
William sat at the head of the table, with his wife beside him. Across from the boy who had greeted them earlier sat a girl a few years younger, her dark-brown hair falling around her shoulders. An older man who looked as though he might be William's brother sat farther down the table. Beside him was a woman with a kind face, holding a baby in her lap.
Everyone turned to look at Nimue.
She stopped in the doorway.
She hadn't meant to come down to join them. She had only wanted to find her mother, but now she could see Jack, Jane, and Saoirse sitting at the table as well. All three looked at her with soft expressions that she didn't quite know how to interpret.
"Nimue, you are awake," Jane said.
Nimue crossed the room toward her. Jane reached out, drew her close, and settled her on her lap. Nobody commented on her tangled hair or wrinkled clothes. Her mother simply held her as though there were nothing unusual about finding her daughter wandering downstairs after a long nap.
Saoirse leaned toward her with a conspiratorial look.
"You slept through lunch. There was pie."
"Pie?"
"Apple pie, with cream. There might still be some left."
Saoirse raised her eyebrows at William's wife, silently asking whether there was any left.
The woman laughed. "There's always pie."
A plate soon appeared in front of Nimue, holding a thick slice of apple pie. The crust was golden and flaky, and the soft apple filling showed through a small crack near the edge. A little jug of cream followed, and Saoirse poured some over the top.
Nimue picked up her fork and began to eat.
The pie was warm, the apples soft and sweet, and the cold cream melted into the filling with every bite. She ate slowly at first, but the food was so good that she soon finished the entire slice.
All around her, the conversation continued. Voices rose and fell, sometimes overlapping, with laughter breaking out whenever someone said something amusing.
Nimue didn't follow every word, but she liked listening to the easy rhythm of their talk. It sounded different from conversations at Keith Manor, where even ordinary discussions often carried a sense of formality.
Here, William's wife occasionally reached over to touch her daughter's hand, while the boy across the table kept glancing at Nimue with undisguised curiosity.
When Nimue finished her pie, she set down her fork.
The conversation gradually quieted. Once again, she found several people looking at her.
William smiled at her from the head of the table.
"Well, Nimue, how do you like Thornwell?"
She thought about the green outside, the enormous oak tree, and the children she had seen sitting on the low stone wall earlier. She remembered the quiet bedroom upstairs, with its faded blue wallpaper and window overlooking the village green. The room had felt as though someone had been waiting for their family to return.
"It's quiet," she said at last.
William's smile deepened. "It is. That's why we like it."
Nimue glanced toward the boy sitting across from her. He was tall for his age, with his father's jaw and his mother's coloring. He had been watching her ever since she came downstairs, though he hadn't said much.
After a moment, he leaned forward slightly.
"Do you want to see the village?"
The question caught everyone's attention. The conversation stopped, and the people around the table turned toward Nimue again.
William looked at his son, then at Nimue, before finally glancing toward Jack.
Jack met his gaze, then looked at his daughter.
"If she wants to."
Nimue looked at the boy. She hadn't caught his name yet, but she knew he was family. She could see it in the shape of his face and the way he sat. He watched her with the same patient attention her father gave to things that mattered.
"Yes."
She slid off Jane's lap. The boy was already on his feet, waiting for her.
"Come on. I will show you around."
His name was Andrew. He was twelve years old, and he had been looking forward to meeting Nimue ever since his father told him she would be visiting. As they walked down the lane together, he kept his hands in his pockets. His strides were naturally long, but he slowed down enough for her to keep up without having to hurry.
"The green is the heart of the village," he explained. "That oak has been here for five hundred years. Longer than the houses, even longer than the church."
Nimue looked up at the tree. It was enormous, with a trunk far too thick for her to wrap her arms around and branches that spread wide enough to shade half the green. The leaves were bright and fresh, almost the same shade as the grass below. Sunlight filtered through them in patches of green and gold.
"Five hundred years?"
"The first Keith planted it when they built the manor."
Nimue didn't know whether that was true. Still, she looked at the oak and thought about the manor and its gates. Some things were old enough that they seemed to belong to the land itself. They had been there for so long that they hardly needed proof.
They walked along the edge of the green. Andrew showed her the village pub, The Serpent's Head, whose sign depicted a serpent coiled around a crown. The church was called St. Catherine's. Its tower rose above the rooftops, and the graveyard surrounding it was filled with weathered gravestones that had stood there for centuries.
He also showed her the post office, the school, and the little shop where he usually bought sweets. Then he led her to the stream behind the houses, where clear water rushed over smooth gray stones, and pointed out the old bridge that had been there since the village was built.
Nimue listened as he explained the places they passed, taking in the details as they went. The village was small enough that they could walk through much of it without going very far, yet every corner seemed to have something worth noticing.
Eventually, they returned to the low stone wall surrounding the oak. The sun had sunk lower, and the afternoon light had deepened into a warm gold. The green was almost empty now. The children had gone home, and the women who had been walking with their prams were nowhere to be seen.
For a while, it was just Nimue, Andrew, and the old tree.
"Your room," Andrew said suddenly. "The one you are sleeping in. It used to belong to my grandmother."
Nimue turned to look at him.
"She was the one who kept it ready for you," he continued. "She always said the other branch of the family would come back one day, and when they did, they would need a room of their own. She kept it clean and put fresh flowers in it every week."
His gaze remained on the oak rather than on her.
"She died two years ago. My mother takes care of it now."
He stood straight, his hands still tucked into his pockets. There was something quiet and serious about the way he spoke, as though he were repeating words he had heard many times before and had come to understand for himself.
"I'm sorry," Nimue said.
Andrew shrugged.
"She was old. She was ready." He finally looked at her, his face still young in the golden light. "She would have liked you. She liked quiet people. She always said quiet people notice things."
Nimue glanced at the oak. Its leaves stirred in a breeze she could barely feel, and the sunlight shifting through the branches painted the grass beneath it in changing shades of green and gold.
"I notice things," she said.
Andrew smiled. It was a small smile, but it was genuine.
"I know."
They remained beside the wall for a little longer, watching the light move across the green without feeling the need to fill the silence.
The pub door opened, and a man stepped outside with a dog at his heels. He glanced toward the oak, his gaze passing over Nimue and Andrew. His eyes lingered briefly on the little girl with white hair shining in the evening sunlight, then he gave them a single, slow nod and continued on his way.
Nimue watched him leave.
"What was that?"
Andrew looked after the man. "He knows who you are. Everyone does."
She thought about the car arriving in the village, the children sitting on the stone wall, and the villagers who had gathered near their gates to watch. She thought about the bedroom upstairs, with its faded wallpaper and fresh flowers, and how it had been kept ready for her long before she arrived.
"Why?"
Andrew turned toward her. He was only twelve, but there was something familiar in his eyes, something that reminded her of her father. He had grown up hearing the village's history from his family, just as his grandmother had learned it from those who came before her.
"Because of what your family did. Long before the Statute, before any of that."
He began walking again, and Nimue followed beside him.
"There were families who didn't treat their Squib children well," he explained. "Some ignored them. Others hid them away as if they had never been born. And some..." He paused, searching for the right words. "Some thought they were a stain on the family name. Something they needed to erase."
His jaw tightened slightly.
"The Ancestors could have done the same. It would have been easy, and hardly anyone would have questioned them. But they didn't."
Andrew slowed his pace, glancing at her to make sure she was listening.
"They chose to keep their Squib children in the family. They cared for them and made sure they had a place in the world, even without magic."
His gaze shifted toward the village.
"So they built Thornwell. It wasn't an afterthought, and it wasn't somewhere to send people away. They built a proper home where people like us could live safely and have their own lives. We didn't have to hide what we were or pretend to be something else."
He let out a quiet breath before continuing.
"Then the Statute came, and the wizarding world had to separate itself from the mundane one. But the Keiths didn't abandon us. They protected the village and made sure it would survive. They helped keep our history alive, even when the rest of the world could no longer know about theirs."
He looked at Nimue again.
"That's why this place exists. Because your family refused to pretend we didn't exist."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Andrew looked toward the green and the oak, his expression settling into something calm and certain.
"We don't forget that," he said. "We don't forget who we are, or who made it possible for us to live this way."
Nimue looked around the village.
The light was fading, and long shadows stretched across the road. Warm lamplight had begun to glow behind the windows of the cottages.
The pub door stood open, allowing the sound of comfortable conversation to drift outside. The post office was closed, the shop had gone dark, and the school stood empty.
Yet the village didn't feel empty to her.
It was full of people who knew her family, people who remembered what the Keiths had done and had waited for their return. They had prepared a room for her, welcomed her without hesitation, and treated her as someone who belonged here.
Someone who was part of their history, too.
"I want to see the tablets," Nimue said. "The ones in the Ancestors' Hall."
Andrew nodded at once.
"I can take you there if you want."
She looked at him. He was family, and he had been kind enough to show her around without expecting anything in return.
"Yes. I want to see them."
They turned back toward Thornwell Manor, their shadows stretching across the grass behind them. The windows of the house glowed warmly in the fading light, and the front door stood open to welcome them inside.
The moment they stepped through the entrance, Nimue was greeted by the warmth of the hall, the murmur of familiar voices, and the comforting smell of a good meal.
Jane was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Her gaze moved over Nimue's tangled hair and the dirt along the hem of her shorts before she smiled.
"Was it a good walk?"
Nimue glanced back toward the open door. Beyond it, the village green lay beneath the darkening sky, and the great oak stood like a shadow against the last traces of sunlight.
"Yes," she answered. "It was good."
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