The car hummed beneath her, its steady vibration travelling up through the leather seat and into her bones. Nimue had her face pressed against the window, her warm breath fogging the glass in small clouds that appeared and disappeared with every breath.
The city was gone now. The streets lined with plane trees, the brick houses with their painted doors, and the busy crossings where she had learned to wait for the green man had all fallen behind them.
Now there was only the long road, the wide sky, and endless rolling fields of green. She watched the hedgerows blur past. They were thick and tangled, their leaves dark and glossy in the summer sun.
The sky seemed incredibly wide here, wider than anything she had seen since leaving Thornwell. It stretched from one horizon to the other, pale and watery blue near the edges, growing brighter until it was almost white where the sun hung high above.
She had been watching for a long time. Her neck was beginning to ache from the awkward angle, but she didn't move. There was simply too much to see.
"Maman."
Jane looked up from the book in her lap. She hadn't been reading for a while, and her hands were folded over its cover, one thumb marking a place she had yet to reach.
"Will we go back? To Thornwell? To the London house?"
Jane was quiet for a moment. Then she set the book aside on the seat between them. Its spine creaked softly.
"You mean Hermione."
Nimue didn't answer.
Jane reached over and gently smoothed the fine white hair away from her daughter's face. Her fingers were warm and soothing.
"Maybe. If you are well enough next year, perhaps we can go. Or perhaps we won't. We will be busy, and there will be other things we need to do."
Nimue kept her face turned toward the window. The fields seemed endless. A farmhouse appeared in the distance, low and gray, then quickly disappeared behind them as the car continued along the road.
"Things change as time passes. But that doesn't mean they will change soon."
"She said they might move," Nimue said. "Mione. To a bigger house."
"Yes."
"I don't know where."
Jane kept her hand on Nimue's hair.
"If the Lady of Fate allows it, you will meet her again someday. When you are older."
Nimue thought about those words. She gave a small nod, barely lifting her chin from where it rested against her arm.
Jane reached into her coat and took out a small envelope. It was cream-colored, with one corner slightly bent from being kept in her pocket.
"This is from Hermione. Her mother gave it to me before we left."
Nimue looked at the envelope. Her name was written across the front in careful, slanted handwriting. The letters had been pressed firmly into the paper, the ink dark and deliberate.
She wanted to take it. Her fingers twitched against the windowpane. She wanted to open it and see what Hermione had written. She wanted to know what words her friend had put down on paper when she could no longer say them quickly enough or loudly enough.
But Nimue shook her head.
"Keep it. For me."
Jane's hand paused over the envelope.
"You don't want to read it now?"
Nimue looked at the fields, the sky, and the road stretching ahead toward the distant hills.
"Later. When I'm five. After the ritual. Then I will read it."
She didn't know why she had said that. The words had come out before she had time to think about them. Yet once she heard them, they felt right.
The ritual was a wall she would have to cross. On the other side, she would be different. Stronger. More herself. That was when she wanted to know what Hermione had written.
Jane slipped the envelope back into her coat pocket.
"I will keep it safe."
Nimue nodded and leaned against her mother. Her nose found the familiar softness of Jane's wool jumper, and a moment later, her mother's arm came around her. A warm hand settled on her shoulder.
She closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, the light had changed.
The sun was lower, casting longer shadows across the land. The world outside the window was no longer flat. The road had begun to climb, and the car's engine worked harder, its steady hum deepening into a low growl.
The open fields had given way to rolling hills covered in ancient trees. The green was darker here, and the grass grew much longer. Sunlight filtered through the branches in slanted bars of gold.
Nimue sat up. Her cheek felt warm where it had rested against her mother's side, and the fabric had left a faint pattern on her skin.
"Look."
Her voice was soft with surprise.
Jack turned in his seat. Saoirse leaned forward from the passenger seat to see what had caught her attention. Jane's hand remained on Nimue's shoulder, though she was watching the view as well.
The road curved sharply around the side of a hill, and the valley opened up below them.
It was nothing like Thornwell.
Thornwell had been neat and contained, with its houses gathered around the village green and the great oak. This place was different. It was wide and open, with the valley spreading out in every direction. The green was so deep that it almost looked blue where the hills fell into shadow.
Fences crisscrossed the land, dividing the fields into long, uneven strips. Most were made of weathered gray wood.
Nimue spotted animals grazing in the distance. They were larger than the sheep she had seen in Thornwell.
Horses, she thought, but not like the Abraxans she knew. These were stockier, with shaggy coats in shades of brown, black, and rust-red. They moved in small groups, their heads lowered as they grazed and their tails swishing from side to side. A few stood near the fences, their noses pointed curiously toward the road.
There were houses too, but unlike the village, they were not gathered close together. Each stood in its own little stretch of land. Some were large, two-storey buildings with barns beside them. Others were smaller, looking like simple cottages surrounded by gardens full of vegetables.
And there were trees. More trees than Nimue had seen since leaving the manor.
They lined the roads, clustered along the edges of the fields, and covered the hills in thick, dark waves. The forest was close here. She could clearly see where the open land ended and the dense trees began, their branches forming a shadowy wall beyond the fields.
Her heart began to beat faster. She pressed both hands against her thighs.
"There," Saoirse said, pointing ahead.
A gate stood between two stone pillars at a turn in the road.
"That's it."
The car slowed. Thomas switched on the indicator, its steady clicking sounding unusually loud inside the quiet vehicle. He turned onto the narrow lane, and the tires crunched over loose gravel.
Tall hedges lined both sides of the road. Their leaves were bright green, and the branches grew together overhead, forming a leafy arch.
Nimue pressed her face against the window again. Her breath fogged the glass, and she quickly wiped it away with her sleeve.
The lane opened up.
The house stood ahead, set back from the road. It had a low, wide front porch, unlike the London house with its dark brick and narrow windows or Thornwell Manor with its pale stone walls and iron gates.
This house was made of wood.
The walls were unpainted, leaving the natural grain visible. Some parts looked dark, while others were much paler. The roof was low, its gray shingles weathered by age. A railing ran along the front porch, and several flowerpots hung from it. Red, yellow, and white blossoms stood out brightly against the old wood.
Nimue's mouth fell open. She forgot to close it.
The car came to a stop, and the engine fell silent.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then Nimue heard the birds. They were not the pigeons of London or the sparrows of Thornwell. Their calls were different, rising and falling in long, clear notes from somewhere among the trees.
Thomas opened his door with a solid thunk and stepped out. His boots crunched against the gravel as he walked around the car.
Jane opened her door next, and warm air rushed into the vehicle. It was thick with the scents of grass, damp earth, and something fresh and green that Nimue didn't yet know how to name.
"Come," Jane said.
Nimue slid across the seat and climbed out. Her legs were trembling, though she didn't know why. Her feet touched the gravel, and she stood there, taking in the view.
The world felt so wide and so green. There was so much to see that she couldn't take it all in at once.
She laughed. It was a small, surprised sound at first. Then it came again, louder. Her whole body was trembling, and her fingers curled tightly at her sides.
Saoirse looked at her, her expression softening.
"You like it?"
Nimue couldn't answer. She was looking at the house, the porch, and the flowers in their pots. She was looking at the field beyond the fence, where animals moved through the long grass. She was looking at the trees along the forest's edge, where deep shadows gathered beneath the branches.
She laughed again.
It was a little silly, she knew. But she couldn't help herself.
. . .
A woman stood waiting on the porch. She was tall, with skin darkened by years in the sun. Her hair was pulled back beneath a wide-brimmed hat, and she wore trousers stained dark green around the knees. The sleeves of her shirt were rolled up to her elbows.
She was smiling as they approached.
She came down the wooden steps, her boots making firm sounds against the boards.
"You made it."
Jack stepped forward. "Mrs. Hartwell."
"Margaret." She shook his hand with a firm grip. "Call me Margaret. Everyone does."
Jane came up beside him. "Thank you for letting us stay."
Margaret waved away her thanks. "You are paying. That's thanks enough." She glanced at Saoirse and Thomas before her gaze settled on Nimue, who was still standing near the edge of the gravel.
"This is the little one," she said. It wasn't a question.
Jane rested a hand on Nimue's shoulder. "This is Nimue."
Margaret crouched down. Her movements were slow, and her knees gave a faint crack as she lowered herself. She studied Nimue's face, taking in her white hair and the wide eyes still filled with wonder.
"Do you like the countryside?"
Nimue nodded. She still couldn't find her voice.
Margaret smiled. "Good. There's plenty to see around here."
She straightened and turned toward the house.
"Everything is ready. The beds are made, and the kitchen is stocked. There are eggs from the hens, bread from the village, and fresh milk from the cow. If you need anything else, I live up at the main house. It's about ten minutes away if you take the path through the field."
Jack was already heading toward the car's trunk to collect the bags. Saoirse followed him, while Jane kept a hand on Nimue's shoulder and gently guided her toward the porch.
But Nimue didn't move.
Her attention had been caught by an animal standing near the fence. It wasn't a horse. It was much larger, with a broad back and thick legs. Its coat was dark brown, almost black. Its face was wide, and its ears rested flat against its head. A rope hung loosely around its neck, looped over the top rail of the fence.
Nimue stared at it.
She had seen pictures of cows before. This one looked like a cow, but it was different. Its back was higher, its neck thicker, and its horns were short and curved. They didn't look particularly sharp. They were simply there.
"What is it?"
Her voice came out very softly.
Margaret followed her gaze.
"That's Bess. She is a Highland cow, a breed from Scotland. She is much gentler than she looks."
Nimue took one step toward the fence, then another.
Bess raised her head. Her ears turned forward, and her dark eyes watched the little girl approach with quiet patience.
Nimue stopped beside the fence and reached out to touch the wood. Its grain felt rough beneath her small fingers.
"She is a riding cow," Margaret explained. "Most people around here use horses, but Bess is steady and good for beginners. My granddaughter learned to ride on her."
Nimue looked at the cow's broad back. It seemed wide enough to hold her comfortably. The rope was still hanging loosely over the fence, its end trailing through the grass.
"You can ride her if you want."
Nimue turned to look at her mother.
Jane was standing on the porch, her hands resting at her sides. Her expression was gentle.
"Go on," Jane said.
Margaret stepped over to the fence and untied the rope, lifting it over Bess's head. The cow didn't move. She simply stood there, patient and calm, her breath stirring the warm afternoon air.
"Come here," Margaret said.
Nimue walked over to her. Her legs were still trembling, and her hands felt cold.
Margaret lifted her easily onto Bess's broad back. The cow's hide was warm beneath Nimue's legs, and her coat was thick and coarse. Nimue took hold of the rope, tightening her small fingers around its rough, dry fibers.
"Hold on. She will walk slowly. Just sit comfortably and let her carry you."
Bess began to move. Her steps were slow and heavy against the grass. Nimue swayed with each movement, but gradually her body began to follow the rhythm. Her grip on the rope loosened as she grew more comfortable.
The fence slipped past. Then the house.
Her mother stood on the porch, watching with one hand pressed against her chest. Saoirse was beside her, her mouth open and her face bright with excitement.
Ahead of Nimue, the field stretched out beneath the vast sky. The grass was long, reaching almost to Bess's belly, while the trees stood dark and thick along the far edge.
Nimue laughed.
This wasn't the silly, nervous laughter from earlier. It was something different, something that seemed to rise from deep inside her chest. It came from the place where the cold lived, and from somewhere that had been waiting for this moment.
Bess continued walking, her steps steady and unhurried. The rope remained loose in Nimue's hands, and the warm sunlight fell across her face.
The field seemed to go on forever.
. . .
Margaret left after showing them around the house. She had spent less than ten minutes inside, pointing out the stove, the water pump, and the cupboard where they could find the extra sheets.
Before leaving, she looked at Nimue one last time, the corners of her eyes crinkling with a smile.
"You come up to the main house tomorrow. I will show you the animals."
Then she walked over to Bess, climbed onto the cow's back with practiced ease, and rode away down the lane, her hat pulled low against the afternoon sun.
Nimue watched Margaret go. The cow's hooves made soft, dull sounds against the dirt, and the rope swung loosely at Margaret's side. Soon, she disappeared around the bend. The trees closed behind her, and she was gone.
The family went inside. The little house soon filled with their voices and the sound of footsteps on the wooden floorboards. Nimue heard Saoirse opening and closing cupboards, Jack testing the stove, and Jane taking fresh sheets from the linen press.
The house was smaller than the one in London. The rooms were low, with sloping ceilings. The kitchen had a fireplace blackened by years of use and a table that could fit all of them only if they sat close together. The windows looked out over the field, the fence, and the edge of the forest.
Nimue stood in the middle of the sitting room. A faded floral sofa sat against one wall, accompanied by chairs with worn armrests. A rug with muted colors and frayed edges covered part of the floor. Books filled a shelf, their spines cracked and their titles too small to read from where she stood.
She reached out and touched the wall. The wood felt cool beneath her fingertips, its grain slightly raised. She pressed her palm against the timber and felt the house breathe.
"Nimue." Jane stood in the doorway, a stack of sheets in her arms. "Come and help me."
Nimue followed her mother down the narrow hallway. There were two bedrooms, one large and one small. The larger room had a bed big enough for Jack and Jane, a wardrobe with a mirror, and a window overlooking the open field. The smaller room held a narrow bed, a chest of drawers, and a window facing the trees.
"This one is yours," Jane said.
Nimue walked over to the window. The forest was very close. The first trees stood just beyond the fence, close enough for her to make out individual leaves and branches. Shadows gathered beneath them, and somewhere deep among the trees, a bird called.
She turned around. Her bag rested on the bed, her leather pouch hung at her waist, and the silver locket lay warm against her chest.
She began unpacking her things.
. . .
By the time they finished settling in, the light had begun to fade into twilight. The sun hung low, stretching long shadows across the field. The grass shifted from gold to green, then gradually darkened beneath the deepening gray sky.
Thomas was in the sitting room with his boots off and his feet resting on the rug. Jack stood by the stove, where the flames burned brightly beneath the pot. The smell of frying onions filled the little kitchen. Saoirse was cutting vegetables, her knife moving quickly and evenly, just as it had in London.
Jane stood beside her, working dough with both hands. Flour covered her arms up to the elbows.
Nimue appeared in the doorway. She had been outside, walking along the edge of the field with one hand resting on the fence and her eyes fixed on the forest. She had returned when the light began to fade and the air grew cooler. Now, her stomach was empty.
She climbed onto a wooden chair at the table. The surface was worn and covered with old scratches and marks.
Jack glanced over his shoulder. "Hungry?"
"Yes."
He gave her a small smile, quick but warm.
They gathered around the table to eat. The four family members and Thomas sat close together, their plates nearly touching on the small tabletop. Candles flickered in their holders, casting warm light over the room.
The stew was thick and savory, and the bread was fresh from the oven. Butter melted into its warm, uneven crust. Nimue ate until her stomach was full and her eyelids began to grow heavy. The voices around her gradually blended into a low, comforting hum, and she could no longer follow their conversation.
Jane glanced at her. "Bath, then bed."
Nimue didn't argue.
The bath was an old iron tub, deep and heavy. The water had to be heated on the kitchen stove, and Jane carried it in bucket by bucket. Steam rose from the tub, filling the room with warmth.
Nimue sat in the water with her knees drawn up to her chest. Her white hair floated around her as Jane washed her back, arms, and feet.
Once she was clean, Jane wrapped her in a large towel and carried her to the small bedroom. The sheets felt cool against her skin, and the blanket was soft. Cinder was already waiting on the bed, curled up at the foot with his eyes half-closed.
Nimue climbed in, and Jane pulled the blanket up to her chin. She gently brushed the hair away from her daughter's face.
"Sleep," she said.
Nimue closed her eyes. She heard Jane's footsteps retreating across the wooden floor, followed by the soft click of the door closing. Voices drifted in from the sitting room, low and warm. Beyond the walls, the wind stirred the trees, and the house creaked softly as it settled for the night.
Somewhere out in the field, an animal called in the distance.
Nimue listened for a little while longer, then drifted off to sleep.
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