A few weeks later, after Morwenna had been tucked safely into bed, the adults gathered in the study.
The fire had burned low, casting a warm glow across the tall bookshelves. Jack sat behind his mahogany desk, the stack of unanswered letters beside him untouched. He had barely looked at his work in days, and the ink in his pen had dried.
Jane sat in an armchair near the hearth, holding a cup of tea that had long since gone cold. Aldric and Seraphina shared the velvet settee, while Saoirse sat on the rug with her back against the wall, her legs stretched towards the embers.
For a while, no one spoke.
The fire crackled occasionally, and the grandfather clock in the hall marked the passing seconds. Outside, the February wind pressed against the old windows, but the wards kept the cold from entering.
At last, Jane set down her cup.
"We need to talk about what happened."
Aldric nodded. "What happened to her wasn't ordinary, even for a child of her lineage."
"She couldn't control it for days," Jack said. His voice was flat with exhaustion. "Frost formed inside the windowpane. The glass cracked. Objects moved whenever she became even slightly frustrated."
"Her magic wasn't out of control, Jack." Seraphina remained composed. "It was responding to her distress. Those are two different things."
"Are they?" Jane looked at her mother-in-law, weariness evident in her green eyes. "What happens if it happens again when she is three, during her first maturity?"
"Then we make sure she is prepared." Aldric leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "That's what we have these years for."
Saoirse shifted against the wall. She seemed less troubled than the others, though she had been just as worried during Morwenna's illness.
"So where do we begin?" she asked. "We have spent weeks discussing the possibilities. Now we have seen how her magic behaves."
A faint sound came from the floor above.
Everyone fell silent.
Jane was halfway out of her chair before the sound stopped. They listened, waiting for another noise, but the manor soon settled back into stillness.
Jack let out a slow breath.
Saoirse turned her attention to the fire again. "That's why we need to get this right."
Jane sat down, reaching for her teacup before changing her mind and resting her hand in her lap.
"The fever showed us what happens when her body can no longer contain her magic." She looked around the room. "If we strengthen her body..."
"Physical enhancement," Jack said.
"Yes. That was my first thought."
Aldric studied her face. "But?"
"The way her magic escaped worries me." Jane pressed her fingers against her temple. "Even when she was weak, it still found ways out. If we only strengthen her body, we will have a stronger vessel, but that doesn't mean the magic will flow through it properly. The pressure could build until..."
She stopped, unable to finish the thought.
Seraphina set her knitting aside. The needles clicked softly together.
"Attunement."
Jane nodded. "We align her magic with her body so they stop working against each other."
Aldric considered this for a moment. "Then we have two paths to work with, as we discussed. A balanced approach."
"What about elemental inheritance?" Saoirse asked. "We discussed that, too."
Jack shook his head. "Basilisk, phoenix, Elder Dragon, High Elf. We don't know which of them will become dominant. If we force the wrong one to the forefront, we could throw her magic out of balance permanently."
Jane turned towards Seraphina. "But Veela and Lethifold inheritance may be different. The Noctua line, your side of the family. Those traits are less likely to clash with the others."
Seraphina ran her fingers along the velvet armrest, considering the suggestion.
"Lethifold magic concerns shadow and concealment. It doesn't impose itself on what is already there. It works around existing magic rather than forcing it aside. That may help her body accept the changes without resisting them."
"And Veela inheritance comes from your father's side," Jack added, glancing at Jane. "Presence, warmth, and a connection to living things. It flows around obstacles instead of trying to break through them."
Aldric nodded. "Then we design a balanced ritual specifically for her. Attunement for stability, physical enhancement for strength, and carefully chosen elemental markers that won't compete with her dominant lines."
Saoirse frowned. "That's three different parts. Can we really combine them?"
"The balanced approach allows for it," Aldric replied. "Most families choose two. Three is unusual, but possible."
Seraphina smoothed her skirts before continuing.
"Then those will be our three foundations. Attunement will do most of the work and keep her magic stable. Physical enhancement will provide a little extra strength, but we must be careful not to force her body to mature before its time.
Veela and Lethifold traits can be woven in gently, supporting the other lines rather than competing with them. As for Emrys and LeFay, we should allow those bloodlines to develop naturally."
Saoirse tilted her head. "Can we really make something that precise?"
"We can try." Aldric glanced at Seraphina, who gave a small nod.
"The old texts describe rituals of this kind," he continued. "They are rarely performed, and Morwenna's case will be more complicated than most. We will need more threads, and that means more strain."
Jane's jaw tightened. "How much more?"
"We won't know until we have designed the ritual. But we can control the balance to some extent. Keep the elemental aspect light, limit the physical enhancement, and let attunement carry most of the burden."
Jack reached for Jane's hand. She clasped it tightly without seeming to notice. A log shifted in the hearth, sending a few sparks upwards, but no one moved to tend the fire.
"And her second maturity?" Jane asked.
The question hung over them until Aldric answered.
"If she is an Alberich, the balanced ritual may not be enough. Her ancestral lines will be stronger, and she will need something designed to anchor several equally powerful inheritances."
"L'Éveil du Sang," Seraphina said quietly.
Jane nodded. "The Evans ritual. It anchors a child's bloodlines so they don't tear the child apart. Maman wrote about it. Only three uses have been recorded in the past five centuries."
Saoirse let out a slow breath. "That sounds rather frightening."
"It worked all three times," Aldric said. "And Morwenna won't face it alone. She will have all of us, as well as Celestine and the knowledge our predecessors lacked."
Jack looked at him. "You want us to use it?"
"I want us to keep it as a serious option. We will observe her through her first maturity and see how her magic responds. Then we decide."
Jane nodded slowly. "And the third maturity?"
"Much like the first," Seraphina said. "Another balanced ritual, but stronger. We reinforce what we have already established."
They sat quietly for a while, allowing the plan to take shape in their minds.
Saoirse eventually counted on her fingers. "First maturity: balanced ritual. Second: the French ritual if she needs it. Third: another balanced ritual, only stronger."
Aldric nodded. "That's our framework. The details will take considerable work."
"How much work?" Jane asked.
"Research, consultation with your mother, rare materials, and the blood rituals."
Jack straightened. "The blood rituals?"
Jane looked between them. "What exactly are those?"
Aldric answered her. "They are the foundation of druidic practice. Every Keith child begins them at the age of three. They protect the mind and body when the child starts working with deeper magic. Without them, the maturity rituals would be dangerous."
"How many are there?"
"Traditionally, one each year from the age of three until eleven. Nine in total. Each ritual inscribes new runes into the body, creating permanent pathways through which magic can flow."
"Nine blood rituals," Jane repeated.
Her voice had grown very quiet.
Aldric met her eyes. "Yes."
"She is only two."
"She will be three when the first one begins."
"That isn't an answer."
Silence filled the study.
Beneath the desk, Jack found Jane's hand and held it. Her grip tightened until his knuckles paled, but she kept her eyes on Aldric.
Her jaw clenched. "More pain," she murmured.
"Some," Aldric admitted calmly. "But the rituals don't have to be severe. We can take our time and make each one as gentle as possible while still achieving its purpose."
Jack glanced at Jane. "After everything she has just endured... the fever, the confusion, the way she stared at her own hands..."
Jane swallowed and nodded.
"Gentle," she said. "We spread them out and give her time to recover between each one. Time to adjust."
"Agreed," Aldric said at once.
"The first will take place when she turns three. It will do only what is necessary to begin. Nothing more."
Jane drew a slow breath. "What will she feel?"
"Mostly numbness, along with the sensation of something moving beneath her skin. It shouldn't be sharp pain. She may find the unfamiliar feeling frightening, but she won't experience it as an older child would."
Jane nodded, though she still looked troubled. "We can manage that."
"We will increase the complexity gradually," Jack added.
"Exactly," Aldric said. "These rituals exist to serve her, not the other way around."
Seraphina picked up her knitting again, resuming her steady movements.
"We will need to study rune patterns suited to multiple lineages. The Keith library has some useful texts, but the records are incomplete. We will need access to the Evans archives, too."
"I will begin tomorrow, at first light," Aldric said.
"And I will write to Maman tonight," Jane said. "We need to confirm the Evans approach and discuss the materials."
"The medicinal bath," Jack reminded her.
Jane nodded. "Yes. We should plan that with her directly."
Aldric inclined his head. "We can begin preparing the blood rituals now. The maturity ritual can be finalised closer to April."
Saoirse stretched her legs towards the fire. "So we have a plan."
The embers dimmed further, and the grandfather clock in the hall passed eleven.
Jane spoke softly. "What if we are wrong?"
No one asked what she meant. They all understood.
"Then we observe her and adjust," Aldric said. "Nothing we decide tonight is beyond reconsideration."
Jane leaned against Jack, who slipped an arm around her shoulders.
Saoirse tilted her head. "She is going to be fine. You know that."
Jane gave her a tired look. "You sound very certain."
"I am." Saoirse shrugged. "She is a Keith and an Evans. She has all of you looking after her. She has parents who worry about rune patterns and medicinal baths in the middle of the night. How badly could we possibly mess things up when we are worrying this much?"
No one answered immediately.
Then Jack said, "She has you as well."
Saoirse grinned. "Poor child."
Jane laughed. It was quiet and tired, but genuine.
. . .
The next morning, Morwenna was in the kitchen.
White flour covered the counter and stone floor, and even the small stool she stood on was dusted with it. Sticky dough clung to her hands, cheeks, and fine white curls. Beside her, Cinder sat watching with patient amber eyes, his large ears twitching whenever she moved.
Jane paused in the doorway, taking in the mess.
Morwenna looked up. Her green eyes were bright and clear.
"Mama."
"Good morning, love."
"Bread."
"I can see that."
Morwenna lifted a lump of dough. It was uneven and lumpy, marked with her little fingerprints.
"For you."
Jane crossed the kitchen and knelt beside her. The dough was far from perfect, but the sight of her daughter making it for her filled Jane with warmth.
"Thank you, sweetheart."
Morwenna nodded and returned to her work. She pressed and folded the dough in a slow, steady rhythm, carefully copying the movements she had watched Saoirse make.
Jane stayed beside her, watching her small hands work. Morwenna was so focused that the tip of her tongue poked out slightly between her lips. Flour clung to her white curls, making them look as though they had been dusted with snow.
Three months.
Three months until her third birthday, and the beginning of the first blood ritual.
Morwenna glanced up again. Her hands kept pressing the dough, but her attention had shifted to Jane's face.
"Mama sad?"
Jane blinked, pulled from her thoughts. "No, ma chérie. I'm not sad."
"What then?"
Jane searched for an answer a two-year-old could understand. Fear, hope, and love were tangled together inside her, too complicated to explain properly.
"I'm thinking," she said at last.
"About what?"
"About you. About how much I love you."
Morwenna paused, apparently considering this. Then she raised the dough again.
"Bread," she announced. "Love bread."
Jane laughed softly. The tightness in her chest eased.
"Yes," she said. "Love bread."
She leaned over and kissed her daughter's flour-covered hair. Then she stayed beside Morwenna until the bread was ready.