By the middle of March, after Morwenna had been settled into bed for the evening, the adults gathered in the study.
The fire burned brightly in the hearth, its light shifting across the wood-panelled walls and the endless rows of leather-bound books. Wine and tea had been set out on the low mahogany table, the silver tray gleaming beside a crystal decanter. Neither had been touched. The firelight caught the glass, casting small patches of amber across the lower shelves and the thick rug.
Celestine sat closest to the hearth, the deep indigo silk of her robes pooling around her feet. Lucien stood by the tall window, looking out over the dark garden, where the moon had yet to rise above the trees. His reflection was faint in the glass, his posture relaxed and composed.
Jack and Jane sat close together on the settee, Jane's cool fingers clasped firmly in his hand. Opposite them, Aldric and Seraphina occupied a pair of heavy wingback chairs, with a stack of aged parchment spread across the table between them.
Saoirse had taken her usual place on the floor, leaning against the stone fireplace with her legs stretched towards the heat. Cinder had followed her into the room after leaving the nursery, once Morwenna was sound asleep. He lay curled against Saoirse's thigh, his ears twitching now and then as he dreamed.
For a long while, no one spoke.
The fire crackled softly, a pocket of sap popping in the heat. Beyond the heavy oak door, the grandfather clock in the hall marked each passing second. With every tick, April drew closer.
At last, Celestine set her cup down on its saucer.
"Tell me again about the fever."
Jane did as she asked.
She recounted the events carefully, keeping to the details she had recorded in her journal. She described the thick snowfall outside while her daughter burned with fever, the three days of intense heat that even the strongest cooling charms had failed to relieve.
She explained how magic had begun escaping through Morwenna's skin in uncontrolled bursts, how frost had crept across the inside of the window in delicate, fern-like patterns.
She mentioned the objects that had shifted on the shelves whenever the toddler became frustrated. The cracked pane had been repaired, but a faint silver line remained in the glass.
Jane neither embellished the account nor softened the details.
When she finished, Celestine sat motionless for a moment, her gaze lowered to the flames.
"Her magic responded to her distress," she said at last. "That is unusual at her age, but it confirms what we suspected."
"She is sensitive," Aldric added, his gravelly voice carrying through the quiet room.
"More than that." Celestine looked directly at Jane. "The ritual must give her magic structure. It must provide channels for it to flow through, rather than allowing it to spill out whenever she is distressed."
Jack leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he studied the papers on the table.
"The runes first, followed by the attunement bath."
"Yes."
Jane reached for the parchment and brought out the final set of drawings. The edges had softened and curled after days of handling.
"We have ten."
Celestine took the pages and examined each symbol in turn, her fingers following the dark lines of ink. Algiz. Ehwaz. Uruz. Nautiz. Isa. Othala. Awen. The Veela rune. The Lethifold rune. Jera.
"It is a good balance," she said after studying them. "Awen fits well here. It bridges the traditional Keith work and the newer channelling marks."
Lucien turned away from the window, the firelight catching the gold in his eyes. When he spoke, his voice carried the gentle melody of his Veela heritage.
"Her Veela line will respond to warmth. Not fire, but presence. The feeling of being held without being touched."
Seraphina inclined her head, her knitting resting idle in her lap for once.
"The Lethifold line needs quiet. Not emptiness, but a deep stillness that settles the spirit instead of frightening it."
Celestine reached into her wide sleeve and withdrew a folded piece of parchment sealed with deep indigo wax. The Evans crest was pressed sharply into the seal. She broke it with a deft movement and spread the document across the mahogany table.
"The bath formula."
Jane leaned forward to read. The parchment was covered in precise handwriting, with measurements listed alongside ingredients named in a mixture of French and Latin. Smaller notes filled the margins. The paper carried a faint scent of lavender, with something sharper and older beneath it.
Aldric adjusted his glasses and studied the formula.
"These are the base ingredients?"
"Yes. The attunement elements." Celestine tapped the page with one fingernail. "Chamomile, lavender, moonwater. They calm the senses and guide the magic into a smooth, predictable flow."
"And the strengthening elements?" Jack asked, his voice tense.
She pointed to another section of the list.
"Ground bone, mineral salts, and heavily diluted phoenix ash. These help strengthen the body and teach it to contain the power."
Jane forced herself to read every line, following the list to the bottom of the page.
"And these smaller quantities?"
"Those are for her lineage." Celestine glanced briefly at Lucien, then at Seraphina. "They account for the particular traits she has inherited."
Lucien stepped closer, his natural warmth seeming to soften the chill of the room.
"For the Veela line, honey from sun-warmed hives. It provides warmth without the risk of burning." He met Jane's eyes. "And a single drop of my blood."
Jane looked up sharply, her breath catching.
"Your blood?"
"Oui." His expression remained calm. "That is enough to remind that part of her that it belongs to a family. It does not need to fight for its place."
Seraphina spoke quietly from her chair.
"For the Lethifold line, a carefully measured amount of nightshade and a single strand of my hair. The ingredients provide shadow without burdening her with darkness."
Jane stared at the list.
Honey. Blood. Nightshade. Hair.
Jack tightened his hold on her hand, rubbing his thumb in small circles over her knuckles. She clung to his hand as though it were an anchor.
The fire shifted in the grate, sending a few sparks up the chimney. Cinder stirred, stretched his paws, then settled back to sleep.
Celestine continued, her voice steady.
"The proportions matter far more than any individual ingredient. Too much strengthening, and the body will resist the magic. It becomes too rigid for the power to settle properly."
Aldric nodded.
"And too much attunement, and the body cannot contain the surge. The magic spills outward again." He slid one of his own research papers beside Celestine's formula. "I compared these proportions with the oldest Keith records, including the documented cases of children with multiple magical lineages. This ratio remains within the safe limits."
Saoirse spoke from the floor, still leaning against the fireplace.
"So what is the final ratio?"
Celestine looked between her formula and Aldric's translated notes. She had been checking the calculations in her head since arriving at the manor.
"Four parts attunement, three parts strengthening, and the remaining three parts divided equally between the Veela and Lethifold elements."
Jane repeated the numbers under her breath, memorising them like a prayer.
"Forty, thirty, fifteen, fifteen."
"Exactly."
Jack's voice remained steady, though it lacked its usual depth.
"And the pain?"
Celestine met his gaze.
"With these proportions, it should be manageable. She will feel warmth and some discomfort, certainly, but it should not be harsh. The sensation should remain contained, rather like being held firmly by something she trusts."
"Should," Jane repeated quietly.
"There are no absolute certainties when dealing with magic this deep," Celestine replied. "But this is the gentlest balance we can achieve without compromising the ritual."
Jane stared into the fire for a long moment before giving a single, decisive nod.
Aldric spoke next.
"The bath is only one part of the process. The blood ritual must come first."
Celestine inclined her head.
"Is the chamber ready?"
"Yes." Aldric drew another set of parchments towards him. These contained detailed diagrams of the ancient chamber deep beneath the manor. Circles lay within circles, with runes placed at precise intervals. At the centre of the array stood the stone table. "The runic array is complete, the wards are stable, and I checked the anchor points myself this afternoon."
"And the activation sequence?" Celestine asked.
"It is built into the floor. Protection first, then the foundation, followed by the bridge and finally the channelling marks. Once the process begins, the array will carry the magic forward on its own. I tested the flow with neutral energy today, and it held perfectly."
Aldric traced the lines on the diagram with his finger.
"We will need both their blood for the ink. The mother's and the child's."
Jane's hand moved instinctively towards her wrist.
"Together?"
"Yes. Their blood will be mixed with the other ingredients to make the ritual ink. The runes will be painted onto Morwenna's skin, not cut into it. Your blood opens the path, Jane. Hers allows the magic to recognise that path as her own."
"How much blood?"
"Very little. Just a few drops." His voice softened. "She will not feel that part. Only when the marks begin to settle into her skin."
Jane nodded, but hearing the process explained aloud still made her chest tighten, as though an iron band were closing around her ribs.
Lucien left the window and crossed the room. He crouched beside her chair, his presence offering the same steady warmth she had felt in the garden earlier that day.
"You will be in the room with her," he said softly. "She will see you. That matters more than anything else."
Jane met his dark eyes.
"I know."
He briefly touched the back of her hand in a gesture of reassurance before rising again.
Saoirse shifted on the floor, breaking the heavy silence.
"So, the bath is settled and the runes are ready. When do we do this?"
Jane straightened slightly, turning her attention to the parts they could decide.
"Her birthday is the twenty-sixth of April. The ritual must take place within the first week after she turns three."
Celestine nodded.
"We will prepare everything in advance. The bath must be mixed the night before, giving the ingredients time to settle and bind."
"The blood ritual must come first," Aldric added. "Ideally, in the morning. The runes must be in place and the channels opened before she enters the bath."
Jane tightened her grip on her teacup. The tea had long since gone cold.
"Two parts, then."
"One day," Saoirse said, her voice quieter now. "The runes in the morning, the bath later in the afternoon. She can rest between the two sessions. We will have everything ready for her."
Jane nodded slowly.
"And we watch."
"Yes," Celestine said. "Close enough for her to see us, but far enough away that we do not interfere with the circle."
The fire shifted, one of the logs crumbling into white ash. The grandfather clock continued to tick beyond the door.
Jane lowered her gaze to the parchment, studying the precise calculations and the ancient symbols.
"Do we tell her?"
No one answered immediately.
Lucien turned from the window.
"She must not feel deceived," he said softly. "Not by her own family, especially not over something that will become part of her blood."
Celestine nodded.
"She needs to understand what we are going to do. If she becomes frightened and resists the magic, her own power may reject the channels as they form."
"How much do we tell her?" Jack asked, his brow furrowed.
"Not every detail, but enough. She needs to know that something new is coming, that it may feel strange, and that we will be there throughout." Celestine's gaze settled on Jane. "Tell her a few days beforehand. If you tell her too early, she may spend too long worrying about it."
"A week before her birthday," Jane decided. "We will tell her then."
Aldric nodded.
"That gives her time to understand without leaving her to worry for too long."
Saoirse leaned forward, a mischievous look appearing on her face.
"So, what do we say? 'Darling, next week we are going to paint runes on your skin and put you in a terrifying medicinal bath'?"
Jane winced.
"Not like that."
"Obviously not like that." Saoirse's expression softened. "But she is clever. She will ask questions, and she will want answers."
"Quite right," Celestine agreed. "We must answer her honestly."
Jane watched the flames for a moment before speaking.
"I will tell her that she is growing, and her magic is growing with her. We are going to help her keep it safe."
"She will ask if it hurts," Jack said quietly.
"Yes."
He glanced at his wife.
"What will you tell her?"
Jane remained silent for a long moment, listening to the crackle of the fire as she chose her words.
"That it might feel strange. That some parts may be uncomfortable. But we will be there with her the whole time, and when it is over, she will be stronger."
"She will like that part," Saoirse said with a nod.
Jane managed a faint smile.
"She will."
"For now," Saoirse continued, stretching her legs towards the fire again, "let her enjoy being three. Cake, presents, and whatever chaos Tilly has planned for the occasion."
Jane let out a quiet breath that was almost a laugh.
"What chaos has he planned?"
"Something involving a fox and a great deal of ribbon. I decided not to ask too many questions."
The tension in the room eased a little. Even Celestine's composed expression softened, and Jack finally let out a breath as some of the tightness left his shoulders.
Lucien turned to look at his daughter and son-in-law.
"She will be fine," he said.
He spoke neither as a man offering hope nor as a father trying to comfort them. His words carried the weight of certainty.
Later, after the rest of the house had fallen quiet and the candles had burned low, Jane sat at the desk in her bedroom.
The fire had dwindled to glowing red embers, leaving the room dim and soft-edged. Her baby-blue journal lay open before her, its cream-coloured pages faintly illuminated by the dying light.
She dipped her quill into the inkwell and began to write. The scratch of the nib was the only sound in the room.
17 March
The formula is settled: 40-30-15-15.
Maman and Papa agree on the timing. The blood ritual will take place in the morning, followed by the attunement bath in the afternoon. She will rest between the two.
I will be there. Three metres away. I will watch.
She found a snowdrop today and left it to grow. She told the serpent it could sleep. She touched Papa's ear to see if it was like hers.
The ink dried slowly on the page.
Jane set down her quill and sat quietly, listening to the dying fire. The logs shifted one last time, settling into the white ash as the glow faded and the shadows stretched across the floorboards.
She closed the journal and locked it in the desk drawer. The click of the key sounded far louder than it should have in the stillness.
Her hand remained on the drawer for a moment, her fingers resting against the wood.
Then she rose and went to bed.