Morwenna woke to the familiar weight of Cinder curled at her feet and the unfamiliar emptiness around her left wrist.
For a long moment, she lay still, staring at the shifting shadows on the nursery ceiling.
Then she raised her arm and turned it in the pale morning light filtering through the curtains. The silver bracelet was gone, leaving only her bare, pale skin.
The absence felt strangely pronounced, as though something important had been taken from her without leaving anything behind. She rubbed her wrist with her other hand, tracing the faint indentation where the metal had rested for the past year.
Cinder stirred at the movement. He opened his amber eyes and gave a long, silent yawn, revealing a row of sharp teeth. His ears swiveled forward, then backward, before turning forward again as he tracked the muffled footsteps and clinking sounds of the manor waking up below.
"Three," Morwenna told him, her voice still rough with sleep.
His ears immediately turned toward her and remained there, fixed on her face. His tail thumped once against the heavy blankets, producing a muffled sound in the quiet nursery.
Morwenna climbed out of bed, her nightgown swishing softly around her ankles. The floorboards were bitterly cold beneath her bare feet, but she didn't bother looking for her slippers. Instead, she made her way to the window, curling her toes against the chill as she walked.
The garden below was still silver with dew, the snowdrop patch visible through the lingering morning mist. She counted the flowers slowly, moving her lips with each number.
Thirteen.
No, fourteen.
A new flower had appeared near the edge of the patch, smaller than the others, its white head barely open above the dark, damp soil.
Morwenna pressed her palm against the windowpane. The glass was freezing against her warm skin. She waited for something to happen, for a spark of magic or some sign of the change she had begun to feel inside herself.
Nothing happened.
The glass remained glass.
She drew her hand back and studied it. This was the same hand that had held the Algiz rune stone the day before, feeling its strange warmth and the pulse that had seemed to answer her own heartbeat. It was the same hand that had touched the pressed flower from Morgana's garden, feeling the weight of three centuries of history in something so delicate.
Yet now, there was nothing.
Morwenna turned away from the window.
Cinder had already climbed off the bed and was waiting beside the door, his russet tail sweeping the floor in slow, rhythmic arcs.
"Breakfast," she announced.
His ears perked up, and he followed her into the hall.
The morning room was warm and lively when Morwenna pushed open the heavy door. The fire crackled in the hearth, filling the room with steady heat, while the scent of toasted bread and wild honey hung in the air.
Tilly stood at the sideboard, arranging a platter of fruit with such intense concentration that his large ears twitched with every movement of his hands.
Saoirse was already seated, sprawled comfortably in a chair with her feet propped up on the table. She held a piece of toast in one hand and was gesturing animatedly with the other as she argued about something Luelle had just said.
The moment she spotted Morwenna, she grinned. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and the white streak in her dark hair caught the morning light.
"Well, look who it is! The birthday girl. The three-year-old. The ancient one."
Morwenna climbed onto her usual high stool, the polished wood cool against her legs.
"Not ancient."
"Three is ancient, pet. Ask anyone."
Morwenna turned toward her mother, who was pouring tea at the sideboard. Jane's mouth twitched as she picked up a steaming cup and crossed the room.
"Maman, is three ancient?"
"Positively prehistoric, I should think," Jane replied, setting the cup down.
Morwenna frowned thoughtfully, her white hair slipping over one shoulder. After considering the matter, she turned back to Saoirse.
"You are more ancient."
Saoirse clutched her chest in theatrical horror, nearly dropping her toast.
"An attack! I have been attacked by a three-year-old!" She looked around the table, raising her voice as though appealing to an invisible jury. "Did everyone hear that? She attacked me with words!"
Luelle burst into laughter, the sound ringing through the room. The spoon she had been balancing on the bridge of her nose slipped and clattered against her porcelain plate.
"You walked right into that one, Saoirse."
"I walked into nothing. I was sitting perfectly still."
Morwenna picked up her silver spoon and studied her distorted reflection in its bowl. Then she looked at her aunt again.
"You weren't sitting still. Your feet were on the table."
Saoirse's eyes widened.
"She is three, and she is already a stickler for rules! Whose child is this?"
"Your niece," Aldric answered from the doorway.
He entered with Seraphina beside him, one hand resting gently against the small of her back.
"Clearly," he continued. "She has your talent for chaos, even if she has decided to use it in the service of order."
Seraphina settled into her usual chair and smoothed her dark robes.
"That's one way to describe it."
Morwenna watched as everyone settled into their familiar morning routines.
Celestine and Lucien were already standing by the window, conversing quietly in French. Celestine's voice was measured and cool, while Lucien's carried its characteristic melodic quality, the subtle Veela lilt that gave his words their distinctive rhythm.
At the far end of the table, Raphaël was absorbed in a book that looked older than the manor itself. His tea sat forgotten beside him, slowly cooling as he kept one finger between the pages to mark his place. Luelle, meanwhile, had abandoned her conversation to retrieve her fallen spoon from beneath the table.
Tilly appeared at Morwenna's elbow with a bowl of porridge. A perfect spiral of golden honey adorned the surface, glistening in the morning light. He placed the bowl before her with both hands, his large eyes shining with pride.
"Happy day after birthday, little miss!"
"Thank you, Tilly."
He bowed so deeply that his ears brushed his knees before hurrying back toward the kitchen.
Morwenna began eating, taking her time as she let the warmth of the porridge settle in her stomach. The honey was sweet, and the porridge thick and creamy on her tongue. Between bites, she watched the adults move around the room.
Jane refilled the teacups. Jack arrived with the morning paper tucked beneath his arm. Aldric leaned down to kiss Seraphina's cheek before taking his seat.
Everyone seemed to fall naturally into place, as though they had always belonged in that room, sharing the same breakfast table and the same quiet morning routines.
Lucien eventually left the window and came to sit beside Morwenna. As he settled into his chair, he brushed his fingers affectionately through her white hair.
"Bonjour, petite. Three suits you."
Morwenna reached up and touched her own hair, running her fingers along the pale strands.
"It's the same."
"It isn't the same." Lucien leaned closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper meant only for her. The melodic lilt of his accent became more pronounced as he spoke. "You are three now, Morwenna. Everything is different, even if you can't see it just yet."
She studied his face, searching for an explanation. His dark eyes held a familiar warmth, and the light around him seemed to shimmer in a way she had never quite been able to understand.
"Can you see it?"
Lucien smiled gently.
"Yes."
Morwenna considered his answer while finishing her breakfast, turning it over in her mind without finding anything else to ask.
When her bowl was empty, she climbed down from her stool and carried it to the counter, just as she did every morning. Tilly promptly took it from her hands.
"Thank you, little miss."
"Welcome."
Morwenna wiped her hands on the silk of her dress before pausing as she remembered the rule.
She looked toward her mother.
Jane was already watching her, one eyebrow raised.
"Napkin next time," she reminded her.
Morwenna nodded obediently.
....
The greenhouse was warm and humid, filled with the scent of damp earth and growing plants. Lucien was crouched beside the rosebush, gently working the soil with his fingers. A new shoot had appeared, a tiny point of pale green emerging from the old wood.
Morwenna stood beside him, studying it.
"Still there."
"Still growing." He glanced up at her with a smile, his voice as melodic and unhurried as ever. "Just like you, I think."
She crouched beside him, her knees pressing against the damp stone floor. The greenhouse's warmth settled around her, soft and heavy as a blanket. She reached out and brushed the new shoot with the tip of her finger.
"It's soft."
"It's new. New things are often soft."
She thought about that for a moment. "Am I soft?"
Lucien turned to look at her. His eyes were warm, the gentle light of his Veela heritage softened by the grey afternoon glow.
"You are many things, Morwenna. But soft isn't one of them."
They remained there for a while, content in each other's company. Morwenna watched as Lucien checked the soil, his hands moving with practiced ease among the plants. He showed her how to tell whether a leaf needed water by feeling its surface and texture between her fingers.
She tried three different leaves, examining each one carefully before announcing that they all felt fine.
"Good," Lucien said. "Then they are fine."
Afterward, she helped him water the small pots near the door. He handed her a little watering can. It was heavier than she expected, but she was three now, and she felt stronger than she had before her birthday. Holding it with both hands, she carried it from pot to pot and tipped it carefully, just as he had shown her.
Some of the water splashed onto her dress and shoes, forming little puddles on the stone floor. She paid them no mind and continued until every pot had been watered.
"Well done," Lucien praised her.
Morwenna set the watering can down with a solid thud. "I helped."
"You did."
She stood quietly for a moment, looking over the rows of pots and the green shoots growing within them. Then her hand drifted to her left wrist, and she rubbed the bare skin where her silver bracelet had rested.
The greenhouse air had warmed her skin, yet her wrist still felt different without the familiar band. Exposed, somehow.
Lucien noticed, but he said nothing.
Morwenna lowered her hand and walked toward the door. Before leaving, she rested her palm against the frame, feeling the cool, rough wood beneath her fingers.
Then she heard it.
From somewhere deeper inside the manor came the faint but unmistakable sound of a piano. The notes were slow and searching, a melody taking shape one uncertain phrase at a time.
Jane was working something out as she played, repeating the same sequence before changing a note and beginning again. There was a questioning quality to the music, each phrase seeming to trail off as though waiting for an answer.
Morwenna lifted her hand from the doorframe and turned toward the sound.
The music room was bright despite the grey afternoon, its glass walls admitting what little light the clouds allowed through. Jane sat at the piano, her fingers moving over the yellowed keys. When Morwenna appeared in the doorway, she glanced up but continued playing.
Morwenna crossed the room and climbed onto the bench beside her. The polished wood felt smooth and cool beneath her legs. She studied the keys, then Jane's hands, watching how her fingers moved from one to another.
"Play?"
"You want me to play for you?"
Morwenna shook her head.
She placed her own hands on the keys, copying the way she had seen Jane do it, and pressed one down.
The note rang through the room, loud and startling in the quiet.
She pressed another key, then a third. It wasn't music yet, not really, but it was sound, and she was the one making it. She found a note she liked and pressed it four times in succession, enjoying the faint vibration beneath her fingertip each time the sound rang out.
Jane watched her without correcting her or trying to guide her hands. She simply let Morwenna explore the instrument at her own pace.
"Still good," Morwenna declared.
"Yes, still good," Jane agreed.
...
That evening, after dinner, Jane found Morwenna in the nursery.
The fire was lit, casting a warm, flickering glow across the room. Morwenna was already tucked into bed, the covers pulled up to her chin. Cinder lay curled at her feet, his ears twitching occasionally in his sleep. She held the small carved serpent in one hand, while the silver locket rested against her chest.
Jane sat on the edge of the bed, making the mattress dip beneath her weight.
"Morwenna."
Her daughter turned to look at her, her green eyes steady and attentive.
"You know something is going to happen soon, don't you?"
Morwenna remained quiet for a moment before nodding.
"You asked the portrait whether it would hurt."
Another nod.
Jane reached out and brushed the fine white hair away from her daughter's forehead.
"I'm going to tell you about it now. Is that all right?"
Morwenna nodded again. Her small hand found Jane's and closed around it.
Jane drew a slow breath.
"You know how you are growing? How you are three now, and one day you will be four, then five?"
"Yes."
"Your magic grows, too. It's been growing since the day you were born. But there are certain times when it grows much faster. Those times are called magical maturities. Your third birthday is one of them. So are your fifth and seventh birthdays."
Morwenna listened without moving, her fingers tightening around Jane's hand.
"In the wizarding world, we have ways to help your magic settle properly as you grow. We help it adjust to your body so the two can work together more easily. We do this through rituals."
"What is ritual?"
"It's something we do together. Something important, with a special meaning."
Jane paused, considering how best to explain it. "For you, this time, there will be two parts. The first is a bath. A special bath made with herbs and minerals. You will sit in warm water, and the herbs will help your magic."
Morwenna's eyes widened.
"I will be boiled? Cooked?"
For a moment, Jane's composure nearly deserted her. She wanted to laugh, and she wanted to cry, and somehow both feelings caught in her throat at once.
"No, ma chérie." She managed a small smile. "You won't be boiled or cooked. It's just like soaking in warm water. A regular bath. It will feel warm and comfortable at first. But when the herbs begin to work and your magic starts absorbing their properties..."
She paused, choosing her words carefully. "It might feel uncomfortable. Strange. Perhaps a little like when you had a fever."
Morwenna went very still. Her grip on Jane's hand tightened.
"But this is your first time, and we have chosen the gentlest ingredients we could find. We have done everything we can to make it as gentle as possible."
Morwenna considered this, her brow furrowing before she finally nodded.
Jane continued, "But the bath isn't the only part. There's also a blood ritual."
Morwenna tilted her head. Her eyes widened with suspicion and curiosity.
"Blood?"
"Yes. There are different kinds of blood rituals. The Evans family has its own traditions, too, but this particular ritual comes from the Keith side. It's part of the old druidic tradition. Every Keith child goes through it."
"Druid?" Morwenna's brow furrowed more deeply. "Maman, Dada wizard?"
Jane smiled, warmth softening her expression.
"Yes. Your father and I are wizards, but your father also has druid blood. We use wands, while druids follow a different path. They work with staffs, and their magic is connected to the land, their ancestors, and ancient traditions. Your father's family has followed that path for generations, all the way back to Merlin himself."
"Merlin."
"Yes. Merlin, Myrddin. He was a druid. And because you are a Keith, you carry that legacy, too. The blood rituals help prepare you for it. They make the path ahead smoother."
She paused, then gently took Morwenna's hand and opened her small palm. With one finger, she traced a line across it.
"The blood rituals help create paths. Think about how water flows. When you pour juice, it goes in the direction the cup is tilted, doesn't it?"
Morwenna nodded.
"Magic is like that. It flows. But without a path to follow, it can spread in every direction. It splashes everywhere and makes a mess."
Jane traced the line again. "The blood rituals create paths beneath your skin, teaching your magic where to go. That way, it can flow smoothly instead of flooding everywhere."
Morwenna stared down at her palm. The line Jane had drawn was already fading. She pressed her thumb against the spot, as though she could make it stay.
"It won't hurt?"
"It will feel strange, as though something is happening deep beneath your skin. But the first time will be very mild. Just a little, to begin with. Only a few runes."
Jane rubbed her thumb gently over Morwenna's palm. "You might feel numb, or as though your arm has fallen asleep. But there won't be any sharp pain. Nothing like the fever."
She lifted Morwenna's hand and held it between both of hers.
"We will start slowly, adding a few runes each year. By the time you are eleven, the paths will be there, ready for your magic to follow. They will be like riverbeds that have been shaped by flowing water over many years."
Jane cupped her daughter's cheeks, her thumbs resting lightly against her warm skin.
"Ma chérie, you know you are different, don't you? That you are special?"
Morwenna looked directly at her.
"Yes."
"Because of that, we have to do some things a little differently for you. Your rituals won't be exactly the same as those other children undergo.
But we have planned everything carefully and made them as gentle as we can. We will do them once a year after your birthday, from now until you are eleven. Each time, the ritual may feel a little stronger than it did the year before."
Morwenna absorbed this in silence. Her gaze moved over Jane's face, studying her as though searching for anything her mother hadn't said aloud.
Jane's voice softened.
"Baby, are you scared?"
Morwenna said nothing. Her fingers tightened around the carved serpent until its edges pressed into her palm.
Not hard enough to hurt, but not hard enough to give her the solid sensation she wanted, either. She needed something real to hold on to, something that wouldn't disappear.
The fire cracked sharply in the grate.
Morwenna flinched, just a little. Her shoulders tightened, and Jane felt the movement through the hand she was holding.
Morwenna looked past her mother's shoulder toward the door. Beyond it lay the darkened hallway, stretching into the rest of the manor. Tomorrow would come from there, carrying whatever awaited her.
She looked back at Jane. Her face remained composed, but her breathing had grown shallow and quick. Without meaning to, she began to count.
One, two. One, two.
It was the same rhythm she used when counting snowdrops in the garden or steps on the staircase.
"Scared," she admitted at last.
Her voice was small, but honest.
"But I'm brave."
She squeezed Jane's hand. Her palm was damp.
"Maman, Dada, all will be with me, right? I will be brave."
Her thumb pressed against Jane's knuckles, holding on tightly.
Jane's eyes glistened. She blinked once, then again, until the moisture no longer threatened to spill over. Leaning forward, she pressed a kiss to Morwenna's temple.
"Always," she whispered. "We will always be there."
Morwenna nodded against her.
"And after each ritual," Jane continued, "you will be stronger. Your magic will fit your body better, and you will keep growing into the person you are meant to become."
Morwenna thought about that. She thought of the fourteen snowdrops spreading across the dark soil in the garden. She thought of the little rose shoot, pale green and soft, growing from the old wood.
Then she lifted a hand and touched Jane's cheek, just as she had touched Viviane's the day before.
"Good," she said.
Jane laughed softly, the sound catching a little in her throat.
"Yes. Good."
She stayed beside Morwenna until the child's breathing grew slow and even. Then she kissed her forehead once more, carefully eased her hand free, and left to find her husband.
....
The fire in their bedroom had burned low by the time Jane entered.
Jack looked up from his chair beside the hearth. He had a book open on his lap, but judging by the untouched page, he hadn't been reading for some time.
"How did it go?"
Jane settled into the chair opposite him.
"She asked if she was going to be boiled."
Jack blinked, then let out a surprised laugh.
"Boiled?"
"The medicinal bath. She heard me say she would be sitting in a special bath with herbs and minerals, and apparently decided we were going to cook her."
Jane shook her head, smiling despite the weight in her chest. "She is three. Of course that's what she thought."
"What did you tell her?"
"That it would feel warm at first, then strange. Possibly uncomfortable." Her smile faded a little. "I told her the blood ritual would be very gentle this time. That she might feel numbness, but not pain."
Jack reached across the space between their chairs and took her hand.
"And?"
Jane looked down at their joined hands.
"She admitted she was scared. But she said she would be brave because we would all be there with her."
Jack gently squeezed her fingers.
"She is right."
Jane turned her gaze toward the fire. The flames shifted and flickered, casting long shadows across the room.
"I know."
They sat together in the firelight, holding hands as the clock ticked steadily in the quiet room.