Morwenna woke to the familiar weight of Cinder curled at her feet and the lingering, hollow absence around her left wrist.
She lay still for a moment, her green eyes following the dust motes drifting through the morning light. Then she touched her bare skin, pressing her thumb against the pale circle where the silver bracelet usually rested, before finally climbing out of bed.
The floorboards were cold beneath her feet, the sudden chill traveling up her legs, but she barely noticed.
She dressed herself, mostly. She managed to put on her indigo silk dress the right way around, though one sleeve twisted awkwardly at the shoulder, and the small, cloth-covered buttons formed a crooked line down the front.
She studied her reflection in the tall mirror for a long moment before deciding the result was acceptable.
Cinder sat behind her on the rug, watching her reflection with his steady amber eyes. His enormous ears swiveled forward when she finally turned toward the door.
"Three," she told him, her voice loud and certain in the quiet nursery.
His ears remained pointed toward her.
Satisfied, Morwenna left the room, with Cinder following close behind. His claws clicked rhythmically against the polished wooden floor as they made their way down the hallway.
The morning room was already full when she pushed open the heavy door. Everyone was gathered there, a familiar sea of faces that had come to make up her entire world.
Jack and Jane sat at the head of the long table, thin wisps of steam curling from their teacups. Aldric and Seraphina stood near the window, where the morning light remained pale and grey. Celestine and Lucien sat close together, their heads inclined as they spoke in low, melodic French.
Raphaël was already absorbed in a book from the library, its yellowed pages carrying the faint scent of old paper and vanilla. Nearby, Luelle was attempting to balance a silver spoon on the tip of her nose again, her eyes crossed in fierce concentration.
Saoirse lounged across a high-backed chair, cradling her tea in both hands. Viviane sat beside Jane, her posture impeccable and her dark robes perfectly arranged. Elara remained slightly apart from the others, observing the room with her usual stillness, while Sylvaine sat in a corner, watching everything over the rims of her spectacles.
The conversation stopped the moment Morwenna appeared.
Twelve pairs of eyes turned toward her.
She climbed onto her stool, gripping the smooth wooden seat with both hands. Before she could ask for anything, Tilly appeared beside her with a bowl of porridge. The warm ceramic settled comfortably between her palms, and a perfect golden spiral of honey adorned the surface.
Morwenna ate methodically, finishing the honey first before working her way through the porridge, one spoonful at a time. Cinder waited patiently at her feet.
Around her, the adults gradually returned to their conversations.
Morwenna finished her porridge and set down her spoon with a deliberate clatter.
Then she spoke, raising her voice enough for everyone to hear.
"I'm brave. I can."
The conversations stopped again.
Twelve pairs of eyes turned toward her, and the room fell profoundly quiet. Morwenna sat perfectly still beneath their collective gaze, her small hands resting flat on the table and her green eyes steady.
Under the table, Jane found Jack's hand and tightened her fingers around his.
Aldric was the first to speak.
"Yes. You are."
Celestine nodded, her expression softening with approval. "Très brave."
Lucien's voice followed, warm and gentle, carrying his unmistakable Veela lilt. "We know you can, Morwenna. You have a strength all your own, I think."
Across the table, Saoirse grinned at her, the white streak in her hair catching the light.
"Obviously you can."
Raphaël closed his book and laid it on the tablecloth. "We will all be there with you."
Luelle reached across the table and gave Morwenna's hand a gentle pat, her green eyes bright. "Every single one of us, ma petite."
Viviane looked at her with a sudden sheen of emotion in her eyes. "Mon trésor."
Elara said nothing, but held Morwenna's gaze for a long moment, offering her reassurance without needing words.
Sylvaine adjusted her spectacles before speaking in her usual crisp, measured voice. "Bravery isn't the absence of fear. It's feeling the fear and doing it anyway."
Morwenna studied her, taking a moment to consider the meaning of her words. Then she nodded once and picked up her spoon again, scraping the last traces of honey from the bottom of her bowl.
The conversations gradually resumed, but something in the room had changed. The warmth between them seemed to have deepened.
After breakfast, Morwenna slid off her stool and headed toward the music room. She didn't need to think about the way. Her feet carried her through the familiar corridors as naturally as breathing.
Jane was already at the piano. Her fingers moved above the yellowed keys without pressing them, tracing invisible patterns through the air. When Morwenna appeared in the doorway, she looked up, and her expression softened at once.
"Ma chérie."
Morwenna crossed the room and climbed onto the bench beside her. The polished wood felt cool and smooth beneath her legs. She looked at the keys, then at Jane's hands, before turning her attention back to the ivory.
She pressed one key.
The note rang out, clear and bright in the glass-walled room, its sound echoing against the misted panes.
"Again," Jane encouraged her.
Morwenna pressed another key. This note was lower, deeper and more resonant. She tried a third, higher than the first but somehow different.
Jane began to play softly beneath her, weaving her own notes around Morwenna's unpracticed attempts. Her left hand laid down slow, steady chords, while her right followed Morwenna's lead, catching each scattered note and finding a place for it within the growing melody.
For a long while, they sat together like that, mother and daughter, making music that belonged only to them.
Morwenna pressed a key, and Jane answered. There was no need for words. Their conversation unfolded through ivory keys and the quiet movement of their hands, each note becoming part of something larger.
When Morwenna finally stopped, the last note lingered in the air before gradually fading into silence.
"Maman."
"Yes?"
"Will you play after? When it's done?"
Jane's hands stilled above the keys.
"After the ritual?"
Morwenna nodded, her white hair shifting with the movement.
Jane drew her close, wrapping one arm firmly around her small shoulders.
"I will play anything you want, ma chérie. For as long as you want to listen."
Morwenna leaned against her mother's side.
"Good."
They remained together for a while without speaking, simply enjoying the quiet of the music room. Grey daylight filled the glass-walled space, and somewhere outside, a lone bird called from the hedges.
Eventually, Morwenna slipped off the bench and left the room, making her way toward the greenhouse.
The corridors were quiet, the portraits following her progress with their painted eyes. Edmund nodded from his frame, raising one hand in a stiff greeting.
Isolde smiled, her usually sharp features appearing unusually gentle. The old woman with white hair merely watched, her gaze following Morwenna as she approached.
Morwenna stopped in front of her portrait.
"Hello."
The old woman leaned forward slightly in her painted chair.
"Little one."
"I'm going to the greenhouse now."
"I know."
Morwenna studied her face.
"You watch everything?"
"Most things."
She considered that answer for a moment.
"Will you watch me there?"
"I can't. Different rooms have different frames." The old woman paused, her expression turning thoughtful. "But I will be here when you come back."
Morwenna nodded, satisfied with this arrangement, and continued down the hallway toward the greenhouse.
The greenhouse was warm and damp, filled with the earthy scent of wet soil and growing plants. Somewhere in the background, water dripped at steady intervals, each drop echoing softly through the glass-walled space.
Lucien was crouched beside the rosebush, gently inspecting its leaves. He looked up when Morwenna entered, his voice melodic and unhurried.
"Little one."
She crossed the damp stone floor and crouched beside him. The new bud was still tightly closed, its surface green and smooth, with no hint of the colour hidden within. It had grown a little since yesterday, and she could see the difference in the curve of its stem.
"When will it open?"
"Soon. Perhaps in a few days."
Morwenna reached out and touched the bud with one finger. It felt firm beneath her touch, holding something inside that hadn't yet emerged. It was waiting, just like her.
"It isn't scared."
"No. It's simply waiting for the right time to bloom, Morwenna."
She looked up at him. His expression was calm, and the warmth in his eyes seemed even gentler in the humid air.
"Like me."
"Just like you."
They stayed beside the rosebush for a while, comfortable in their silence. Morwenna watched as Lucien moved on to check the other plants, his hands brushing lightly over leaves and stems.
Before long, he showed her a seedling that had pushed through the soil overnight. The tiny green shoot was barely visible, its slender stem curved like a question mark.
Morwenna touched it with the tip of her finger. The delicate plant seemed to lean toward the warmth of her hand.
"Can plants feel?"
Lucien considered the question before answering. "Not in the same way we do, perhaps. But they know things. They respond to warmth, light, and water. They can tell when their surroundings are right for them."
Morwenna studied the little seedling.
"Does it know it's safe here?"
"I believe so."
"Good."
Lucien then showed her how to water the small pots near the door, handing her a watering can that was heavy but manageable in her little hands. Morwenna carried it from pot to pot, tipping it carefully as he had taught her.
Some of the water splashed onto her dress and shoes, forming small puddles on the stone floor, but she continued until every pot had been watered.
"Well done," Lucien praised her.
Morwenna set the watering can down with a thud.
"I helped."
"You did."
Satisfied, she left the greenhouse and made her way back through the hall. The portraits watched her pass, but this time she didn't stop to speak with any of them. She headed straight for the library.
Aldric was sitting in his usual chair by the fire, a book open on his lap. He looked up as soon as she entered.
"Little one."
Morwenna crossed the room and went to the rug where she kept her bestiary. She pulled the book out from its place. It was still heavy, but she felt stronger today, and she managed to carry it across the room to the floor beside Aldric's chair.
She opened it to the page with the serpent.
The gold-scaled creature remained curled around its branch, its eyes closed as though peacefully asleep. Morwenna touched the illustration with one finger, feeling the smooth, cool surface of the gold leaf.
"I told it," she announced.
Aldric lowered his book slightly.
"Told it what?"
"I'm three. I'm brave. I can."
He set his book aside and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"What did it say?"
Morwenna looked down at the serpent. It hadn't moved, of course. It was only a picture, and she knew it would never answer her. Still, she had been talking to it for months, and that was enough.
"It said good."
Aldric nodded solemnly.
"I think so, too."
Morwenna closed the bestiary and pushed it toward the shelf. It was too heavy for her to lift comfortably, so she left it on the floor and turned to look at him.
"Gran-pa."
"Yes?"
"Will it hurt much? The first time?"
Aldric fell silent.
Behind him, the fire crackled, the sharp pop briefly breaking the quiet of the library. He remained still for a long moment before reaching out and lifting Morwenna onto his lap.
She settled against his chest, comforted by his warmth and the familiar scent of old parchment and tea. Beneath her ear, his heart beat steadily.
"Yes," he told her honestly. "It will hurt. Not much the first time, but a little more with each year that follows."
He rested one hand against her back.
"But I knew why I was doing it. And I knew my family was there with me."
Morwenna tilted her head to look at him, studying the silver strands in his hair and the deep lines around his eyes. She reached up and traced one of them, following the crease from the corner of his eye toward his jaw.
"Are these from hurt?"
Aldric gently caught her hand.
"No. Those came from laughing, watching my children grow, and living through many long winters." He pressed her palm against his cheek. "Hurt leaves different marks."
"What marks?"
He hesitated before rolling up his sleeve and revealing his forearm.
His skin was pale, and beneath it lay faint lines that were almost impossible to see. They weren't scars, exactly. They resembled patterns etched deep beneath the surface, like a message that had been written long ago and partially erased.
"These," he said. "The runes. They are still there, and they will always be there."
Morwenna touched them with her fingertips. His skin felt perfectly smooth, and she couldn't detect anything beneath it.
"I can't feel them."
"No. You aren't supposed to." Aldric turned his arm slightly so she could see the markings more clearly. "They are part of you now. You don't feel your own bones beneath your skin, do you?"
She shook her head.
"It's a little like that."
Morwenna lowered her gaze to her own arm. Her skin was pale and smooth, without any markings.
Not yet.
"When will mine look like that?"
"Little by little. By the time you are eleven, your runes will have formed beneath your skin, helping guide your magic and keep you safe."
She nodded, quietly absorbing his explanation. Then she slid off his lap, apparently satisfied for the moment, and went in search of Saoirse.
She found her in the kitchen with Tilly. Both were standing at the counter, studying a large sheet of parchment covered in sketches. There was a lopsided fox, a coiled serpent, and a round cake topped with three candles.
Tilly's ears trembled as he pointed emphatically at the drawing of the fox.
"No, no! Tilly thinks the ears should be bigger!"
"The ears are fine," Saoirse replied. "You are obsessing, Tilly."
"The ears are very important!"
Morwenna appeared beside Saoirse and peered at the parchment.
"What?"
Saoirse glanced down at her.
"Cake plans. For next year. Tilly is already planning ahead."
"Next year is far."
"Tell him that."
Morwenna turned to the house-elf.
"Next year is far."
Tilly's ears drooped.
"Tilly knows. But Tilly likes to be prepared."
Morwenna patted his small hand.
"Good."
Then she caught Saoirse's hand and tugged her toward the door.
"Come. Walk."
Saoirse allowed herself to be dragged along, laughing as she followed.
"Walk where?"
"The meadow. I want to see them."
They walked through the garden together, passing the sleeping flower beds and the stone fountain. The grass was wet with morning dew, soaking through Morwenna's shoes, but she paid it no mind. Cinder followed close behind, keeping to the drier patches whenever he could, his enormous ears swiveling at every unfamiliar sound.
The meadow lay grey and still beneath the overcast sky, its grass flattened by the long winter. Morwenna stopped at the edge and gazed across the empty expanse.
"They are there," Saoirse said quietly.
Morwenna looked harder. She couldn't see anyone, but she could feel them. A warmth, a presence, like standing beside a fire that gave off heat without showing a single flame.
"Three," she said.
Saoirse glanced down at her. "Yes. Three."
"They are watching."
"Yes."
Morwenna raised her hand and waved at the empty air.
Nothing moved, yet the warmth seemed to shift ever so slightly, as though something had noticed her greeting and acknowledged it in return.
She lowered her hand.
"Good."
They stood there for a while, aunt and niece, quietly watching the still meadow. Cinder sat beside Morwenna's feet, his ears slowly turning as he listened to the sounds around them.
After a time, Morwenna spoke.
"Saoirse."
"Yeah?"
"When I'm big, will you take me places? Like you go?"
Saoirse looked down at her. The little girl gazed up at her with green eyes beneath her fine white hair, her small face serious as she waited for an answer.
"Anywhere you want to go."
"Promise."
"I promise."
Morwenna nodded, satisfied, and turned back toward the meadow for one last look.
Then she left with Saoirse and made her way back through the quiet halls of the manor. The portraits watched her pass, but she didn't stop this time.
Edmund gave her a nod, Isolde greeted her with a smile, and the old woman with white hair simply followed her with a gaze that held something Morwenna couldn't yet name.
She climbed the stairs, her legs growing heavier with every step. Being three meant she was stronger now, but it didn't mean she never got tired. Gripping the railing with both hands, she hauled herself upward one step at a time while Cinder followed close behind, his claws clicking against the stone.
The nursery door stood open.
Inside, the fire had been lit, filling the room with a warm glow. Her bed was waiting, the covers turned down, and the little carved serpent rested on her pillow where she had left it.
Morwenna climbed into bed and pulled the covers over herself. The sheets felt cool against her skin at first, but they soon warmed around her. Cinder jumped up beside her and curled at her feet, his familiar weight settling her.
She reached for her left wrist and rubbed the bare skin where her silver bracelet used to rest. Pressing her thumb against the pale circle, she closed her eyes.
....
The fire in the morning room had burned low, and grey light filtered through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the floor. Jane stood alone by the window, gazing out at the mist-covered garden.
She didn't turn when Elara entered, but she recognized her godmother's footsteps.
"Godmother."
Elara crossed the room at an unhurried pace, her footsteps soft against the stone floor. She stopped beside Jane, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. For a moment, they stood together, looking out at the same misty garden.
Then Elara spoke.
"I need something from you."
Jane turned to face her. "What?"
"Some of your blood. Your heart blood."
Jane's eyes widened in surprise.
"Blood again? Godmother, what is it for?"
Elara's expression remained unchanged, but a faint flicker of amusement appeared in her eyes. It was a rare expression, carefully concealed, yet Jane caught it. Before she could ask anything else, Elara reached up and ruffled her hair.
Jane froze.
Elara rarely did things like that. In fact, she hadn't ruffled Jane's hair since she was a child.
The memory returned without warning. She had been twelve, furious because Celestine had refused to let her do something she wanted. Elara had listened to her complaints with her usual quiet patience before reaching out and ruffling her hair just as she had done now.
Your mother loves you, she had said then. She simply shows it differently.
I know, Jane had muttered. It's still annoying.
Elara's mouth had twitched.
Yes. It is.
Now, decades later, she was repeating the same gesture. Jane stood beneath her godmother's hand, caught between the memory of that twelve-year-old girl and the woman she had become.
"To strengthen Morwenna's bracelet," Elara explained. "Your heart blood, your life essence, would be the most powerful addition to this kind of protection."
Jane stared at her.
"My—"
"Ever since you told us last year that Morwenna might be Alberich, I have been thinking." Elara's voice remained calm and precise. "The Evans family is in France. I'm in France. Viviane is in France. You, Jane, are the only one here in England."
Jane opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again.
"I'm not saying this to diminish the Keiths," Elara continued. Her hand fell away from Jane's hair, but her gaze remained steady. "You understand what I mean."
She did. Jane understood perfectly.
"I can't protect her here the way I protected you there," Elara said. "If something happens, I can't guarantee that I will be close enough to reach her in time. So I did some research, and I found something interesting."
"What?"
"The women of the Evans family." Elara's voice softened almost imperceptibly. "They never hesitate. Not once. When their children are in danger, they are willing to sacrifice anything. Themselves, their partners, whatever it takes. It's in your blood. Perhaps Lily did the same."
Jane's throat tightened at the mention of her cousin.
"I want to borrow that feeling," Elara continued. "That instinct to protect your child at any cost. I want to make it the heart of the protective wards in Morwenna's bracelet."
Jane remained silent for a long moment.
"You want my heart blood because it carries..."
"The essence of who you are. Your love for her. Your willingness to do anything to keep her safe."
Elara reached out and briefly touched Jane's cheek.
"I can't be there every moment. But a part of you, the deepest part, can be. Wrapped around her wrist, protecting her when I can't."
Jane's eyes burned with unshed tears. She blinked them back, but before she could say anything, Elara suddenly drew her into an embrace.
The gesture caught her completely off guard. Elara wasn't a woman who hugged people. She hadn't been since Jane was a little girl, back when Jane would cry over something her mother had said or done, and Elara would hold her without offering explanations or advice. She would simply let Jane cry until she was ready to stop.
Jane pressed her face against Elara's shoulder. The scent was as familiar as ever: lavender, old parchment, and something that was simply, unmistakably Elara.
"I can protect her through you," Elara murmured. "Through what you give me."
After a moment, Jane pulled back. Her eyes were dry, but emotion had roughened her voice.
"When?"
"Now. Today. Everything is ready. I only need the core."
"Okay."
Elara studied her face.
"You don't want to think about it first?"
"No." Jane shook her head. "I want it done. I want her bracelet back as soon as possible."
Elara gave a single nod, then reached into her robes and withdrew a glass vial no larger than her thumb.
"How do we do this?" Jane asked.
Elara knelt in front of her.
"Focus on Morwenna. Think about your love for her and what you would do to keep her safe." She raised the vial between them. "I will take care of the rest."
Jane nodded and closed her eyes.
She thought of Morwenna's white hair and green eyes. The way she counted snowdrops on her small fingers. The way she pressed the piano keys and tilted her head to listen to the notes. She remembered her daughter standing at the breakfast table that morning, declaring, I'm brave. I can, loudly enough for everyone in the room to hear.
She thought of holding Morwenna through her fever, of the frost gathering on the window and the cracked glass, of the way her daughter's magic had broken through when her little body could no longer contain it.
Then she thought of the coming ritual. Of standing three metres away, watching as Morwenna endured something she couldn't fully understand. Of being unable to reach out and hold her when she needed comfort.
Jane opened her eyes.
"Ready."
Elara raised her wand and murmured a phrase in Old French, the words carrying the weight of a language older than the manor itself. A faint silver glow appeared in front of Jane's mouth, hovering like a thin veil of mist.
Jane placed her right hand flat against her chest, directly over her heart. Beneath her palm, it beat steadily and strongly.
She closed her eyes again and focused on Morwenna, on everything they had shared and everything she wanted to protect her daughter from. Then she spoke the words Elara had taught her, three simple words in an ancient tongue.
A focusing.
A willing.
Following the instructions, she slowly moved her hand upward, keeping her palm pressed against her chest. She drew it over her collarbone, up her throat, and finally to her mouth.
Then she opened her lips and spat.
The blood remained suspended in the air before her, held within the silver glow. It was a deep, dark red, unnaturally dense, catching the light like a precious stone. It seemed far heavier than ordinary blood, its surface gleaming as though it contained something more than mere liquid.
Jane watched it hover before her.
Her heart blood.
Her life essence.
A part of her, now outside her body.
Elara guided it with her wand, moving slowly and carefully. The crimson drop drifted downward, away from Jane's mouth and toward the vial. It paused above the narrow opening, suspended for one final moment, before slipping inside.
Jane let out a long breath. Then, without warning, the world tilted.
The colour drained from her skin, leaving it grey and lifeless. Her hands began to tremble, and the room seemed to sway around her. The edges of everything blurred, and the colours ran together.
She tried to steady herself by gripping the arms of the chair, but her fingers wouldn't obey. She could barely feel them. In fact, she could barely feel anything at all, only a vast, hollow emptiness inside her.
"Jane."
Elara's voice sounded distant, as though she were calling from across a field. Jane tried to answer, but her mouth refused to move.
Before she could slip from the chair, arms caught her. Despite her slender frame, Elara was surprisingly strong. She eased Jane back into the seat and held her upright.
"Stay with me."
Jane blinked several times. The room slowly came back into focus, though it still seemed unsteady. She felt exhausted. Worse, she was freezing. She had never felt so cold in her entire life.
Elara pressed a vial to her lips. This one was different from the first. The dark liquid inside was thick, with a strong smell of blood and herbs.
"Drink."
Jane obeyed. The mixture tasted bitter, like herbs steeped in blood. She swallowed, coughed, then forced herself to swallow again.
Gradually, warmth began to return. It spread from her stomach through her body, reaching her limbs and finally her fingertips. The grey tint faded from her skin, and her trembling subsided. She leaned back in the chair, breathing heavily.
Elara watched her with an unreadable expression, but kept one hand resting on Jane's shoulder. Her touch was steady and warm.
"How do you feel?"
Jane took a moment to consider the question. "Empty. Weak. Like I have been running for four days."
"That's normal." Elara tucked the empty vial away. "Heart blood isn't ordinary blood. It's your life essence. You have given away a part of yourself."
Jane glanced at the bracelet resting on the table. Its silver surface seemed to glow faintly, looking warmer than before.
"Is it enough?"
"One drop would have been enough. Three would have killed you."
Elara's voice remained flat, but something flickered in her eyes.
Jane stared at her. "You said—"
"I said I needed your heart blood. I never said how much." Elara's fingers tightened around her shoulder. "You gave me two drops before I could stop you."
Jane looked at the bracelet again, then lowered her gaze to her chest. Her heart was still beating, though each pulse seemed weaker than before.
"Will I recover?"
"In time." Elara sat on the arm of the chair, close enough for their shoulders to touch. "It will take four or five months before you are fully yourself again. No heavy magic until then. You need rest, good food, and plenty of sleep."
Jane closed her eyes. The warmth was still spreading through her body, but beneath it, she could sense the emptiness waiting to return.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Elara didn't reply. Her hand remained on Jane's shoulder. After a moment, she leaned her head against Jane's, just lightly, just for a second.
They stayed that way in the quiet morning room, godmother and goddaughter, while the grey light filtered through the windows and the bracelet gleamed on the table.
. . .
That evening, Jane sat in the study with her baby blue journal open before her. Her hand trembled slightly as she held the quill.
April 27.
I told her. She asked if she would be boiled. She said she was scared, but she would be brave because we would all be there.
April 28.
Godmother took my heart blood. Two drops. I didn't know two was too many until afterward. I'm weak now. Four or five months to recover fully. But the bracelet will keep her safe.
She capped the quill and sat quietly, listening to the fire crackle in the hearth.
Jack found her later. The moment he saw her face, paler than usual, he crossed the room in three quick strides.
"Jane. What happened?"
She told him everything. He listened without interrupting, holding her hand firmly in his.
When she finished, he remained silent for a long moment.
"You gave two drops."
"I didn't know."
"Would it have changed anything if you had?"
Jane thought about it. She pictured Morwenna's bare wrist, then remembered the coming ritual and the three metres that would separate them, leaving her unable to reach out and comfort her daughter.
"No," she said quietly. "I would have given two anyway."
Jack pulled her into his arms. She leaned against him, too exhausted to hold herself upright for much longer.
"She will be okay," he murmured. "And you will be okay, too."
"Hmm."