Morwenna slept.
The nursery remained warm, with the fire burning low in the soot-stained stone hearth and casting a soft orange glow across the room. Outside the tall windows, gray daylight filtered through heavy clouds, weak and watery against the manor's ancient walls.
Cinder remained curled against Morwenna's side, his russet fur rising and falling with each slow breath. His amber eyes were half-closed but never quite shut, reflecting the flickering light of the embers.
Every few minutes, his ears twitched at some distant sound: an adult's footsteps in the corridor, a door clicking shut somewhere below, or the rhythmic clatter of ceramic pots from the kitchen.
His nose moved constantly as he sampled the air, alert to any scent that might disturb her rest. He remained pressed against Morwenna's hip, a small, warm sentinel keeping watch over her.
Jane sat in the velvet-backed chair beside the bed. One hand rested on the blankets, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her daughter without quite touching her.
Morwenna looked pale against the pillow, her fine white hair spread around her head. Her breathing remained slow and even, but every so often, a faint crease appeared between her brows, as though something troubled her even in sleep.
Each time, Jane watched anxiously until the tension eased and her daughter settled again.
An hour after they had brought her upstairs, Morwenna opened her eyes.
They were green and glassy, moving slowly as she took in the ceiling, the window, and the dying fire. Eventually, her gaze found Jane's face, and recognition gradually returned.
"Maman."
Jane leaned forward and gently touched her daughter's cheek. Her skin felt cool beneath her fingertips, lacking the healthy warmth she was accustomed to.
"I'm here, ma chérie."
Morwenna blinked, frowning slightly as she struggled to shake off her sleepiness.
"Cold."
Jane reached for the extra blankets folded at the foot of the bed, but Morwenna weakly shook her head against the pillow.
"No. Inside."
Jane's hand stopped.
A chill deep within the body after a blood ritual was unusual. The runes should have settled by now, and the newly established paths through Morwenna's magic should have carried a gentle warmth, not this strange inner cold.
Jane forced down the sudden rush of anxiety. Morwenna had only just completed the first stage of a ritual designed to change how her magic flowed. There could be lingering effects, and panicking would help neither of them.
She reached for the cup of honey-ginger tea on the nightstand. Tilly had been replacing it with a fresh, warm cup every hour, always arriving with trembling hands and leaving after a silent bow.
"Drink some of this. It will help."
Morwenna accepted the cup and drank slowly. The tea was warm and sweet, and the ginger spread a gentle heat through her chest. She managed about half before her arms seemed to grow too heavy to hold the cup any longer.
Jane took it from her and set it aside.
"Hungry," Morwenna murmured.
Jane broke a plain biscuit into small pieces and fed them to her daughter. Morwenna chewed slowly, each movement requiring a little more effort than usual. Her eyes drifted shut between bites, and the soft crunch of the biscuit was the only sound in the quiet nursery.
After two pieces, she shook her head and settled against the pillow again. Her hand found Cinder's thick fur, her fingers sinking into its russet warmth. Her eyes closed almost immediately.
Jane remained beside her.
Over the next few hours, Morwenna woke twice more. Each time followed much the same pattern: her green eyes opened, she murmured something about feeling cold or uncomfortable, and Jane helped her drink some tea and eat a little before she drifted back to sleep.
By the third time she woke, some of the color had returned to her face. The gray pallor in her cheeks had faded, replaced by a faint pink. Her grip on the cup was stronger, and her fingers no longer trembled around the warm ceramic.
"Warmer," she said simply.
Jane kissed her forehead.
"That's good, sweetheart. Get some more rest."
Morwenna closed her eyes, and Jane watched as she slipped back into sleep.
....
In the lower levels of the manor, Aldric and Celestine worked in focused silence.
The chamber was entirely different from the ancient ritual room. There were no runes carved into the floor, no inscriptions glowing with blue magic.
Instead, it was a simple, circular room with smooth stone walls and a high ceiling that disappeared into shadow. The air was warm and carried the faint scent of herbs.
At its center stood a large copper bath, its surface gleaming dully in the torchlight. A fire burned beneath it, tended by house-elves who added wood and adjusted the flames with quiet precision. Heat radiated through the copper, warming the water inside.
The bath was already full, and the liquid shimmered with a faint light of its own. Its surface caught the torchlight, reflecting shifting patterns of gold, amber, and deep green.
The scent rising from the water was complex, with layers of lavender and chamomile, honey and nightshade, a sharp mineral note, and something else reminiscent of rain falling on hot stone.
It was the scent of old magic, patient and waiting.
Celestine leaned over the bath, studying the mixture with a scholar's concentration. It had been simmering since the previous night, allowing the ingredients to blend gradually while the magic settled into the water.
She could sense the change in it. The warmth was more than mere temperature, and the weight of the mixture went beyond its physical density. The water seemed to possess an awareness of its purpose, as though every ingredient had settled into its proper place.
Aldric stood beside her with his hands clasped behind his back.
"The proportions?"
"Forty, thirty, fifteen, fifteen." Celestine kept her eyes on the water, checking for any separation or sign that the ingredients had failed to blend properly. "Everything is correct."
"And the absorption rate?"
"Slow enough to be comfortable, but fast enough to finish before the water cools." She straightened and met his gaze. Her expression remained composed. "This part should be straightforward. The body knows what it needs to take in. I believe it will manage the rest."
Aldric nodded.
The medicinal bath was the universal foundation, the part of magical maturity that every family shared, regardless of bloodline. It provided the body with the support it needed to accommodate the changes brought about by the blood ritual.
The method had been used for generations. Its ingredients and proportions were well established, and the process was considered safe.
There was no reason to expect complications.
At least, not with this part of the ritual.
....
By the time the afternoon light began slanting through the nursery windows, Morwenna woke for the fourth time.
She felt groggy, her limbs heavy as stones, but her eyes were clearer than before. Propping herself up on one elbow, she slowly surveyed the room.
Cinder sat up with her, his ears swiveled forward. His tail gave one hesitant wag against the sheets.
"Maman."
Jane rose from the chair. Her body ached from sitting in the same position for hours, but she barely noticed.
"I'm here. How do you feel, petite?"
Morwenna considered the question with her usual seriousness. Her brow furrowed, and her lips pressed together as she searched for the right words.
"Tired. Warm."
"Good. That's good."
Jane sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand. Morwenna's fingers were still cool, but nowhere near as cold as they had been earlier.
"There's another part of the ritual, Morwenna. The medicinal bath. Do you remember?"
Morwenna nodded.
"Boiling."
Jane's mouth twitched despite herself.
"Yes, boiling." She paused, then continued more seriously. "But this part is different from the blood ritual. You can sleep if you need to. The bath will work whether you are awake or asleep. In fact, it might be easier to rest through it."
Morwenna studied her.
"I can sleep?"
"Yes. The bath nourishes you and gives your body what it needs. You don't have to stay awake or watch what happens. Your body will absorb the magic on its own."
Morwenna thought about this, her eyes moving slowly across Jane's face. Then she gave a small, decisive nod.
"Okay."
Jane helped her sit up properly, allowing the blankets to gather around her waist. Morwenna blinked at her surroundings, taking in the familiar walls, the fire, and the gray light beyond the window. Cinder pressed closer, resting his nose against her hip.
"Now?"
"Soon." Jane smoothed Morwenna's white hair away from her forehead. The strands felt soft beneath her fingers, slightly damp at the temples. "We will go down when everything is ready."
Morwenna leaned against her mother, her small body warm but still weighed down by exhaustion. Jane wrapped an arm around her and held her close.
For a while, neither of them spoke. They simply sat together, listening to the crackling fire and the quiet sounds of the manor beyond the nursery door.
Then Saoirse appeared in the doorway.
"It's ready."
Jane looked up, then turned back to her daughter.
"Come on, sweetheart."
She helped Morwenna stand, but the moment the child's feet touched the floor, her legs wobbled beneath her. Morwenna caught herself against the bedpost, swaying slightly as she tried to regain her balance.
Jane didn't make her try again. She scooped her up, cradling her against her chest.
Morwenna's arms slipped around her mother's neck, and she rested her face against the curve of Jane's shoulder.
"Okay. I'm ready."
Jane kissed her hair and carried her downstairs.
...
The bath chamber was warm and humid, the air thick with the scent of herbs and something else, something ancient and alive. The copper bath gleamed in the center of the room, steam rising from its surface in slow curls. Beneath it, the fire glowed orange and gold, casting dancing shadows across the stone walls.
Jane lowered Morwenna to the floor, keeping a hand on her daughter's shoulder until she was certain the child could stand steadily on her own.
Even that small effort left her trembling.
Her arms felt heavier than they should have, and she had to breathe carefully to keep herself from becoming dizzy. Her lungs worked harder than they had after the heart blood donation. The gray pallor that had gradually faded from her face over the past two days was returning, spreading faintly beneath her skin.
For a moment, she steadied herself against the wall.
Then she straightened and turned back to her daughter, refusing to let her own weakness become another thing Morwenna had to worry about.
Morwenna stood near the doorway in her simple cotton clothes, holding Jane's hand. She looked at the copper bath, then at the fire beneath it, and finally at the shimmering water.
Her expression remained solemn, but her fingers tightened around her mother's.
"Boiling."
Jane gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. Her own fingers felt cold, and a slight tremor ran through them.
"Warm, not boiling. It will feel nice once you are in."
Morwenna nodded and allowed herself to be led forward.
Jane walked more slowly than usual, each step requiring conscious effort. Her legs felt heavy, as though she were wading through deep water. She kept one hand on Morwenna's shoulder, guiding her toward the bath while relying on the contact to help steady herself.
The family had already gathered around the edges of the chamber, maintaining the same three-meter distance they had observed during the blood ritual.
Jack stood among them, his face pale and his gaze fixed on his daughter. He noticed Jane's pallor and the effort behind each of her movements. Taking a step toward her, he looked ready to intervene.
Jane shook her head once.
He stopped, though the concern in his eyes deepened.
Nearby, Saoirse stood with her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her fingers digging into the fabric of her sleeves. For once, she had nothing to say.
Jane helped Morwenna out of her clothes. The child stood naked for a moment in the firelight, small and pale, with the invisible runes now woven into her skin. She looked even smaller than she had that morning, but her back remained straight and her chin lifted.
She was still trying to be brave.
Jane swallowed the ache in her throat, then bent to lift her.
Her arms protested immediately. As she raised Morwenna, a wave of weakness swept through her, and the edges of her vision turned gray. For one frightening moment, she could barely make out the copper rim in front of her.
She lowered Morwenna into the bath as gently as she could, making sure the warm water rose around her daughter without splashing into her face.
Once Morwenna was safely seated, Jane gripped the edge of the bath with both hands. The copper felt warm beneath her palms. She held on until the dizziness passed and the room came back into focus.
Morwenna hadn't noticed her mother's struggle.
The water was warm, not hot, and its gentle heat enveloped her almost immediately, rising to her shoulders. The scent was stronger here, surrounding her with lavender, chamomile, and something sweet like honey, beneath which lingered a deeper, earthy fragrance.
Morwenna let out a small sigh. Her eyes fluttered closed as the warmth seeped into her tired muscles and settled deep within her bones. It reached the places where the runes still hummed with the last traces of the blood ritual's energy, soothing the lingering sensations one by one.
It felt wonderful.
The tension that had remained in her shoulders since the ritual began gradually melted away. Her small body relaxed, and she sank a little deeper into the comforting warmth.
Jane knelt beside the bath. Her knees struck the stone floor harder than she intended, but she barely registered the impact. She was already measuring her strength, wondering how long she could remain beside Morwenna before she needed to stand again.
"Baby, is this all right?"
Morwenna nodded without opening her eyes.
The warmth continued to spread, and the herbal scent seemed to grow richer with every breath. Around her, the water shimmered with an inner light, catching the firelight and reflecting it in gentle golden ripples.
Her breathing slowed. She rested her head against the curved rim of the copper bath, her lips parting slightly as the last of her tension slipped away.
Within minutes, she was asleep.
Jane watched her daughter's face soften. The faint furrow between Morwenna's brows disappeared, and the tightness around her mouth eased.
Without the strain of the ritual weighing on her, she looked young and peaceful again, like a little girl who had fallen asleep in a warm bath after an exhausting day.
For a moment, Jane simply watched her breathe, letting herself believe that the worst was over.
===
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