The nursery was a muted gray when Morwenna opened her eyes. November light pressed against the windowpane, thin and pale as old parchment.
The fire had burned down to a few stubborn embers glowing deep orange behind the iron grate, and Cinder lay curled at her feet, a solid, warm weight beneath the blankets. His ears twitched at a faint sound from the hallway, but he didn't wake.
Jane sat on the edge of the bed, holding the small gray stone in her hand. Her thumb moved slowly over its smooth surface.
Morwenna pushed herself upright and rubbed her eyes with her fists. Her white hair was tangled against the pillow.
"Maman."
"Good morning, sweetheart." Jane held out the stone. "I found this on the altar this morning."
Morwenna took it, wrapping her small fingers around the smooth rock. She blinked in surprise. The stone was warm, warmer than it should have been, warmer than the morning air or the blankets around her.
She closed her fingers around it and felt the feelings she had tucked away inside return to her: the sound of the piano, the golden afternoon light, and her mother's hands moving gracefully across the keys.
The memory was still there. It was still hers.
She looked up at Jane, her eyes wide. "It's warm."
"I noticed."
Morwenna nodded, satisfied with the answer. She tucked the stone into her serpent pouch, where it settled against the silver box and crystal sphere. Then she climbed out of bed and padded over to the window.
The garden lay gray and still beneath the autumn mist. The patch of snowdrops had spread farther than the day before, a pale smudge against the dark hedge.
Morwenna pressed her palm against the glass. The surface was bitingly cold, but nothing happened. No frost formed beneath her hand, and no flame flickered.
She pulled away and studied her palm with a small, thoughtful frown.
"Breakfast is ready," Jane called gently from the doorway.
Morwenna turned and followed her mother into the hall.
The morning room was bright and warm. The fire crackled cheerfully in the hearth, and steaming bowls of rice and plates of fried eggs covered the table.
A pot of tea sat beside Jane, its steam curling into the air. Tilly had put out the honey again, the thick, golden kind harvested from the summer hives.
Morwenna climbed into her usual chair. Cinder settled beneath the table, his nose pointed toward the floor as he waited for anything that might fall.
Jack was reading the Prophet, its pages spread across the dark wood. Aldric and Seraphina were already eating, talking quietly about the day's plans. Jane poured tea for herself and Jack, filling their cups with dark amber liquid.
At half past eight, a barn owl flew through the window.
It was a gray, solemn-looking bird. It landed on the back of an empty chair with a letter tied to its leg by a sturdy cord. Jack set down his cup and untied the parchment. The owl ruffled its feathers once, then flew back into the gray morning without waiting for a treat.
Jack unfolded the letter. His expression remained unchanged, but his grip tightened slightly as he read. After going through it once, he passed it to Jane.
"William," he said shortly.
Aldric looked up from his plate. "That's right. For our first stop in the mundane world, the family estate makes more sense than London."
Seraphina turned toward Morwenna. "Are you excited, little one? You will be traveling in just half a year."
Morwenna looked at her grandmother and thought about the village her father had described. She tried to imagine the world beyond the wards, where people drove metal cars and walked along stone pavements without ever knowing that magic existed.
"Yes. I want to see it."
Seraphina smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling.
Jane reached for the teapot. "Saoirse will be back by then. She is coming with us."
Morwenna's spoon stopped halfway to her mouth. She remembered the meadow, the enormous Abraxan horses, and the hand waving against the blue sky.
"She promised."
"She keeps her promises," Jack said firmly.
Once breakfast was over and the dishes had been cleared, the adults returned to their usual routines. Aldric went to the library, with Seraphina following him so she could continue knitting in the quiet. Jack kissed Jane's cheek before disappearing into his study to deal with his correspondence.
***
Dull gray light filtered through the glass walls of the conservatory, where koi fish drifted in slow circles around the fountain's basin.
Morwenna sat at the low table beside the piano, a box of crayons spread out in front of her. Jane had bought them weeks earlier from a shop near the bookstore. They were thick and waxy, their colors bright against the white paper.
Morwenna held a red crayon, pressing hard enough to leave deep grooves in the page.
"What are you drawing?" Jane asked as she sat beside her on the bench.
Morwenna kept her eyes on her work. "The horses. The ones from the meadow."
Jane looked down at the paper. The shapes weren't quite horses yet, but they were clearly meant to be. Red, gold, and white blended together where Morwenna's hand had dragged across the soft wax.
"They are beautiful."
Jane let her continue without asking anything else.
Morwenna drew for a long time. The koi continued circling in the fountain, and the light outside slowly shifted toward noon.
"The Evans ritual," Jane said at last, her voice quiet. "The one Grand-mère sent us the ingredients for. We are going to do it in December. We want to finish before the snow gets too deep."
Morwenna's crayon stopped halfway through a stroke. She set it down and looked up at her mother's face.
"It's like the blood ritual, but gentler. The ingredients will be applied to your skin, and your body will absorb them. It might feel strange. You will feel some warmth at first, and then perhaps a little discomfort." Jane paused, choosing her words carefully. "But it won't be like the bath. You won't have to go through that kind of pain again."
Morwenna picked up a blue crayon and drew a long, slow line across the top of the paper.
"When?"
"Early December, before the solstice."
Morwenna nodded solemnly and returned to her drawing. The blue line curved into a wing before taking on the shape of something in flight.
"Is it the same as last time?"
"No, it's different. Last time was the Keith ritual, the one with the runes. This one comes from the Evans family. It's about your bloodline, about helping your blood remember what it carries."
Morwenna lowered her gaze to the crayon in her hand.
"Will it work?"
Jane set the green crayon back on the table. "We hope so. We think it will."
Morwenna fell silent for a moment before continuing her drawing. The blue wing became a second wing, and then she added a body beneath them. The result was a horse that looked almost as though it were flying.
Jane watched her daughter's hand move across the paper. She noticed how Morwenna pressed harder when she wanted a deeper color and eased her grip when she wanted something lighter. When she concentrated, the tip of her tongue peeked out from the corner of her mouth.
"Maman."
"Yes?"
"The stone. This morning." Morwenna paused, still holding the blue crayon. "It was warm."
Jane waited for her to continue.
"Lily's hands," Morwenna said. "Were they warm?"
Jane didn't answer immediately. The koi circled in their endless loop, and the light filtering through the glass walls gradually shifted from dull gray to pale gold as the afternoon approached.
"I think so," she said at last. "I think she was warm."
Morwenna nodded. She picked up a white crayon and added bright highlights to the horse's wings. The paper was nearly full now, covered in a lively mixture of red, gold, blue, and white, all pressed together in a waxy mosaic.
"Good."
Jane stayed beside her, watching as she drew. The koi continued their slow circles, and the light moved across the glass walls as morning gave way to afternoon.