The morning room windows had been open for the first time since October. The air drifting through the mesh was cold but no longer biting, carrying the rich scent of damp earth and the sharp fragrance of green shoots waking beneath the lingering frost.
Morwenna pressed her face against the wire screen, its metal cool and slightly rough against her skin. Her breath fogged the wire in small clouds that vanished almost as soon as they appeared.
She was waiting. She had been waiting for three days, ever since Jane told her that Grand-ma and Gran-père were coming.
Her body simply refused to stay still. She had tried sitting on her chair as her mother instructed, once, twice, three times, but each time she found herself sliding off before she even realized she was moving. Her trainers scuffed frantically against the stone floor as she paced around the room.
Cinder watched from the rug, his amber eyes following her restless laps. His russet ears twitched whenever she turned. Eventually, he gave up trying to track her with his head and rested his chin on his paws instead, his tail thumping against the rug every now and then.
Jane sat at the table with a cup of tea that had long since gone cold. A thin gray film had formed over the dark liquid, but she made no move to drink it. Instead, she watched her daughter circle the room again and again, her hands resting loosely around the porcelain cup.
"You will wear a path in the stone, petite," Jane remarked, her French accent softening the words.
Morwenna stopped at the window and stared at her reflection. She saw her white hair, her green eyes, and the small face looking back at her with a familiar restlessness.
"When?"
"Soon. You asked me that five minutes ago."
Morwenna pressed her forehead against the glass. The coolness felt good against her skin, easing the jittery feeling in her chest that had followed her all morning.
"I want to see them come."
"They will come through the Floo. You won't be able to see them from the window."
Morwenna pulled away and looked at her mother. Jane's expression remained calm.
For a moment, Morwenna thought about the Floo, picturing the emerald flames, the roar of the fire, and the way someone stepped out onto the hearth.
Then she ran.
Jane heard her footsteps echo down the corridor, followed by the slap of rubber soles against the stone stairs and, finally, the distant thud of the heavy front door. She sighed softly, set down her cold tea, and went after her daughter.
She found Morwenna standing on the front step.
The little girl had her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her white hair blowing in the wind. Cinder sat beside her with his ears flattened against the sharp gusts. He shivered slightly but kept his shoulder pressed against her leg.
"They aren't coming through the front door, ma chérie."
Jane reached out and gently guided her daughter back inside. The morning air was too cold for standing around in just a shirt, and she could already feel the chill seeping into Morwenna's small hands.
But Morwenna was moving again before they had even crossed the threshold. She slipped her hand into Jane's and pulled her toward the entrance hall.
"We wait there."
Jane allowed herself to be led.
Mother and daughter stood together near the central fountain, listening to the familiar murmur of water splashing against the marble basin.
The portraits watched from their gilded frames. Isolde was awake for once, her eyes following Morwenna's restless feet. Edmund pretended to read, though his gaze kept drifting up from the parchment in his hands. The old white-haired woman simply observed them, her ancient eyes steady.
Morwenna shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Her hands hung at her sides, fingers opening and closing. She hummed under her breath, making a sound without a proper tune as the vibration traveled through her throat.
Jane didn't tell her to be still.
The Floo roared to life in a burst of emerald flames.
Morwenna darted forward before the fire had even settled, her trainers slapping against the stone floor.
Jane watched her race toward the hearth as Celestine stepped out of the shifting flames. Morwenna skidded to a stop just before colliding with her grandmother's legs.
Celestine immediately reached out and caught her by the shoulders. For a moment, her expression remained composed. Then the corners of her face softened, and she drew her granddaughter into a close embrace.
"You have grown taller," Celestine said.
Morwenna's voice was muffled against her grandmother's heavy traveling coat, which smelled of long journeys and lavender.
"I'm going to be four."
"I know. I remember."
Behind Celestine, the flames flared again. Lucien stepped through, and something about the atmosphere in the hall seemed to change. Sunlight from the high windows caught his cheekbones, lending his face a gentle warmth.
His eyes found Morwenna, and his mouth curved into a soft smile.
Morwenna released Celestine, turned toward Lucien, and pointed at her own ear.
He touched his ear in response.
She grinned.
Elara came through last, moving at her usual unhurried pace. Her expression remained carefully neutral as she took in the hall, the fountain, and the watching portraits. Her gaze eventually settled on Morwenna, who had already caught Lucien's hand and was trying to pull him toward the greenhouse.
"She has been waiting for you," Jane said.
Elara followed the little girl's hurried movements with her eyes.
"I can see that."
. . .
Morwenna pulled Lucien through the corridors, gripping his fingers tightly. Cinder followed close behind, his claws clicking against the floorboards.
She talked so quickly that her words nearly ran together as she told Lucien about the snowdrops that had bloomed and died, the new shoots in the garden, and the seedling she had been watching for weeks.
"It hasn't opened yet. But it will. I know it will."
"When?" she asked.
She already knew what he would say, but she liked hearing the answer.
Lucien reached out and lightly brushed his fingers against the stem.
"Ah, the timing is almost right, petite," he said, his voice carrying its familiar, melodic cadence. "A few more days, perhaps. Maybe a week."
Morwenna looked at the closed bud, then back at him. The greenhouse was warm and humid, filled with the scent of damp soil and growing things.
"Before I go to London?"
"If you are lucky."
Her expression changed as excitement and worry tangled together.
"What if it opens when I'm not here?"
Lucien bent down slightly, his movements unhurried and graceful.
"Then you will come back and see it when the time is right."
Morwenna considered this, one hand resting on the rim of the pot. The terracotta felt rough beneath her fingers.
She thought about the snowdrops she had counted every morning until they died. She had been there when they opened, one by one, and she had watched as their petals finally closed.
"Saoirse says London has parks with flowers. Real flowers, not just pictures."
"It does."
"Will they be open when I go?"
"Some of them. The early ones, perhaps crocuses or daffodils."
Morwenna nodded, storing the information away.
She took her hand off the pot and looked around the greenhouse at the rows of seedlings, the pots of herbs, and the climbing vine that had begun producing new, translucent leaves.
"Gran-père, are there plants in France that aren't here?"
Lucien straightened.
"Many."
"What are they called?"
He began listing them, giving her names in French, Latin, and the Veela tongue, whose unfamiliar sounds seemed to make the air vibrate differently as he spoke.
Morwenna repeated each name, carefully working her mouth around the unfamiliar sounds. She stored them alongside the names of runes and the pictures of London buses in her growing collection of things she wanted to understand.
Whenever she got a name wrong, Lucien corrected her. She tried again until she got it right.
« Bien, » she said.
He smiled.
« Très bien. »
. . .
In the morning room, Celestine sat with Jane. A fire had been lit against the April chill, and pale light filtered through the windows, catching the dust drifting through the air.
Celestine held her teacup between both hands, her gaze resting on the garden outside.
"She is different," she said.
Jane knew what she meant.
"She is louder. She runs everywhere and laughs at nothing. Saoirse came back, and something..." She paused, searching for the right word.
"Loosened," Celestine supplied.
Jane looked at her mother.
"Yes."
Celestine placed her cup on its saucer with a soft click.
"The trip to the mundane world is coming soon?"
"After her birthday. In a few weeks. Jack's family has an estate belonging to the mundane branch. We will stay there, then spend a few days in London."
"Jane." Celestine's voice remained quiet. "She has spent her entire life in this manor, surrounded by magic, rituals, and things that require her to be still and patient. Of course she will be different now that she has something to look forward to."
Jane turned toward the window, looking out at the garden beneath the gray sky.
"I know."
"Let her be different," Celestine said firmly. "She isn't the same child who asked a portrait whether the ritual would hurt. She shouldn't have to remain that child."
Jane nodded. She picked up her tea, then set it down again without drinking.
"I know."
. . .
The Floo flared again around noon.
Morwenna was already in the entrance hall, with Cinder at her feet and her body poised to move the moment the flames turned green. She had been waiting for this visit, too. Jane had told her that Luelle and Raphaël were coming, and Morwenna had been counting the days.
Luelle stepped through first. She was shorter than Jane and much quicker in her movements, with none of the Evans composure but all their energy. Her hair was windswept, her cloak sat crookedly on her shoulders, and her face broke into a wide grin the moment she spotted Morwenna.
She let out a delighted gasp.
Morwenna ran.
Luelle caught her, lifted her into the air, and spun her around once, twice, three times. Morwenna's laughter bounced off the stone walls. Cinder yelped and scrambled out of the way as their feet swept past him.
"You are so heavy!" Luelle exclaimed. "What have they been feeding you? You have grown so much!"
Morwenna grabbed Luelle's face between her warm little hands, holding her still so she could look at her properly.
"I'm going to London. I'm going to ride a bus. I'm going on a swing that goes so high my stomach drops out."
Luelle's green eyes widened.
"Who told you that?"
"Saoirse."
Luelle turned toward Jane, who stood at the edge of the hall with her arms crossed and a small smile on her face.
Jane shrugged.
"Of course. Of course Saoirse told her that."
Raphaël stepped through the Floo behind his sister. He was taller than Luelle and quieter, with the same green eyes and steady calm that Jane possessed. He took in the scene and smiled.
"Hello," he said.
Morwenna looked at him.
"Raph."
. . .
They ate lunch together in the morning room, filling the table with food and conversation.
Celestine sat at one end with Lucien beside her. Elara sat between Jane and Raphaël, her expression as carefully neutral as ever, though she listened closely whenever Morwenna spoke, her head tilted slightly. Luelle sat across from Morwenna, asking questions and laughing at her answers.
Saoirse had joined them at some point, her face still marked by the exhaustion of her travels. She was telling Luelle about the monks, the mountains, and the cold that went so deep it felt like falling.
Morwenna ate with one hand while gesturing with the other, her fork forgotten on her plate. She was telling Celestine about the seedling in the greenhouse, the new leaves on the climbing vine, and how Lucien had taught her to pronounce the names of different plants.
"I got it right. On the third try."
Celestine smiled.
"You always get it right eventually."
Morwenna nodded, pleased with herself. She ate a piece of bread, chewed, then turned toward Elara.
"The stone from the mountains. Saoirse said it's never warm. Does it work? The Cold Light thing?"
Elara's expression remained unchanged, but something flickered in her eyes.
"The stone holds what it has been given. It should help."
Morwenna considered that. She had been thinking about the stone for weeks, imagining something that never grew warm and the abbess who had lived to ninety.
"Will it arrive before I go to London?"
"I don't know. The monks sent it by their own method. It will arrive when it arrives."
Morwenna nodded. She was learning that some things came in their own time, no matter how much she wanted them.
The seedling. The stone. The day she would finally walk out the front door and see the world for herself.
"Good," she said, then reached for another piece of bread.
. . .
That evening, after dinner, the adults gathered in the morning room.
Morwenna had been sent to bed twice and had come downstairs three times. The last time, Jane had carried her back up herself, but now the little girl had returned, moving more quietly than before. Her footsteps were almost lost beneath the sound of Saoirse's voice.
Saoirse sat on the floor with her back against the wall and her legs stretched toward the fire. She was telling Luelle about the monastery again, describing the abbess and the Binding of Cold Light.
"They don't fight it," she explained. "They teach the child to hold it. That's what she told me. They let the light be light."
Celestine sat nearby, her face illuminated by the fire.
"And the stone will help?"
"It will. It's been touched by Cold Light for so long that it never warms up." Saoirse paused, her gaze settling on the flames.
Raphaël broke the silence.
"When are you planning to go to the mundane world?"
Jack leaned forward, his expression serious.
"After her birthday. We will complete the blood ritual first, then we will leave."
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