The train wound its way down from the snow-capped mountains throughout the afternoon. Nimue watched the white peaks shrink into the distance, her breath fogging the glass whenever she touched it. She wiped the pane with her sleeve and pressed her face against the cold surface again, determined not to miss a thing.
Gradually, the landscape flattened. The deep snow disappeared, replaced by bare, frozen fields of brown earth. Before long, those gave way to sprawling suburbs. Buildings stood closer together, their walls a uniform, soot-stained gray. Their windows were dark against the fading winter light.
"Maman," Nimue said.
Jane turned toward her.
"Are we there yet?"
"Soon, petite," Jane replied.
The train began to slow, the familiar rhythm of the tracks changing into a heavy, grinding rumble. Nimue pressed her face against the window again, and her breath immediately clouded the glass.
Outside, the city stretched beneath a sky the color of dull lead. Buildings stood close together, their dark shutters firmly closed against the December chill. On a few iron balconies, stiff laundry hung in the cold, stirring faintly in the breeze.
Nimue had been watching the landscape change for the past hour, ever since the majestic mountains had disappeared behind them.
The train was warm, perhaps too warm, so she had taken off her padded blue jacket and bunched it on the seat beside her. Cinder had slept through most of the journey, curled into a tight russet ball against her thigh. His amber eyes occasionally flickered open before closing again.
Jane sat across from her with a book open in her lap, although she hadn't turned a page in quite some time. Jack sat by the window, watching the gray buildings pass with quiet concentration. The white streak in his black hair stood out sharply in the shadows. Saoirse had leaned her head against the seat and closed her eyes, her mouth slightly open.
"We are here," Jane announced as the train slid beneath the vaulted glass roof of the station.
Nimue turned away from the window, her heart giving a little thump.
"Paris?"
"Paris."
The train pulled into the station with a heavy hiss. The platform was crowded with people in thick wool coats, dragging suitcases and calling to one another in rapid bursts of French.
Jack lifted her down from her seat, and Cinder jumped after her, landing on the floor with a soft click of his claws. The cold hit them as soon as they stepped onto the platform, sharper and more biting than the warmth inside the train. Nimue pulled her jacket close around herself, the soft fur lining the hood brushing against her chin.
They followed the crowd toward the exit. A woman in a heavy wool coat brushed past them, carrying the faint scent of lavender and old paper. Somewhere in the distance, an accordion played a jaunty tune near the stone staircase. The air was filled with the smell of roasted coffee, damp concrete, and cigarette smoke.
Their driver was waiting outside the station doors, holding a white sign with KEITH written across it in bold black letters. He was a small man with silver-gray hair and a thick mustache that twitched whenever he spoke. He took their bags without a word and loaded them into a sturdy gray sedan.
« L'appartement est dans le sixième, » he said as they pulled away from the curb. « Près du jardin. » (The apartment is in the sixth arrondissement, near the garden.)
Jane answered him in fluent, melodic French. The driver nodded and expertly guided the car into the chaotic flow of Paris traffic.
The city was noisy. Its streets were narrow, and the buildings stood tall, constructed from pale limestone with dark green or black shutters.
Cars lined both sides of nearly every road, while the streets seemed alive with constant movement. A woman pushed a pram across a crossing without giving the traffic a second glance, and a man on a bicycle boldly weaved between the idling cars.
Nimue watched everything, while Cinder sat on her lap with his nose pressed against the window and his tail twitching against her knees.
Their apartment was on the fourth floor of an old, grand building. Its entrance had a heavy wooden door that required an enormous iron key to unlock.
The driver carried their bags up the winding staircase, breathing heavily by the time he reached the top landing. Jane tipped him with a few banknotes, and he took his leave with a polite touch of his cap.
The rooms were small but charming, with high ceilings and creaking parquet floors. There was a sitting room with a sagging but comfortable sofa, and a kitchen with a white gas stove and a small round table.
The apartment had three bedrooms, two large and one very small, tucked away at the end of the hallway. Their windows overlooked a central courtyard where the bare branches of plane trees stretched toward the gray sky.
Nimue immediately claimed the smaller bedroom. The bed was narrow, and the sheets carried a faint smell of lavender and starch. She placed her green canvas bag on the floor and took out the Cold Light Stone. It was still freezing cold, carrying that same steady pulse of winter. She tucked it beneath her pillow.
Cinder jumped onto the bed, turned around twice, and settled down with a contented sigh.
"Hungry," Nimue announced as she wandered back into the dimly lit kitchen.
Jane peered inside the small refrigerator, its light reflecting in her green eyes.
"Eggs. Bread. There's some cheese."
She took out a small, pungent round of cheese with a sharp, earthy smell.
"We will go to the market tomorrow. Tonight, we will eat what we have."
Nimue sat at the small kitchen table while Cinder settled at her feet, his nose pointed toward the stove. The apartment was quiet, although voices drifted up from the courtyard below. A woman called out a name, followed by a child's high-pitched reply.
Jane scrambled eggs in a pan with plenty of yellow butter, cut thick slices of crusty baguette, and arranged the cheese on a wooden board. Dinner was simple but warm. They ate together around the little table, with the muffled sounds of the city drifting through the window.
After dinner, Jane filled the bathtub. The bathroom was cramped, and the water took a long time to heat. Steam gradually filled the room, fogging the mirror. Nimue sat in the warm water with her knees drawn up to her chest, watching the dirt from the long train journey swirl down the drain in gray eddies.
"Tomorrow we will visit the gardens," Jane said, kneeling beside the tub with a soft washcloth.
"What is there?"
"Trees. Paths. A pond where you can sail little boats. There might even be ponies."
Nimue looked at her mother, her eyes widening.
"Ponies?"
"Small ones. For children to ride."
Nimue said nothing, but she happily let Jane wash her hair and rinse it with a cup of warm water that smelled faintly of citrus.
The bed was soft and welcoming. Cinder jumped up and curled at her feet, his warmth spreading through the blankets. Beyond the window, the courtyard was dark, but golden lights glowed in the surrounding windows. Nimue could make out the silhouettes of people moving behind their lace curtains.
Paris sounded different from London. Its noises were softer and less insistent, more like a constant hum than a roar.
She fell asleep to the sound of a woman singing a French lullaby somewhere in the building below.
. . . .
The morning light was thin and gray, filtering through the shutters. Nimue woke to the persistent beep-beep-beep of a truck reversing in the courtyard, the sound echoing off the stone walls. Cinder was already awake, sitting on her pillow with his ears pricked forward and his amber eyes bright.
She nudged him aside and got dressed. She put on her blue puffy coat, fleece-lined boots, and woolen hat, whose tassel always tickled the back of her neck.
Jane was already in the kitchen, her hair tied back in a practical knot. A pot of coffee steamed on the stove.
"You are up early."
Jane poured milk into a small pan. "Breakfast first. Then we will go."
The others woke gradually. Jack emerged from the bedroom with his shirt untucked and his hair sticking up at the back. Saoirse shuffled past them toward the bathroom, yawning.
Eventually, the kettle went on. They ate bread with thick butter and strawberry jam, while Jane boiled eggs until the yolks were still soft and ran yellow when Nimue cut into them.
"Ready," Nimue announced as soon as she finished her last bite.
The street outside was freezing. The sky was the same flat gray as the day before, but the air smelled of damp stone and something sweet wafting from the bakery on the corner.
Jane led the way through the winding streets. Jack stayed beside Nimue, while Saoirse followed behind with her hands buried in her pockets. Cinder trotted ahead with his tail held high, then circled back to check on them before darting forward again. He seemed unable to settle on a pace.
The Luxembourg Gardens came into view at the end of a wide, tree-lined avenue. Tall black iron gates topped with gold stood open, and bare branches stretched like intricate lace against the sky. Gravel paths extended in every direction, disappearing into the mist.
Nimue stopped at the entrance, her eyes wide. The garden was enormous, much larger than the small park they had visited in London. Paths lined with statues and green metal chairs seemed to stretch on forever. A man walked past with a folded newspaper tucked under his arm, while a woman sat on a nearby bench feeding breadcrumbs to a flock of sparrows.
In the distance, Nimue spotted a small circular track. Four ponies, mottled brown and white, walked in a slow, steady circle with children on their backs.
She grabbed Jane's hand and squeezed it tightly.
"Ponies."
"I see them."
They walked toward the track, where a man in a sturdy blue coat stood beside the gate. He had a weathered face and hands that looked as tough as worn leather.
"Un tour?" (A ride?) he asked in a gravelly voice.
Jane looked down at Nimue. "Do you want to?"
Nimue nodded vigorously, making the tassel on her hat bob.
Jane paid the man a few coins, and he lifted Nimue onto a small, sturdy brown pony. The animal was warm, its body heat reaching her through her trousers. Its fur felt rough and slightly oily against her legs, and it smelled of manure and damp hay.
"Tenez-vous aux poignées." (Hold the handles.) The man pointed toward the leather loops on the saddle.
Nimue gripped them tightly as the pony began to walk. Its hooves made soft, rhythmic thuds against the dirt track while the man led it by a short rope. The garden drifted past in a slow blur: bare trees, green benches, and the large pond in the distance. She spotted a woman pushing a pram and a child chasing a bright red ball as it bounced across the gravel.
The pony completed three circles before the man brought it to a stop and lifted Nimue back down.
"Encore?" he asked with a small smile.
Nimue shook her head. She liked the warmth of the animal, but she wanted to see the rest of the gardens.
. . . .
The pond was octagonal, surrounded by a low stone wall. Children knelt along its edge, using long wooden sticks to push colorful boats across the rippling water. Some had crisp white sails that caught the breeze, while others had simple wooden hulls decorated with tiny, fluttering flags.
"Can I?" Nimue asked, her gaze fixed on the boats.
Jane pointed toward a small wooden building near the water. "We can rent one there."
Jack went to the building and returned a moment later with a bright green boat and a long wooden stick. The boat had a small mast and a jaunty red flag that snapped in the wind. Nimue carried it to the water's edge, knelt on the cold stone, and carefully set it afloat. The water looked dark, murky, and very deep.
She pushed the boat with the stick, watching it move slowly away from the wall. After another push, it drifted toward the center of the pond.
"Use the stick to turn it," Jack advised, kneeling beside her. "Just push against the side of the hull."
She angled the stick, and the boat turned obediently to the left. Another push sent it toward the far side of the pond. A boy beside her had a blue boat and seemed intent on ramming hers. His face was set in a mischievous grin. Nimue tried to steer her boat away, but he followed, his blue hull cutting through the water.
"Non," she said firmly, giving him a stern look.
The boy only grinned and pushed his boat faster. Nimue turned hers sharply, letting it slip past his and glide smoothly toward the opposite wall.
"Good girl," Jack said, patting her back.
She kept pushing until the boat reached the other side, then walked around the pond to retrieve it. They repeated this four times, until her arms ached from holding the stick and her knees were damp from kneeling on the cold stone.
Saoirse was sitting on a green metal chair nearby, watching two old men play a silent, intense game of chess. The wooden pieces had been worn smooth by years of use. Neither man spoke. They simply moved a piece and waited, their chins resting on their hands.
"Who is winning?" Nimue asked, leaning against Saoirse's knee.
Saoirse shrugged. "No idea. They have been sitting there like stone statues for twenty minutes."
The playground was near the north entrance. It had heavy swings, a seesaw, and a large sandpit with a wooden climbing frame. Nimue ran straight to the swings. The metal chains were cold against her palms, but she began pumping her legs until the swing rose high, her feet reaching toward the gray sky.
A girl on the next swing looked a little older than Nimue, perhaps seven. She had dark braids tied with ribbons and wore a bright red wool coat. She was swinging much higher than Nimue, her laughter ringing out as they passed each other.
"Tu es lente." (You are slow.) The girl glanced over at her.
Nimue pumped her legs harder, her heart racing with the effort. The swing climbed higher, and the wind whistled past her ears. She still didn't reach quite as high as the other girl, but she came close enough to see her smile.
"Better," the girl remarked as they slowed down.
The seesaw was empty, so Nimue sat at one end and the girl took the other. They moved up and down in a steady, heavy rhythm, the girl laughing whenever they jolted against the ground. Nimue didn't quite laugh, but the feeling was there, bubbling warmly in her chest.
The sandpit was a square of gray sand dotted with abandoned plastic buckets and rusted spades. Nimue sat on the wooden edge and watched a younger girl build a castle.
The child looked about four, with blonde hair and a nose that had turned bright red from the cold. Her castle was lopsided, and its damp walls kept crumbling, but she didn't seem bothered by it. Nimue didn't offer to help. She simply watched as the little girl repeatedly filled her bucket and tipped the sand out.
Near the palace, a group of old men were playing boules on a long gravel court. They stood with straight backs, their hands buried in their pockets as they watched the heavy metal balls roll across the stones. One of them threw with a flick of his wrist. The ball landed with a soft, heavy thud and stopped close to a smaller wooden target ball.
"Bien," one of the men muttered, nodding slowly.
Nimue stood by the iron fence and watched. The men didn't look at her. They were completely focused on the game, the weight of the balls, and the way the gravel shifted beneath their feet.
"What are they doing?" she asked Jack.
"Playing boules. You have to throw the metal ball as close as you can to the small wooden one."
Nimue watched another man take his turn. His ball landed short, then rolled past the mark with a dry crunch. He shook his head and muttered something in rapid French. Nimue didn't understand all of it, but his frustrated tone was clear enough. She watched for another ten minutes, yet none of the men acknowledged her presence. They were too busy arguing over which ball was closest.
There were a few dry crumbs left at the bottom of the paper bag that had held their breakfast bread. Jane handed it to Nimue and pointed toward a cluster of gray pigeons gathered near a bench.
"Feed them," she suggested.
Nimue tore off a small piece of bread and tossed it onto the gravel. The pigeons didn't move at first. They simply stood there, bobbing their heads. She threw another piece, a little closer this time. One pigeon turned its head, eyed the bread with a glassy stare, and pecked at it.
A dozen more arrived in a flurry of feathers, crowding around her boots.
She threw out more bread, and the pigeons flapped and jostled for position, their wings rustling like crumpled paper. A tiny sparrow landed at the edge of the group, darting forward to snatch crumbs before the larger, slower birds could reach them.
When the bread was gone, Nimue brushed the crumbs from her gloves and stood up. The pigeons scattered with a frantic beating of wings before settling again a few meters away.
The gravel paths were wide and pale, crunching loudly beneath her boots. Suddenly, Nimue started running. She didn't really know why. After the long train ride, her legs simply wanted to move.
The cold air stung her pink cheeks, and her breath came in short, white puffs. She ran past a woman pushing a pram, a man walking a small dog, and the old woman who had been feeding the pigeons. The bare trees on either side became a brown blur.
Jane didn't call her back, and Jack didn't try to catch her. They simply let her run until she became a small blue speck in the distance.
She stopped at the end of the path, her chest rising and falling heavily. A curled brown leaf lay on the gravel at her feet. She picked it up and examined it. It was dry and brittle, with veins that looked like tiny roads on a map. She tucked it into her coat pocket and walked back toward the others, much more slowly this time.
The light was fading by the time they left the gardens. The sky had turned a pale, dusty purple, and the streetlights glowed with a soft orange light. Nimue's legs ached, and her face felt numb from the cold, but her pockets were now full of dry leaves.
The streets were busier than before, filled with people in heavy coats and colorful scarves hurrying home. She saw a woman carrying a fresh, steaming baguette under her arm and a man walking a small dog on a very long leash. Cinder stopped to sniff a lamppost, and Saoirse waited patiently for him to finish, her breath visible in the cold air.
"Tired?" Jane asked, taking her hand.
Nimue shook her head, though her legs felt heavy and her eyes were beginning to droop. Jane held her hand firmly, and they walked back through the winding streets, passing the warm, buttery glow of the bakery and the shuttered shops.
They climbed the four flights of creaking wooden stairs. The old oak steps had been worn smooth in the middle by years of use. Inside, the apartment was still chilly. Jack lit the gas stove, and Jane put the water on for tea.
Nimue settled onto the sofa with Cinder in her lap. She pulled the leaves from her pocket and carefully laid them out on the cushion. There were five in all. She touched each one in turn. The round one was smooth and waxy, while the long one had veins that reminded her of the coastal roads in Normandy.
"What are they?" she asked.
Jane came over with a steaming cup of tea, the scent of bergamot filling the air. "Plane tree leaves."
"They are dead."
"They have finished their work. They fall so that new leaves can grow in the spring."
Nimue studied her collection and began arranging the leaves by size, starting with the smallest, jagged one. Then she sorted them by color, placing the brown ones on the left and the yellow ones on the right. Cinder leaned forward to sniff the dry leaves and gave a small, muffled sneeze.
Nimue laughed, a bright little sound that filled the room. Jane sat beside her, holding her steaming tea, while Jack leaned against the kitchen counter and watched them. Saoirse was already asleep at the other end of the sofa, her feet hanging over the armrest.
Nimue picked up the round leaf and held it up to the lamplight. Its veins showed through, thin and dark.
"I will keep these," she said.
"In your bag?"
"In the pouch. With the other things."
She carefully tucked them into the pouch at her waist, where she kept her treasures. They were flat and sturdy, and wouldn't break as long as she handled them carefully.
Nimue leaned against her mother on the soft sofa. Cinder rested heavily and warmly in her lap.
"Tomorrow," she said sleepily, "can we see the boats again?"
"If you want."
"And the ponies."
"And the ponies."
Nimue closed her eyes. The apartment was quiet, save for the low hiss of the stove and the distant, muffled traffic of Paris.
She fell asleep.
===
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