Nimue's attention remained fixed on the girl, and in an instant, everything else fell away. The Christmas market lights blurred into smears of gold and red. The distant carousel music faded into silence, and the noise of the crowd disappeared. The only thing she could hear was the heavy, steady thudding of her own heartbeat.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
It was the only sound left in her world.
She couldn't look away. The girl's skin was so pale that it seemed to catch the market lights like frost. Her eyes were a clear, shallow blue, the color of the sea in summer. They were neither gray like the English Channel nor green like her mother's. Nimue found herself forgetting to breathe as she looked into them.
The girl wore a long, fitted gray wool coat, with a white scarf tucked neatly around her neck. Her cheeks were flushed from the biting cold, and her lips were a soft, delicate pink.
Nimue didn't consciously decide to approach her. Her legs simply carried her forward. Her trainers clicked against the cobblestones as the cold air brushed her face, though she barely felt it. She stopped directly in front of the girl. The vendor was saying something in French, but the words didn't reach her.
When Nimue opened her mouth, her voice sounded different. It was sweeter and softer than the flat, measured tone she usually used.
« Grande sœur, tu es si belle. Tu peux être à moi? »
(Big sister, you are so beautiful. Can you be mine?)
The vendor stopped speaking.
Fleur's hand froze above the table. She stared down at the little girl with white hair and piercing green eyes who had appeared before her as if from nowhere. Her mouth opened, then closed again. Behind Nimue, someone drew in a sharp breath, followed by a sudden silence.
Nimue frowned. The quiet felt wrong. She searched Fleur's face, taking in her wide blue eyes and the way her lips pressed together as though she didn't know what to say.
Nimue patted her chest, her small hand making a soft thump against her puffy blue coat.
« Ne t'inquiète pas. Je peux m'occuper des autres. J'ai Cinder, » she added firmly.
(Don't worry. I can take care of others. I have Cinder.)
Fleur looked down at the small hand, then back at the girl's serious expression. Those green eyes didn't blink or waver. She was looking at Fleur as though she were the most certain thing in the world.
Fleur laughed.
It was a small, surprised burst of laughter that made her shoulders shake beneath her gray coat. She reached out and gently pinched Nimue's cheek, as if testing a peach for ripeness.
« Tu es trop mignonne, » she murmured.
(You are too cute.)
Nimue didn't pull away. She simply waited, watching Fleur's face with intense curiosity. When Fleur finally let go, Nimue's gaze lingered on her features, especially those striking blue eyes.
Fleur raised an eyebrow.
« Tu es une Evans? »
(Are you an Evans?)
Nimue nodded. She turned and pointed toward Jane, who stood frozen nearby with one hand pressed against her mouth. Then she gestured toward Jack, whose hands were buried in his pockets as his expression shifted through a complicated mixture of emotions. Finally, she pointed at Saoirse, who had already started laughing.
Saoirse's laughter was anything but quiet. It burst out of her, loud and bright, bouncing off the wooden chalets and startling the pigeons nearby. She slapped a hand onto Jane's shoulder, then Jack's, then Jane's again. She couldn't get a word out. She just kept laughing, eventually doubling over with one hand braced against her knee.
Crimson spread across Jane's face, rising from her neck all the way to her hairline. She stared at Nimue as though she had never seen her before.
"How could my daughter say something like that? Where did she learn those kinds of words?"
Her sharp gaze turned toward Jack. He blinked, his expression shifting from complicated to utterly confused.
"What?"
Jane continued glaring at him.
"I didn't teach her that," he insisted.
The color on Jane's face deepened.
Two women approached from the side of the stall. One was tall, with short dark hair and a sharp, angular face. She wore a long black coat and boots laced up the front. The other was shorter and softer in appearance, with brown curls escaping from beneath her woolen hat and a coat the color of rich wine.
« Jane. Ça fait longtemps, » the shorter woman greeted her, her cheeks dimpling as she smiled.
(Jane. Long time no see,)
The taller woman had her arm linked through the other's, their easy closeness suggesting they were accustomed to each other's company.
Jane's glare disappeared at once.
"Margaux. Elodie."
Margaux, the shorter woman who had greeted her, gestured toward Nimue.
« Ta fille? »
(Your daughter?)
Jane nodded, her voice somewhat strangled. "Nimue."
Margaux looked at Nimue, then at Fleur, and then back at the little girl. Her smile widened.
« Elle a du cran, ta petite. » (She's got nerve, your little one.)
Fleur still hadn't let go of Nimue's hand. At some point during the commotion, her fingers had closed around the younger girl's gloved ones. She now stood beside Nimue, her height making the child look even smaller.
« Tante Margaux, on peut dîner ensemble ? » Fleur said.
(Aunt Margaux, can we have dinner together?)
Margaux looked at Jane, who turned to Jack. He glanced toward the restaurant across the street. Steam fogged its windows, and a chalkboard outside listed the evening specials.
« Dîner, » he agreed. « Oui. Dîner. »
. . . .
The restaurant was small and inviting, with red-checkered tablecloths, candles in glass holders, and the mouthwatering scent of garlic and butter filling the air. The waiter pulled two tables together to make room for everyone.
Nimue sat between Jane and Fleur, her legs swinging beneath her chair. Cinder wasn't with them. She had left him at the apartment, and already missed the familiar weight of him resting against her feet.
« Grande sœur, » she said again, her voice softer this time.
Fleur looked down at her, one corner of her mouth lifting into a smile.
« Je m'appelle Fleur, » she replied.
"Fleur," Nimue repeated. The name felt warm on her tongue.
The adults were already deep in conversation. Margaux told Jane about the gallery she had recently opened in the sixth arrondissement, while Elodie described a painting she had just finished, something about capturing the quality of dawn light over the Seine.
Jack listened and nodded along, one hand wrapped around a glass of red wine. Saoirse had finally stopped laughing, though her eyes still held traces of amusement.
Nimue paid little attention to their conversation. She was watching Fleur pick up her water glass, take a sip, and set it back down.
« Tu as quel âge? » Fleur asked.
« Quatre. »
Fleur's eyebrows shot up. « Quatre. » She studied Nimue's face, taking in her white hair and the green eyes that had barely left her since they met at the market.
« Tu es petite, » (You are small) she observed.
« Je vais grandir, » (I will grow,) Nimue countered.
Fleur smiled genuinely. It transformed her entire face, making her look much younger.
« Oui, » she said. « Je pense que oui. »
(Yes. I think you will.)
The waiter arrived with a basket of fresh bread. Nimue took a piece, tore it in half, and offered the larger portion to Fleur. The girl looked at the bread, then at Nimue's serious expression and the small hand holding it out.
She accepted it.
« Merci. »
Nimue nodded, bit into her own half, and chewed while watching the candlelight dance across Fleur's hair.
At the other end of the table, Margaux tore off a piece of bread and pointed it toward Jane.
«Où est-ce qu'elle a trouvé cette confiance? » she asked.
(Where did she get that confidence?)
Jane opened her mouth, closed it again, and then pointed directly at Jack.
« Lui, » she said.
(He did.)
Jack raised both hands defensively.
« Je n'ai rien enseigné de tel, » he insisted.
(I didn't teach her anything like that.)
Margaux laughed before taking a bite of her bread. Elodie set down her wine glass and looked toward Nimue, who was still watching Fleur with unwavering attention.
« Je sens qu'elle va attirer beaucoup de papillons dans sa vie, » she said, raising an eyebrow. « Comme ton père. »
(I feel she will attract many butterflies in her life. Like your father.)
Margaux leaned forward.
« Ah, la génération de nos parents. Ils parlaient encore de lui. Un spécimen unique, non? »
(Ah, our parents' generation. They were still talking about him. One of a kind, wasn't he?)
Jane sighed.
« Il semble que oui. Peut-être juste des papillons, peut-être des abeilles et des papillons. Cela m'est égal, tant qu'elle est heureuse et en sécurité. »
(It seems so. Maybe just butterflies, maybe bees and butterflies. I don't care, as long as she is happy and safe.)
Jack nodded, resting his hand on the table beside his wine glass.
« D'accord. »
Saoirse put down her fork.
« En parlant de spécimens uniques, dans tous mes voyages, je n'ai jamais vu un autre homme chez les Vélanes, à part le père de Jane et son frère aîné. »
(Speaking of one of a kind, in all my travels, I have never seen another male Veela, apart from Jane's father and her older brother.)
Margaux picked at the label on her wine bottle.
« Ils sont extrêmement rares. Huit seulement, dans toute l'histoire documentée. »
(They are extremely rare. Only eight in all of recorded history.)
Jane tore off another piece of bread but didn't eat it.
« Mon père est le plus récent. Sa ligne ne produit qu'un seul fils Vélane. Raphaël. Après lui, plus aucun. »
(My father is the most recent. His line produces only one Veela son. Raphael. After him, none.)
Elodie nodded.
« Et la génération suivante, seulement des filles. La variante mâle pourrait ne pas réapparaître avant des centaines d'années. »
(And the next generation produced only girls. The male variant might not reappear for hundreds of years.)
Saoirse shook her head.
« Je ne peux pas imaginer. Être la seule. »
(I can't imagine. Being the only one.)
« Les Vélanes mâles sont... différents, » Margaux said with a shrug. « Pas seulement dans leur sexe. Chacun porte sa propre anomalie. Le père de Jane a une chaleur dans le teint que la plupart des Vélanes n'ont pas. »
(Male Veela are... different. Not only in their sex. Each carries their own anomaly. Jane's father has a warmth in his coloring that most Veela don't have.)
Jane picked up her wine glass but didn't drink.
« Luelle a hérité de ses cheveux et de sa couleur de peau. Mais cela ne se transmet pas plus loin. Ses propres enfants n'auront pas cette chaleur. »
(Luelle inherited his hair and skin color. But it doesn't pass further. Her own children won't have that warmth.)
Saoirse leaned forward.
« Et les autres traits? Les oreilles, la présence, l'expression extérieure? »
(And the other traits? The ears, the presence, the outward expression?)
Elodie wiped her mouth with her napkin.
« Dans la communauté vélane, un enfant né de deux parents vélane s'appelle la source. Génération zéro. »
(In the Veela community, a child born to two Veela parents is called the source. Generation zero.)
She held up her hand, spreading her fingers.
« Si une source épouse un non-Vélane, l'enfant est génération un. Mi-Vélane, comme diraient la plupart des sorciers. Les traits sont... moins prononcés. »
(If a source marries a non-Veela, the child is generation one. Half-Veela, as most wizards would say. The traits are... less pronounced.)
Margaux pointed at Jane with her knife.
« Comme elle. Comme moi. »
(Like her. Like me.)
Jane shrugged.
« Génération deux avec un non-Vélane, les traits s'estompent encore. Génération trois, encore moins. Génération quatre... plus d'oreilles visibles. Plus d'attirance, rien. »
(Generation two with a non-Veela, the traits fade further. Generation three, even less. Generation four... no visible ears. No allure, nothing.)
Saoirse frowned.
"Mais le sang vélane est toujours là? »
(But the Veela blood is still there?)
« Toujours, » Elodie replied. « À cent pour cent. Il dort simplement. Il ne montre pas son visage. »
(Always. One hundred percent. It simply sleeps. It doesn't show its face.)
Margaux tore off another piece of bread.
« Mais si plus tard, une génération un, deux ou trois épouse un autre Vélane qui a encore son expression extérieure, l'enfant retrouvera l'expression complète. Comme la génération zéro. »
(But if later, someone from generation one, two, or three marries another Veela who still has their outward expression, the child will regain the full expression. Like generation zero.)
Elodie nodded.
« Parce que les deux parents ont encore l'expression. Le sang se renforce. »
(Because both parents still have the expression. The blood strengthens itself.)
Saoirse frowned.
« Donc un enfant de génération trois pourrait avoir un enfant de génération zéro? »
(So a generation three child could have a generation zero child?)
« Si l'autre parent est aussi Vélane et a encore ses traits, » Elodie answered. « Oui. »
(If the other parent is also Veela and still has their traits. Yes.)
Margaux scooped up some soup.
« Et si l'un de ces enfants de la quatrième génération épouse un Vélane qui conserve encore son expression extérieure, l'enfant retrouvera ces traits. Génération deux ou trois, selon la force de l'autre parent. »
(And if one of those fourth-generation children marries a Veela who still retains their outward expression, the child will regain those traits. Generation two or three, depending on the strength of the other parent.)
Jane pushed a potato around her plate.
« Quant aux cheveux... nous les Vélanes avons souvent des couleurs très claires. Mais cela dépend de l'autre lignée. »
(As for hair... we Veela often have very light colors. But it depends on the other lineage.)
Margaux pointed at Jane and herself.
« Jane a les cheveux roux-orangé, les gènes de sa mère étant plus forts pour ce trait. Ses yeux verts viennent de la marque des Evans. Parfois, c'est l'autre parent qui domine. »
(Jane has reddish-orange hair, her mother's genes being stronger for that trait. Her green eyes come from the Evans trait. Sometimes, the other parent is the one who dominates.)
She then pointed at Fleur.
« Fleur, elle, c'est la Vélane typique. Cheveux clairs. Yeux bleus. Tout ce qui va avec. »
(Fleur, on the other hand, is the typical Veela. Light hair. Blue eyes. Everything that goes with it.)
Fleur looked up from her plate, her fork stopping halfway to her mouth.
« Tante? »
« Rien, ma belle. Mange. »
(Nothing, my dear. Eat.)
Fleur shrugged and returned to her fish.
Saoirse leaned back in her chair. Her wine glass was empty, and she turned it slowly between her hands.
« D'accord. Je comprends. »
(Okay. I understand.)
She looked at Nimue, then at Fleur, before returning her gaze to the empty glass.
« C'est plus compliqué que je ne le pensais. »
(It's more complicated than I thought.)
Margaux laughed.
« Tout ce qui touche au sang l'est. »
(Everything to do with blood is.)
Elodie turned toward Jane.
« Nous sommes venues à ton mariage avec Jack. Mais comment se fait-il que tu n'aies jamais parlé de ta fille? Pas une lettre, pas un mot. »
(We came to your wedding with Jack. But how is it that you never spoke of your daughter? Not a letter, not a word.)
Jane set down her bread.
« La famille Keith a des règles strictes pour les enfants. Personne en dehors du cercle immédiat ne peut les voir avant l'âge de cinq ans. Elle aura son introduction ball après sa deuxième maturité magique. »
(The Keith family has strict rules for children. No one outside the immediate circle can see them before the age of five. She will have her introduction ball after her second magical maturity.)
« Cette année est la première où elle peut se promener dans le monde des non-magiques, » Jack added. « Nous retournerons en Grande-Bretagne avant son anniversaire. »
(This year is the first time she can walk around in the non-magical world. We will return to Britain before her birthday.)
All the adults turned to look at Nimue, but she didn't notice.
She had a piece of bread in one hand and a fork in the other, her cheeks bulging as she chewed with complete concentration. Her eyes remained fixed on Fleur, bright and unblinking, like a cat watching a bird through a window.
Fleur had gradually slowed down and eventually stopped eating altogether. Her spoon hovered above her bowl as she watched Nimue in return, her chin resting lightly on one hand. Her blue eyes were full of curiosity. Every few seconds, she glanced away, only to look back almost immediately, as though she couldn't quite help herself.
Jane stared at her daughter. Her expression passed through disbelief and resignation before settling into quiet exhaustion, which eventually softened into a kind of helpless affection.
Hermione had cried when they left London, while Andrew had stood at the gate begging Nimue to come back. Lucy had pressed a river stone into her hand, and Rosie had held on to her at the farm as though letting go would break something.
The same thing had happened in Thornwell, London, and at the farm. Now, it was happening all over again.
Jane pressed her fingers to her forehead and exhaled.
It was always the same pattern, yet the expression on Nimue's face this time was entirely different. Where had she even learned to say be mine? Surely Jack had taught her. Or perhaps Saoirse. It had to be one of them.
« Elle a fait des amis partout. »
(She has made friends everywhere.)
Margaux smiled, clearly amused.
« Même ceux qui ne parlent pas sa langue. Elle a du cran, ta petite. »
(Even those who don't speak her language. She has nerve, your little one.)
Jane reached for her wine and took a long drink.
« Elle ne reçoit rien de moi, » she muttered.
(She gets nothing from me.)
« Bien sûr que non, » Margaux teased.
(Of course not.)
Nimue swallowed her food.
« Fleur, » she said seriously, « tu as mangé ton poisson? »
(Fleur, did you eat your fish?)
Fleur glanced down at her plate.
« Oui. »
« Bon. »
Nimue stabbed a potato with her fork.
« Mange plus. Tu es mince. »
(Eat more. You are thin.)
Fleur let out a soft laugh, barely more than a breath.
« Tu es étrange. »
(You are strange.)
« Je sais, » Nimue replied, still watching her.
(I know.)
At the other end of the table, Elodie leaned toward Jane.
« Elle est toujours comme ça? »
(Is she always like this?)
Jane refilled her glass without taking her eyes off the girls.
« Non. Habituellement, elle est réservée. Silencieuse. Elle observe. »
(No. Usually, she is reserved. Quiet. She observes.)
« Et là? »
(And now?)
Jane watched as Nimue abandoned her potato and pushed her bread plate toward Fleur. Two thick pieces of baguette lay on it, generously spread with butter.
« Je ne sais pas, » Jane admitted. « Je n'ai jamais vu ça. »
(I don't know. I have never seen this.)
Margaux laughed softly.
« La première fois pour tout. »
(There's a first time for everything.)
Nimue pushed the plate closer to Fleur.
« Tiens. Pour toi. »
(Here. For you.)
Fleur looked at the bread, at the butter soaking into its pale crumb.
« Merci. »
She took a piece, and Nimue watched her bite into it, her eyes intent and attentive.
« Bon? »
Fleur nodded.
« Oui. »
Apparently satisfied, Nimue pulled her own piece closer and bit into it. Her gaze never left the other girl. The candlelight shifted across Fleur's hair, catching the silver-blonde strands and making them seem almost liquid.
After a moment, Fleur broke her bread in half and held the larger piece out to Nimue.
« Tu dois manger aussi, » she insisted.
(You must eat too.)
Nimue accepted it, their fingers brushing briefly. She glanced down at their hands, then back up at Fleur.
« D'accord. »
Across the table, Saoirse wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.
"I shouldn't have drunk so much."
Jack slid the water pitcher toward her.
"You only had one glass."
"It was enough."
Margaux watched the two girls with raised eyebrows.
« Elle est... directe. »
(She is... direct.)
Jane pressed her fingers to her temples.
« Tu n'as pas idée. »
(You have no idea.)
Saoirse leaned back, grinning.
« Elle tient ça de sa mère. »
(She gets that from her mother.)
« Elle ne reçoit rien de moi, » Jane repeated, without even lifting her gaze.
Fleur dipped her spoon into her soup, hesitated, then lifted it toward Nimue. Without the slightest hesitation, Nimue leaned forward and opened her mouth. Fleur fed her a spoonful.
Nimue swallowed and nodded once.
« Bon. »
Fleur's mouth twitched. She used the same spoon to take another bite for herself.
Jane closed her eyes, and Saoirse kicked her under the table. When Jane looked up, her sister-in-law was grinning, entirely unapologetic.
Nimue had already reached for another roll. She split it in half and held one piece out.
Fleur accepted it without hesitation.
« Merci. »
Nimue nodded, looking pleased, and bit into her own half. She chewed slowly, watching Fleur eat from the corner of her eye. Fleur did exactly the same.
Neither of them looked away.
===
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