Nimue woke to the tickling sensation of Cinder's cold, damp nose pressed against her cheek. She tried to push him away without opening her eyes, but the fox gave a small huff of protest. His warm breath brushed her skin before he settled across her ankles, his weight a comforting presence beneath the heavy duvet.
A thin strip of light slipped through the edges of the hotel curtains, announcing the arrival of another dry winter morning in Paris.
Nimue lay still for a moment, breathing in the familiar scent of the room. It smelled of beeswax, lavender soap, and the lingering sweetness of Fleur's shampoo. The pillow beside her still held a faint indentation where the older girl had rested her head during the night.
Nimue reached out and pressed her palm against the fabric. It was cool now. Fleur's warmth had long since faded.
"Maman," she called softly.
Jane appeared in the doorway almost immediately, silhouetted by the light from the sitting room. She was already dressed in the same cream jumper and dark trousers she had worn the previous day. Her hair was pinned back, though a few rebellious strands had escaped and curled against the nape of her neck.
"You are awake."
"We leave today."
"After breakfast. Come here, ma chérie. Your father is already downstairs."
Nimue slowly sat up, her white hair falling across her face in a chaotic, snowy tangle. She made no attempt to fix it, so Jane crossed the room and sat on the edge of the mattress. The springs creaked beneath her weight.
She gently worked through the knots with her fingers, her movements practiced and careful as she untangled the mess.
Nimue remained still, letting her mother take care of her hair. At the foot of the bed, Cinder watched them, his amber eyes following the rhythmic movements of Jane's hands. His ears twitched at every small sound from the corridor.
"Big sister will be at breakfast?"
"I don't know. Maybe."
Nimue fell silent, her gaze fixed on the dust motes dancing in the morning light.
Once she had removed all the tangles, Jane braided Nimue's hair neatly and secured it with a small silver clip. Nimue leaned back against her mother for a moment, breathing in the familiar scent of lavender soap. Jane kissed the top of her head before standing.
. . .
The breakfast room was much quieter than it had been throughout the week, with far fewer guests occupying the tables. The occasional clink of porcelain against saucers and the low, melodic murmur of French voices drifted across the white tablecloths.
A waiter in a black vest poured dark coffee for an elderly woman near the window, steam curling above the cup. The chandeliers had once again been dimmed, casting a soft, muted glow over the grand salon.
Fleur was already seated beside Apolline. She wore a gray dress with a crisp, starched white collar, and her silver-blonde hair hung loose over her shoulders, catching the light.
The moment she saw Nimue enter, she straightened in her chair. Her hand lifted slightly from the table as though she intended to wave, but she lowered it again and rested it in her lap, her blue eyes following Nimue's approach.
Nimue walked straight to the empty chair beside her and climbed up, her boots scuffing against the carpet.
« Bonjour. »
« Bonjour. » Fleur replied.
Her ears turned a faint shade of pink, but she didn't look away.
Nimue reached for the basket of croissants. The pastry was still warm and flaky beneath her fingers. She tore one in half and placed the larger piece on Fleur's plate.
Fleur looked down at the croissant, then back at Nimue. For a moment, her expression was difficult to read.
« Mange. »
Fleur picked up the pastry and took a small, careful bite. Nimue watched her chew for a moment, noticing the movement of her throat as she swallowed, before turning to her own half.
The adults talked around them, their voices blending into a soft background hum. Jack asked Philippe about the drive back to their residence, speaking in his usual calm, steady voice. Apolline mentioned a gallery Margaux wanted to visit before the month ended, her French accent lilting and elegant.
Jane discussed the apartment keys and the rental agency's requirements, but Nimue paid little attention. She simply ate her croissant and watched Fleur's hands. The silver ring with its tiny blue stone caught the light whenever the older girl lifted her porcelain cup.
After breakfast, they gathered in the lobby, where their luggage had already been brought down. The Keiths' suitcases stood in a neat row near the revolving door.
The Delacours' bags were being loaded into a separate car by a porter wearing a long coat. His breath fogged in the cold air as he worked. Fleur stood beside Apolline, holding her mother's hand, while Nimue remained next to Jane.
Only a few meters separated the two girls, yet the polished marble floor seemed like a river they were not allowed to cross.
« À bientôt. Demain. » (See you soon. Tomorrow.) Apolline said with a warm smile toward Jane.
Jane nodded.
« Demain. »
Fleur turned to Nimue, her blue eyes steady and focused.
« À demain. »
Nimue nodded once but didn't wave. She watched Fleur walk through the heavy revolving door and disappear into the gray street outside. The glass revolved once more, catching a flash of reflected light, before finally coming to a stop.
. . .
The apartment on the fourth floor felt smaller and colder when they returned.
Jack lit the gas stove, and the small blue flames hissed to life. Jane opened the windows to let in some fresh air, making the curtains flutter. Saoirse dropped her bag onto the sagging sofa and announced that she intended to sleep for a hundred years. Cinder claimed a patch of weak sunlight on the rug.
Nimue stood in the middle of the sitting room. Without the hotel's grandeur, the walls seemed closer, and the ceiling felt lower.
She walked into her bedroom. The sheets were still tangled from the last time Fleur had sat on the bed. Nimue reached out and touched the pillow where her friend had rested.
"Maman."
Jane appeared in the doorway.
"Yes?"
"We will see them tomorrow."
"Yes. They are coming here to say goodbye."
Nimue turned to face her mother.
"And then we go to Clairval."
"Yes. To your great-aunt's village. The mundane Evans branch."
Nimue sat on the edge of the bed. Cinder jumped up beside her and curled into a tight, warm ball against her hip. She stroked his soft fur, feeling the gentle vibration of his purr.
"I want to write to Fleur."
Jane leaned against the doorframe.
"You don't know how to write yet."
"I can learn."
Jane gave her a small, tired smile.
"You can. I will help you. Once we are settled at the château, we will write your first letter."
Nimue's expression grew serious.
"She has to write back."
"She will."
"How do you know?"
Jane crossed the room and sat beside her, making the mattress dip beneath her weight.
"Fleur didn't look away when you gave her that croissant. She looked at you as though she were trying to memorize every detail of your face. People who look at someone like that don't forget to write back."
Nimue considered her mother's words. She didn't need any proof. Jane sounded so certain that it was enough for her.
The rest of the morning was spent cleaning.
Jack swept the parquet floors with a broom he had found in the narrow closet, the bristles scraping against the wood. Saoirse wiped down the kitchen counters with a rag that smelled sharply of vinegar and lemon. Jane stripped the beds and folded the white sheets into neat, precise squares.
Nimue helped by carrying the folded linen to the basket. Her movements were slow and careful. The sheets were heavy, so she had to hold each bundle against her chest to keep it from dragging along the floor.
Cinder followed her back and forth, his claws clicking rhythmically against the wood. He didn't understand why everyone was moving things around, but he seemed to sense that it was important.
By early afternoon, the apartment looked bare and hollow. Their personal belongings had been packed away, and the Cold Light Stone was safely tucked into the depths of Nimue's bag. Her green canvas bag sat beside the door, slumped and ready to go. The kitchen table was empty except for a single chipped mug that Saoirse had forgotten to wash.
They ate lunch sitting on the floor of the sitting room, sharing bread, cheese, and cold sausages they had bought from the market. Nimue sat cross-legged with Cinder in her lap, feeding him small pieces of sausage whenever she thought Jane wasn't looking.
Saoirse noticed and winked at her but said nothing.
Jack leaned against the wall with his eyes closed, his black hair falling across his forehead. The silver streak in his hair caught the afternoon light. He looked tired in a way Nimue hadn't noticed before.
She watched him for a moment, then looked away.
Evening arrived slowly. The gray sky darkened to charcoal before finally turning deep ink-black. Streetlights flickered on outside the window, casting orange squares across the floor.
Nimue sat on the sofa with her knees drawn up, freshly bathed and changed into her nightclothes.
The apartment was warm now, with the stove having burned for hours. Jane sat beside Nimue with a book in her hands, reading aloud in French.
It was a story about a girl who could speak to animals, and Nimue listened with her head resting against her mother's arm. She understood most of the words now. Whenever she came across one she didn't know, she simply let it pass without worrying about its meaning.
When Jane closed the book, Nimue didn't ask her to read another chapter. Instead, she said, "I will miss Paris."
Jane placed the book on the cushion beside her.
"What will you miss?"
"The gardens. The ponies. The boats on the water." Nimue paused, her voice growing quieter. "Big sister."
Jane slipped an arm around her shoulders and drew her close.
"You will see her again."
"When?"
"I don't know. But you will."
Nimue leaned against her mother's side. Jane's jumper was soft against her cheek and carried the familiar scent of lavender. She closed her eyes as Cinder jumped onto the sofa and settled across their feet.
. . .
The next morning, the Delacours arrived at exactly ten o'clock.
Nimue heard their footsteps on the stairs before the knock came, counting several distinct sets of steps. She stood by the window, watching the street until the sounds reached their landing.
Jane went to open the door.
Apolline entered first, wrapped in a long gray wool coat, followed by Philippe, who carried a small paper bag. Margaux and Elodie came next, both dressed in dark wool coats, and Fleur was the last to enter.
She wore the same gray dress as the day before, with her hair held back by the blue ribbon her grandmother had given her.
Nimue was already waiting. The ribbon in her own hair was tied a little unevenly, its loops crooked and slightly off-center, but there was no mistaking that it was the same shade of blue.
Fleur noticed it immediately.
Nimue reached up and touched the bow as if checking that it was still there, then glanced at Fleur's ribbon.
Their eyes met in silent recognition.
Fleur stepped closer and knelt in front of her. Her gaze lingered on the crooked bow before softening.
« Tu l'as gardé. » (You kept it.)
Nimue nodded, her fingers still curled around the ribbon.
« C'est à moi. » (It's mine.)
Fleur's lips curved into a small smile. She reached out, not to straighten the bow, but simply to brush its edge with her fingertips.
« Il te va bien. » (It suits you.)
Margaux and Elodie headed toward the kitchen, where Saoirse was busy making coffee. Its rich scent soon filled the apartment. Apolline and Jane remained near the sofa, speaking in low, serious voices.
Philippe handed the paper bag to Jack.
« Des madeleines. Pour le voyage. » (Madeleines. For the journey.)
Jack accepted it.
« Merci. »
Nimue took Fleur's hand and led her toward the bedroom, with Cinder following close behind.
The room was almost completely bare now. The sheets had been removed, and the Cold Light Stone had already been packed away. Only the stripped mattress remained.
Nimue sat on its edge, and Fleur settled beside her. The mattress creaked beneath their combined weight.
« Je vais t'écrire. » (I will write to you.)
Fleur blinked in surprise, her blue eyes widening.
« Tu sais écrire? » (You know how to write?)
« Non. Mais Maman va m'aider. Et tu dois répondre. »
(No. But Maman will help me. And you have to write back.)
Fleur's ears turned pink at the demand.
« D'accord. »
« Promets. »
« Je promets. »
Nimue reached into the pouch at her waist and took out a small, smooth stone. It was gray, with a single white vein running through it. She had found it on a beach in Normandy and had kept it as one of her treasures.
She held it out to Fleur.
« Pour toi. » (For you.)
Fleur accepted the stone and turned it over in her palm, her thumb tracing the white vein.
« Qu'est-ce que c'est? » (What is it?)
« Je l'ai trouvée au bord de la mer. Comme ça, tu te souviendras de moi. »
(I found it by the sea. That way, you will remember me.)
Fleur closed her fingers around it. Her skin looked very pale against the gray stone.
« Je n'oublierai pas. » (I won't forget.)
They sat quietly for a moment as Cinder settled between them, his amber eyes moving from one girl to the other.
In the next room, Margaux laughed at something Saoirse said, while Philippe asked Jack a question about the drive to Clairval.
Nimue leaned sideways until her shoulder rested against Fleur's arm.
« Grande sœur. »
« Oui. »
« Tu vas me manquer. » (I will miss you.)
Fleur's hand found Nimue's, and their fingers intertwined. Her skin felt warm.
« Toi aussi. » (Me too.)
They remained together until Jane called from the sitting room to tell them that the car had arrived.
Outside, the driver stepped onto the pavement. His gray hair and deep lines framed a face that looked as though it had been shaped by years of wind and hard work. He wore a flat cap and a wool coat with a patch mended over one elbow.
He introduced himself as Matthieu Evans, speaking rapidly in French with a strong rural accent. Jane had mentioned him earlier that week. He was a cousin from the mundane Evans branch who had driven through the night just to help them with their departure.
With Jack's assistance, he began loading their bags into the trunk of the black sedan.
Saoirse stood on the pavement with her hands in her pockets, the wind whipping her hair around her face. Jane held Nimue's hand.
The Delacours gathered in a small group near the apartment entrance. Apolline had her arm linked through Philippe's, while Margaux and Elodie stood slightly apart.
Fleur stood at the front, her hands clasped tightly together. Her face looked pale in the winter light, and her blue eyes glistened, though she didn't cry.
« Écris-moi. » (Write to me.)
Fleur nodded, swallowing before she answered.
« Je le ferai. » (I will.)
Nimue stepped forward and wrapped both arms tightly around Fleur's waist, pressing her face against the gray wool coat. The fabric felt scratchy against her cheek and smelled of winter air and Fleur's floral soap.
Fleur slowly raised her hands and settled them against Nimue's back. One palm rested between her shoulder blades, while the other settled at the base of her neck.
They remained like that for several heartbeats, with the world around them seeming to fall quiet.
Then Nimue pulled back just enough to look up. Fleur's cheeks were pink, and her mouth was pressed into a tight line.
Nimue rose onto her toes and kissed Fleur's left cheek. Her skin was cold and soft, and Nimue felt Fleur's breath catch.
When she lowered herself again, Fleur stared at her, the pink in her cheeks deepening to red.
Then Fleur bent forward. Her blonde hair fell around them like a silver curtain, shielding them from the street and the watching adults. She pressed her lips gently against Nimue's forehead.
The kiss was light, barely more than a touch, but its warmth lingered. Nimue closed her eyes, wanting to remember the feeling.
When she opened them again, Fleur was straightening a loose strand of her white hair with her thumb.
« Au revoir, grande sœur. » (Goodbye, big sister.)
Fleur's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile, but was gentle all the same.
« Au revoir, Nimue. » (Goodbye, Nimue.)
Nimue stepped back, her boots scraping against the cobblestones. She turned and walked toward the car without looking behind her, though she could still feel the warmth of Fleur's kiss on her forehead.
Jane helped her into the back seat, and Cinder jumped in after her, settling on her lap. Jack took the front passenger seat, while Saoirse squeezed in beside Nimue.
Matthieu started the engine, and the car rumbled to life. The vibration traveled through the seats.
Through the window, Nimue saw Fleur raise her hand. She raised hers in return.
As the car pulled away from the curb, Paris began to slide past the window. Gray buildings, bare trees, and a woman pushing a pram passed by. She caught sight of the bakery where she had received her morning cookies, followed by the gates of the Luxembourg Gardens.
Nimue pressed her palm against the cold glass, her breath fogging a small circle. She watched the city pass by. Cinder rested his chin on her knee, while Saoirse had already closed her eyes. Jane gazed out of her own window, her reflection pale against the gray sky.
Nimue didn't cry. She simply watched as the streets gradually narrowed and widened, Paris giving way to its suburbs and then to the bare winter fields beyond.
The road stretched ahead, gray and straight beneath a sky the color of old pewter.
Somewhere ahead lay Clairval, a village she had never seen and home to relatives she had never met.
It was simply another place she would eventually have to leave behind.
===
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