"Plus doucement," Marcelle said. Her hand covered Nimue hand for a moment, warm and calloused, to guide the fork through the thick, viscous yolks.
(More gently.)
Nimue slowed her pace until the yellow eggs stopped sloshing over the chipped porcelain rim of the bowl. Marcelle gave a satisfied nod, took the bowl from her, and poured the mixture into a heavy iron pan where the butter hissed and bubbled.
"Tu vois? Il ne faut pas les brûler. Doucement."
(You see? You must not burn them. Gently.)
Nimue watched the eggs transform into something yellow and soft, and her stomach gave a loud rumble. Marcelle chuckled at the sound, her eyes crinkling. "Tu as faim. Alors, va t'asseoir. C'est bientôt prêt."
(You are hungry. So, go sit. It will be ready soon.)
Nimue climbed down from the stool. Cinder followed her to the table and sat at her feet, his amber eyes fixed on the floor. The rest of the family was already there.
Jane was pouring coffee, the aroma filling the room, while Jack read the front page of a newspaper someone had left on the table. His black hair, marked with that distinctive white streak, was still a bit mussed from sleep. Saoirse leaned her chin on her hand, her eyes half closed with lingering drowsiness.
Étienne came in from the yard. His heavy boots sounded loud on the stone floor as he carried warm loaves from the village baker. The rich smell of fresh, yeasty crust immediately filled the kitchen. "Il y a du monde qui arrive. J'ai vu la cheminée verte."
(There are people arriving. I saw the green fireplace.)
Jane looked up from her coffee, her green eyes sharp. "Déjà?"
(Already?)
The Floo hearth sat in the sitting room at the front of the house. Nimue had seen the wide stone opening and its heavy copper hood the night before, but it had been dark and cold then. Now she heard a sudden rush of sound, low and deep, like wind whistling through a stone tunnel. She slid off her chair and ran toward the noise, her socks sliding on the polished floor.
The flames were still settling when she reached the doorway. Green sparks scattered across the stone before they faded into ash. Lucien stepped out first, brushing a stray bit of soot from his sleeve. He was dressed in a thick grey wool coat and dark trousers, wearing no robes at all. His blonde hair was a little longer than Nimue remembered.
"Bonjour, petite." He smiled and crouched down to her level.
Nimue went to him, and he put his arms around her, holding her for a warm second. "Tu as grandi," he said. His voice carried a melodic, rhythmic quality that seemed to hum in the air.
(You have grown.)
"Je sais."
He laughed, a quiet and melodic sound. Celestine came through the flames next, her indigo coat collar turned up against the draft. Her hair was pinned back neatly. No strand was out of place. She looked at Nimue, and her face softened instantly.
"Ma chérie." She touched Nimue's cheek with a cool hand. "Tu as bonne mine."
(My dear. You look well.)
Raphaël and Luelle came through together, stepping out of the emerald fire. Luelle's red coat was bright against the grey stone of the room, while Raphaël wore a blue jumper with the sleeves pushed up.
"On a apporté du pain," Luelle said, holding up a grease-spotted paper bag. "De la boulangerie près du château. Les meilleures croissants."
(We brought bread. From the bakery near the château. The best croissants.)
Marcelle appeared in the kitchen doorway with a spatula in her hand. "Vous tombez bien. Le petit déjeuner est prêt."
(You have perfect timing. Breakfast is ready.)
The table was crowded now, filled with the sounds of scraping chairs and clinking silverware. Lucien sat beside Jane, with Celestine across from him next to Jack. Raphaël and Luelle squeezed in between Saoirse and Étienne.
Chloé passed the basket of bread around, while Margot poured cider from a large ceramic pitcher. Nimue sat between her mother and Marcelle, while Cinder waited patiently under her chair.
Lucien broke a piece of bread and looked at Nimue. "On m'a dit que les phénix avaient répondu," he said. "Les deux."
(I was told the phoenixes responded. Both of them.)
Jane nodded. "Glacial et Vide. Elles ont trouvé leur place. Elles ne se battent pas."
(Glacial and Void. They found their place. They aren't fighting.)
"Et ton corps?" Celestine asked, her gaze fixed on her granddaughter. "Tu te sens bien?"
(And your body? Do you feel well?)
Nimue chewed her bread and swallowed before answering. "Oui. Le froid est là. Mais il doesn't hurt."
(Yes. The cold is there. But it doesn't hurt.)
Luelle reached across the table and touched Nimue's hand. "Tu es courageuse, ma puce."
(You are brave.)
Nimue shrugged. She didn't feel particularly brave. She just felt hungry. She reached for the eggs. Raphaël asked Jack about the journey and the road conditions. Jack answered in slow, careful French while Lucien listened with his chin resting on his hand.
"Elle a dormi pendant deux jours, mais après ça, elle courait partout," Jane added, smiling at her daughter.
(She slept for two days, but after that, she was running everywhere,)
Lucien nodded and looked at Nimue, who was currently busy feeding a piece of bread crust to Cinder under the table. "Elle a de l'age," he said, his voice melodic.
(She is lucky.)
"Ce n'est pas de la chance," Celestine countered. "C'est sa nature."
(It's not luck. It is her nature.)
Luelle reached across and took a small piece of bread from Nimue's plate, watching her with a fond smile as she ate it. "Tu as vraiment grandi. L'année dernière, tu avais la moitié de cette taille."
(You have really grown. Last year, you were half this size.)
"Je vais être bientôt plus grande que toi," Nimue promised.
(I will soon be taller than you.)
Luelle laughed. "Pas si vite."
(Not so fast.)
Celestine watched Nimue eat for a moment, her green eyes thoughtful. "Tu au vu Fleur, à Paris."
(You saw Fleur, in Paris.)
Nimue stopped chewing immediately. "Oui."
"Elle est gentille?"
(Is she kind?)
"Oui. Elle est belle."
(Yes. She is beautiful.)
Celestine smiled, a small and almost hidden expression that softened her features. "Comme sa mère."
(Like her mother.)
After breakfast, Marcelle shooed everyone out of the kitchen so she could do the dishes. Nimue went outside with her grandparents. The cold air was crisp and clean. Cinder raced ahead through the bare vineyards, tail high.
The vineyards stretched down the slope in long, orderly rows. Their bare vines looked dark and twisted against the pale sky. Cinder ran ahead, circled back with his tail wagging, and then darted ahead again. Her grandparents walked beside her, their coats buttoned to the chin.
"Tu aimes la campagne?" Lucien asked.
(Do you like the countryside?)
"Oui. C'est calme."
(Yes. It's quiet.)
"Pas comme Paris."
(Not like Paris.)
"Paris est bruyant. Mais j'ai bien aimé Paris."
(Paris is noisy. But I liked Paris.)
Lucien didn't ask why. He simply walked beside her in silence, his footsteps crunching on the cold earth.
"La mer te manque?" Celestine asked.
(Do you miss the sea?)
Nimue thought about Normandy, the rocking boats in the harbour, and the persistent cry of the gulls. "Un peu."
They stopped at the edge of the vineyard where the vines were low and gnarled. A bird sat on a wooden post at the end of the row. "Les raisins poussent quand?" Nimue asked.
(When do the grapes grow?)
"Au printemps. Dans quelques mois. Tu verras les premières feuilles."
(In the spring. In a few months. You will see the first leaves.)
"Je ne serai pas là au printemps."
(I won't be here in the spring.)
"Tu reviendras. Un jour."
(You will come back. One day.)
Nimue looked at the vines. They seemed dead and brittle, but she knew they were only waiting for the warmth. They walked back toward the house.
. . .
Lunch was thick soup, crusty bread, and sharp cheese. Luelle told a funny story about a stray cat that climbed into her car and refused to leave. Raphaël corrected her, and Luelle threw a piece of bread at him playfully. It hit his chest and fell onto the table. Marcelle shook her head at their antics, though she was clearly smiling.
After the meal, Celestine stood. "Il faut qu'on parte. On a des choses à faire au château."
(We have to go. We have things to sort out at the château.)
Lucien put his hand on Nimue's head, his touch gentle. "On se reverra bientôt, petite."
(We will see each other soon.)
"Quand?"
"Au printemps. Pour ton anniversaire."
(In the spring. For your birthday.)
Nimue nodded. They went to the sitting room where the fire in the Floo was already lit and roaring. Celestine stepped into the hearth first. The flames turned a brilliant green as they swallowed her. Lucien followed, and then Luelle. Raphaël paused at the hearth and looked back at Nimue.
"Tu écris à Fleur?" he asked.
(Are you writing to Fleur?)
"Oui."
"Bien. Elle va être contente."
(Good. She will be happy.)
He stepped into the fire and was gone. The emerald flames settled, and the room went quiet once more. Nimue stood there for a moment, looking at the empty hearth, and then walked back to the kitchen. Jane was still at the table with a half-finished cup of tea.
"Mama."
Jane looked up. "Yes?"
"I want to write to big sister."
Jane set down her cup and found thick paper and an envelope in a drawer near the window. The paper was cream-coloured, and the envelope had a soft blue lining. She sat at the table, and Nimue climbed into the chair beside her.
"What do you want to say?" Jane asked, uncapping her pen.
Nimue thought about it while looking out the window at the grey, dormant vineyards. "Tell her we arrived at Clairval."
Jane wrote with a neat, even hand, the nib scratching across the paper.
"Tell her there are vineyards. Lots of vineyards, and that it's cold."
Jane's pen continued its rhythmic dance against the paper.
"Tell her that Marcelle makes hot chocolate."
Jane looked up, her green eyes softening. "And then?"
Nimue pressed her lips together, thinking of the glittering market lights in Paris and the warmth of Fleur's hand in hers. "Tell her I'm thinking of her."
Jane's hand paused briefly before she continued.
"Tell that…" Nimue stopped for a second, her gaze fixed on her mother hand. "I miss her. I want her to miss me too."
Jane looked at her, her pen hovering over the cream page. "Are you sure?"
"Yes."
Jane wrote the final words. Her face remained still, though something moved behind her eyes. Nimue watched the pen closely until the final stroke was done. "Can you read it?"
Jane cleared her throat. "Chère Grande sœur," she read. "Nous sommes arrivées à Clairval. Il y a beaucoup de vignes et il fait froid. La grand-tante de maman, Marcelle, fait du chocolat chaud. Je pense à toi. Tu me manques. Tu me manques aussi, d'accord ?"
(Dear Big Sister. We have arrived at Clairval. There are many vineyards and it is cold. Mama's great-aunt, Marcelle, makes hot chocolate. I am thinking of you. I miss you. You should miss me too, okay?)
She stopped at the final part. Her voice didn't change, but her eyes stayed on the paper for a second longer than was strictly necessary. Nimue didn't notice.
"It's good," she said. "I will sign it."
Jane handed her the pen. Nimue held it carefully with her small hand, her knuckles white. The letters came out crooked and large.
Nimue
She looked at the paper with satisfaction. "Good."
Jane folded the letter and slipped it into the envelope, sealing it with a drop of plain red wax. "Do you want to send it now?"
"Yes."
. . .
The yard was cold. The wind had picked up, pushing heavy grey clouds across the sky. Nimue held the stiff envelope in both hands. A post owl sat on the roof of the barn, its head turning slowly as it watched her with bright yellow eyes. Marcelle had said it came every afternoon to carry letters where they needed to go. Jane stood behind Nimue with her hands tucked into her pockets.
"Tie it," Jane instructed. "And put the letter in the tube."
Jane instructed gently. And put the letter in the tube. Nimue walked toward the owl. The bird remained still, its sharp claws gripping the wooden post. She reached up and slipped the envelope into the leather pouch on its leg. The owl turned its head, its beak catching the dull winter light. She stepped back.
"It will leave when it is ready," Jane said.
Nimue watched the bird. It blinked once, spread its wings, and lifted into the air. The wind caught it, pushing it sideways before it found its rhythm. It flew low over the gnarled vineyards and then higher toward the sky. She watched until it was a tiny speck and then nothing at all.
"Will she receive it?" Nimue asked.
Jane put her hand on her daughter shoulder. "Oui. In a few days."
Nimue looked at the sky where the clouds were moving fast. "I want her to write back."
"She will."
Nimue nodded. She turned and walked toward the house, the cold air sharp in her lungs. Cinder ran ahead, his tail up and his ears catching the wind. She kept her eyes on the path, already imagining when Fleur write back.
===
I want to share something exciting to you guys.
I've been doing some fine tuning about the events for next year. The "flags" and their consequences will span almost a whole year. I was so excited that ideas kept pouring into my mind. I kept writing, writing, writing until it turned into a huge wall of text. I was too manic to untangle it myself, so I actually asked Claude to sort it out and make bullet points for me. LOL.
So yeah, this arc is going to be grand in a certain sense. I keep re-reading it again and again, and I still let out some silly laughs thinking about how good my brain hole was (lol).
But now, after calming down a little, I'm kind of nervous. I'm scared that I won't be able to bring these ideas to life as excellently as they appear in my mind. I mean, this arc is the most important one. It's the first "anchor," the "foundation" of this entire story. And honestly, I feel scared and nervous about it, but also this strange sense of anticipation to finally be able to present it to you guys.
We will also get a new character appearing in this arc: Nicholas Flamel!
I already added his image in the "Pictures" section, so you can visit it and look for him. Please remember that in my story, Evans and Flamel are the same bloodline — both of them are the LeFay, the brother side and the sister side. And LeFay is a matriarchal family. Plus, LeFay ages more slowly compared to other olde ones. That's why in my story, Nicholas will appear like he's in his late 50s and still radiant. He will be another key character in this arc.
Oh, I also added two more images! Aldric and his wife Seraphina (Jack's parents). What I added is their 3D version — the human version. You can check those out too.
I hope this news hypes you up just as much as I'm hyped for the next arc!