Morwenna woke in the quiet safety of her own bed. She knew every crack in the dark wooden beams above her. Pale winter sunlight lay across the quilt in a thin rectangle. Cinder curled warm and heavy at her feet, his tail draped over her ankles. The nursery smelled of lavender and woodsmoke. For the first time in weeks, she felt certain she was truly home.
She pushed the quilt back and sat up. Even though the floorboards felt freezing under her bare feet, she didn't care. The green canvas bag sat by the wardrobe where Jack had left it the night before.
She dragged the green canvas bag across the floor. The heavy fabric caught on the rug as she knelt beside it. Her clothes came out first. She smoothed the blue coat with her palms, feeling the cold wool, then hung it carefully in the wardrobe.
Next came the grey jumper, the shorts, and the white shirt with the fox. She placed each one where Jane had shown her. The bag grew lighter with every item. Finally, she reached for her leather pouch.
The leather felt soft and worn. She untied the cord and tipped the contents onto the bed. There was the memory stone, the silver box, the crystal sphere, the small dark box from Sylvaine, and the silver bell from Saoirse. The locket was already around her neck, it felt warm against her chest.
She picked up the memory stone and closed her fingers around it. The warmth spread into her palm. When she close her eyes, she could almost hear the Normandy waves again. She remembered the scent of hot chocolate at the chalet, and the soft, surprised sound of Fleur laughing at the restaurant.
She set it on the nightstand and placed the crystal sphere next to it, followed by the silver and dark boxes. She picked up the silver bell and shook it once. The clear, bright ring echoed through the quiet nursery.
The Cold Light stone was at the bottom of the bag. She had almost forgotten it was there. She placed it on the nightstand as well, though she made sure to set it a little further away from the other stones.
Cinder watched her from the bed. His amber eyes tracked her every move. She looked around the room at her things and her space, feeling certain that she was home.
. . .
The bath was deep and steaming hot. Jane sat on a wooden stool beside the tub. She poured water over Morwenna's hair while the scent of lavender soap filled the air, thick and floral. Steam rose in clouds, clinging to the stone walls and making the mirror go white.
"You were very quiet today," Jane said. Her voice was gentle.
Morwenna watched the water drip from her fingers into the bubbles. "I was thinking."
"About what?"
"About France. The mountains and the sea."
Jane poured more water. It ran down Morwenna's back in soothing, warm streams. "Do you miss it?"
Morwenna considered the question. She missed the rich hot chocolate and the bustle of the harbour in the morning. She missed how the snow had looked on the peaks, brilliant white against a sharp blue sky. Most of all, she missed Fleur.
"Oui," she said. "But I'm happy to be home."
Jane's hands paused for a fraction of a second. The water stilled in the basin. Then she resumed washing her daughter's hair, her thumbs working the soap with deliberate, gentle strokes. "I'm glad you are happy," she said softly.
Morwenna closed her eyes and let the steam wrap around them both.
. . .
The nursery was dark by the time Morwenna climbed into bed. Cinder was already waiting, curled at the foot of the mattress. A fresh fire had been lit. The flames danced behind the grate, casting long, flickering shadows across the ceiling beams. She lay on her back and watched them move like silent giants.
She thought about the carriage ride and the dark road through the trees. She remembered how the manor had appeared in the distance. It had looked small at first, then it grew to fill the entire window. She thought about Aldric's arms around her and how he had held her at the door, refusing to let go. She remembered Seraphina's hand on her head. The touch had been light and warm.
She closed her eyes as Cinder's tail gave a single, muffled thump against the blanket.
. . .
The next two days passed in a soft haze.
Morwenna would wake, eat a little, and go back to bed. She lay under the quilt with Cinder pressed against her side, watching the light shift across the ceiling as the hours passed. Jane brought her bowls of hot soup, and Jack sat on the edge of the bed to read her stories about dragons. She listened with her eyes half-closed, lulled by his voice.
She didn't want to move because her body felt heavy. It felt as if she were still on the ferry crossing the water. The floor felt miles away. On the second day, however, she sat up.
"Mama," she called.
Jane appeared in the doorway almost immediately. "Yes, darling."
"I want to write to Fleur."
. . .
The letter was short. Jane sat at the desk in the morning room. Her pen glided over the smooth paper while Morwenna stood on a chair beside her, watching the ink dry into dark lines.
"Tell her we are home. Tell her the manor is warm, and tell her I miss her."
Jane wrote every word as instructed.
"Tell her I will write again soon."
Jane set the pen down. "Is that all?"
Morwenna hesitated, wanting to say more, but the words stayed stuck. "That's all for now."
Jane folded the paper and sealed it with a drop of wax. She handed it to Morwenna. "Tilly will send it for you."
Morwenna took the letter to the kitchen. She found Tilly arranging apples in a wooden bowl. His ears perked up the moment he saw her.
"Little miss. You are awake."
"I need to send this."
Tilly took the letter with both hands. His eyes were still wet, just as they had been the night they arrived. He had been crying on and off for days, though Morwenna didn't know why.
"Tilly will send it right away."
"Thank you, Tilly."
She patted his hand before heading back to bed.
. . .
She walked the gallery the next afternoon. Edmund watched her from his frame, a book resting on his knee. His eyes followed her as she walked past. "You have returned."
Morwenna stopped. "Yes."
"Was France satisfactory?"
She thought about that word. Satisfactory didn't seem like enough to describe it. "It was beautiful."
Edmund's eyebrows rose. "Beautiful. That's a strong word for a child of your age."
"It was beautiful," Morwenna said. "The mountains were beautiful. The sea was beautiful. The girl was beautiful."
Edmund: "..."
Edmund opened and closed his mouth. No sound came out. Morwenna smiled and walked on.
. . .
Isolde was in the morning room. Her frame hung near the window where the light caught the deep blue of her dress. She was awake, which was a rare occurrence. Most days she slept with her eyes half-open.
"You are back," Isolde said.
"Yes."
"Did you bring any stories?"
Morwenna climbed onto the settee and looked up at the portrait. Isolde's painted eyes were sharp, yet her mouth remained soft.
"I rode a cow," Morwenna told her. "Her name was Bess. She was slow but very gentle."
Isolde's eyebrows shot up. "A cow?"
"A Highland cow. She had horns."
"Did she try to throw you off?"
"No. She just walked."
Isolde made a sound that might have been a laugh. "That isn't a very exciting story."
"I also rode a sheep."
Isolde's hand flew to her chest. "A sheep?"
"It was slow, too. I lost the race."
Isolde sighed, though her mouth curved. "Tell me about the mountains."
Morwenna did. She spoke until her voice grew quiet, and the gallery felt less like a hallway and more like a place waiting for her.
. . .
The old woman with white hair was at the very end of the gallery. She was always there, always watching. Her painted eyes tracked Morwenna's approach.
"You have grown," the old woman said.
Morwenna looked down at herself. She didn't feel any taller. "I'm still four."
"Four is older than three."
Morwenna supposed that was true. She stood in front of the frame and waited. The old woman didn't speak further. She just looked at her with an expression that made Morwenna feel as though the woman was seeing something she couldn't.
"I went to the sea," Morwenna said.
"I know."
"The water was grey. The gulls were loud."
"I know."
Morwenna frowned. "How do you know?"
The old woman's mouth curved. "I watch."
Morwenna considered that. The portrait couldn't leave its frame or walk through the halls. It couldn't even look out the windows. It could only watch the gallery. "You can't see the sea from here."
"No. But I can see you. And you still carry the wind in your sleeves."
Morwenna looked at her hands. The air in the gallery was still, but she felt a faint, cool draft against her wrists. "You are strange," she said.
The old woman laughed. "So are you, little one."
Morwenna nodded and walked away.
. . .
Tilly followed her everywhere.
He appeared in doorways with cups of tea and left biscuits on her nightstand. He stood outside the nursery at night, listening to the sound of her breathing. Whenever she woke, he was there.
"You don't have to watch me," Morwenna said one afternoon. She was sitting on the rug in the morning room with her back against the settee and Cinder in her lap.
Tilly's ears drooped. "Tilly wants to make sure the little miss is comfortable."
"I'm comfortable."
"Tilly will stay anyway."
She patted the rug beside her. When he sat down, she leaned against his small shoulder.
"Tell me about the manor," Morwenna said. "What happened while I was gone?"
Tilly told her everything. The fire in the library had required new logs, and the portraits had argued incessantly about the weather. Aldric had spent hours in the study reading letters. Seraphina had knitted three scarves and had already started on a fourth.
"The manor was quiet," Tilly said. "Far too quiet."
Morwenna didn't like the image of the manor without her. She didn't like to think of the halls empty and the nursery dark. "The manor isn't quiet now."
Tilly's ears perked up. "No. The little miss is home."
. . .
The days passed. Morwenna began to sleep less as the week went on. She woke earlier, ate breakfast in the morning room, and walked the halls with Cinder at her heels. She visited the portraits and talked to Tilly. She sat in the library with a book open on her lap, not reading the words but simply looking at the pictures.
She wrote another letter to Fleur. This one was much longer. She described the manor, the way the fire looked in the nursery, and how the snow melted on the gravel drive. She even described the old woman with the white hair and the strange things she said. She didn't know if Fleur would understand, but she hoped she would. Jane sealed the letter and sent it with the afternoon post.
. . .
February brought thin snow that melted by noon. Morwenna lay on her bed watching dust motes drift through a sunbeam.
The nursery remained warm with a fire crackling steadily in the hearth. Morwenna lay on her stomach across the bed. Her chin rested on her folded arms while Cinder slept at her feet. She wasn't playing with anything. She was just lying there, watching the dust motes drift through a sunbeam that fell across the quilt.
The door opened, and Seraphina stepped inside. Her dark hair was loose today, falling over the shoulders of her dress.
"Mimi," she said.
Morwenna lifted her head. "Gran-ma."
Seraphina crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped under her weight. "You have been in this room for a week."
"You have been hiding."
Morwenna didn't answer. She simply rested her chin back on her arms. Seraphina reached out and touched her hair. Her fingers felt cool and soothing. "I wanted to ask you something."
"What?"
"Do you want a stuffed toy? Something to hold. Something soft."
Morwenna thought about it. She had never had a stuffed toy because there had been no need; she had Cinder. But Cinder wasn't always there. He slept, he ate, and he went outside to do fox things.
"A stuffed toy," she repeated.
"Yes. What kind of animal do you want?"
Morwenna was quiet for a long moment while the fire popped in the grate. Cinder's tail gave a single thump against the blanket.
"A snake," she said.
Seraphina's hand stilled on her hair. "A snake?"
"A big one. Long and green."
Seraphina didn't speak right away. "Why a snake?"
Morwenna looked down at her small hands. She curled them into fists and then let them go. "I have dreams sometimes. About a big snake. It doesn't have any friends, and it's always alone."
Seraphina waited for her to continue.
"Sometimes there's a phoenix near the snake, but the snake is still alone most of the time." Morwenna looked up at her grandmother. Her green eyes were very steady. "I want to hug the snake. So it isn't alone anymore."
Seraphina went very still. Her expression didn't change, but the air in the room seemed to settle. She reached out and pulled Morwenna into a tight hug. Morwenna pressed her face into Seraphina shoulder.
Seraphina's hand came up to ruffle her hair in a gentle, almost clumsy motion.
"You will get the toy," Seraphina said. "Later."
Morwenna nodded against her shoulder. Seraphina held her until the fire crackled loud enough to fill the quiet room. Then she stood.
"Rest now," she said. "I will find you when it's ready."
She left the room, the door closing with a soft click.
Morwenna lay back down on the bed. Cinder lifted his head, looked at her, and then rested his chin back on his paws. She stared at the ceiling, thinking about the long, green, lonely snake. She imagined her arms closing around it until her eyes finally fell shut.