Seraphina closed the nursery door with a soft click. She stood for a moment with her hand still on the handle, then walked down the long corridor. The stairs groaned beneath her steps.
The sitting room was warm, filled with the fire's comforting crackle. Jack stood by the window with his back to the room, staring out at the dark, winter-thinned garden. Jane sat on the settee with her hands wrapped around a cup of tea.
Aldric occupied his usual armchair near the fire, his reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. Saoirse lay across the settee's other end, one leg hanging carelessly over the armrest.
They all looked up the moment Seraphina entered.
"Well?" Saoirse asked, her voice breaking the silence. "What did she want?"
Seraphina sat in the empty chair and smoothed her skirt over her knees. "A stuffed toy. She wants a big green snake."
Saoirse's eyebrows shot up. "A snake?"
"A long one. She said she dreams about it. Apparently, there's sometimes a phoenix nearby, but most of the time the snake is alone."
The room went quiet, save for the fire's sudden pop. Jack turned away from the window. Saoirse sat up slowly, and her foot touched the floor as she focused on her father. "Wait. A big snake? A python or a boa? But if it's paired with a phoenix, that sounds like our ancestor. Do you think she is dreaming of Aleahkys?"
Jack and Jane looked at each other quickly. It was a fleeting moment, barely lasting a second, but Aldric caught it. He set his book down on his chair's arm. "Is there something you two know?"
Jane set her tea on the side table, and the cup clicked against the wood. She looked down at her hands with her fingers interlaced. "The night Voldemort died," she began, her voice low. "The night Lily died, Morwenna woke up crying. She cried for such a long time, and it's not until much later that she finally slept. When she finally slept, the nightmares started. She kept mumbling the same things over and over. Green. Light. Alone."
She paused, and the memory's weight was visible in the set of her shoulders. "I was scared something would happen to her. After she finally fell asleep, I moved her into our bed."
Jane didn't say the exact word. She didn't need to; everyone in the room understood the implication. Aldric's hand rested on his chair's arm while his fingers tapped a slow, thoughtful rhythm.
"Aleahkys," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "The basilisk. Do you think she is still alive? That Morwenna has a direct connection with her?"
Jane shook her head and let out a long, weary breath. "I don't know. She is only five. This has only happened twice, so we don't know if it's a coincidence or something more significant." She pressed her fingers to her temples.
"If she is still alive, she is probably in the same ancestors' condition as the others. In the past, we maintained physical contact with the elder dragon—the land dragon. When he grew old, we moved him to our deepest lands to guard him. Most of the time he sleeps or rests, but he is still lucid. He can communicate with us when he wakes, and he often does."
Jack began tapping the table in a slow, steady rhythm. "Father, I know that ancestor Aleahkys's whereabouts and wellbeing have always been a family concern. If Morwenna has a connection with her, that's certainly a good thing, but we can't push her about it. Besides, our ancestor Fawarx remains silent about his wife's location. If he wanted us to know, he would tell us directly."
Aldric remained quiet for a long moment. A log shifted in the grate, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. "I know," he said. "I would never dream of pushing her. It's just that I, and your grandparents and many Keiths before us have always worried. We have always wondered." He looked down at his weathered hands. "She is our ancestor, yet we don't even know where she is, or if she is still alive."
No one found the words to answer him.
. . .
March brought longer days, but the chamber below the manor remained locked in winter. The stone steps grew steeper with each descent. The air grew heavy, smelling of damp earth and old iron.
Morwenna walked between Jack and Jane. Her small hands were tucked into her sleeves. The chamber opened before them, a wide circle carved from black rock. Torches lined the walls, their flames burning low and steady. The runes on the floor glowed with a pale, waiting light.
Morwenna lay on the grey cloth, and the stone felt hard and unforgiving under her back. She stared at the ceiling and the shadows that danced whenever the torches flickered. Her eyes were wide and unblinking.
Jane stood beside the altar with her sleeves rolled past her elbows and her hair pinned back tight. A silver bowl sat on the side table, and the liquid inside was pale and perfectly still.
Aldric stood at the circle's very edge, while Jack remained near the door. Saoirse was by the wall, and Seraphina stood in the shadows. They all kept the same distance, exactly three metres away, watching with bated breath.
Jane held a small vial in her hand. The vial's liquid was a dull grey, lacking the silver sheen of Glacialis or the shimmering light of Astra Gelida. It looked like ash, or the remnants of a hearth the morning after a fire had gone out.
"The Ash Phoenix," Jane said, her voice steady despite the tension. "Phoenix Cineris Gelu."
She uncorked the vial, and the liquid hit the bowl. The base mixture swirled before settling into a flat, dull grey. Jane dipped her brush into the mixture.
"Nous appelons le froid qui préserve la terre," she intoned. "La cendre qui dort sous la neige. Le feu qui ne brûle pas."
(We call the cold that preserves the earth. The ash that sleeps beneath the snow. The fire that doesn't burn.)
The brush touched Morwenna's sternum, and the cold arrived with a sudden, violent speed. It didn't arrive slowly like Glacialis, nor didn't it wait like Vacui. This cold was heavy and suffocating, pressing down on her chest like a massive stone. Her ribs began to ache, and her lungs felt thick and heavy. When she tried to breathe, her breath came out in a grey mist.
Jane continued to paint, and the symbols spread down Morwenna's stomach, over her ribs, and across her arms. The grey liquid soaked into her skin, and the pressure increased until her breath hitched. Something was wrong; she could feel it deep in her marrow.
The cold wasn't settling into her body; it's pushing. It pushed against her chest and fought against the other colds already residing there—the Glacial in her ribs, the Void in the spaces, and the Starlight behind her eyes.
They didn't want this new presence.
The grey cold pushed harder, and Morwenna's mouth opened as she tried to say something, but nothing came out.
Jane's brush stopped abruptly. "Morwenna?"
The grey was spreading across her skin far too fast. The liquid wasn't absorbing into her body; it's sitting on the surface, thick and unnatural. Morwenna's chest heaved while her lungs began to burn. The cold pressed and pressed until it became unbearable.
She coughed, and a spray of blood splattered across the grey cloth. It was a shocking red against the dull fabric, bright against the cold stone. The room went perfectly still. Morwenna coughed again, and more blood stained her lips. Her hand came up to her mouth, and her fingers came away wet and crimson.
Jane's voice sounded as if it's coming from a great distance. "Morwenna—"
Then, the cold snapped.
It didn't fade or retreat; it snapped like a rope breaking under too much tension. The grey liquid on her skin cracked and flaked off instantly, and the suffocating pressure vanished. The ceiling seemed to tilt, and the stone's cracks blurred together. She heard people shouting—Jane, Jack, and Saoirse—but they all sounded so very far away. The last thing she saw was her mother's pale face before everything went dark.
. . .
Firelight flickered against her eyelids, warm and unsteady.
Morwenna opened her eyes slowly, the stone ceiling swimming into focus above her. Her throat burned, raw as if lined with broken glass.
Jane was already there, kneeling beside her, green eyes bright and wet though no tears fell. One hand cupped Morwenna's cheek, warm and steady, grounding.
"Baby, I'm here," she whispered.
Morwenna swallowed. The taste of iron clung stubbornly to her tongue.
"It… doesn't fit," she managed, her voice thin, scraping on the way out.
Jane's eyes closed for a brief moment, her thumb brushing lightly along Morwenna's cheek. "No, sweetheart. It doesn't."
Aldric stood just behind her shoulder, his face drained of color, as though the firelight had leached everything from him. "The Ash Phoenix didn't take," he said quietly. "Her body rejected it completely."
Morwenna coughed, the sound small and brittle this time. A bead of blood welled at her lip. She lifted the back of her hand to wipe it away, her movements slow.
"Doesn't want me," she murmured.
Jane shook her head at once, her voice gentler now, but firm beneath it. "No. It's not that."
Morwenna turned her face slightly, but Jane followed the movement, dabbing at the blood with a soft cloth, careful and unhurried.
"It hurts," Morwenna said, the words barely more than breath.
"I know, baby," Jane answered softly. "I know."
They worked around her in quiet coordination. The blood-stained cloth beneath her was replaced, her skin cleaned with warm water, careful hands wiping the traces of red from her face, her fingers, her chest. The bowl was taken away, the vial sealed and set aside without a word.
They cleaned her with quiet efficiency. The blood-stained grey cloth was replaced, and the blood was wiped from her face, hands, and chest. The bowl was taken away, and the vial was sealed and set aside.
Jack lifted her from the stone. His arms were solid beneath her. She rested her head against his shoulder and let the rhythm of his footsteps carry her upward. The gallery was quiet. The portraits didn't speak. Edmund looked away. Isolde watched with wide eyes. The old woman simply observed.
The nursery door opened onto familiar warmth. Cinder lifted his head from the bed. His amber eyes tracked them across the room. Jack laid her down on the mattress. Jane pulled the heavy quilt over her shoulders, tucking it around her chin. Her hands lingered on the wool.
"Sleep now," Jane said softly.
Her body felt hollow and tired as Morwenna closed her eyes, letting the warmth of the room pull her under.