Nimue's focus locked onto the girl, and in an instant, everything else fell away. The Christmas market's vibrant lights blurred into smears of gold and red. The distant carousel's tinny music faded to nothing, and the crowd's ambient roar vanished. The only thing remaining was the heavy, steady thrumming of her own heartbeat filling her ears.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
It was the only sound left in her world.
She couldn't look away. The girl's skin was so pale it seemed to catch the market lights as if made of frost. Her eyes were a clear, shallow blue, the colour of the sea in summer. Neither grey like the English Channel nor green like her mother's, they made Nimue forget to breathe.
The girl wore a long fitted coat of grey wool with a white scarf tucked at her throat. Her cheeks were flushed with colour from the biting cold, and her mouth was a soft, delicate pink.
Nimue didn't decide to walk, her legs simply moved of their own accord. Her trainers clicked against the cobblestones as the cold air brushed her face, though she didn't feel the cold. She stopped directly in front of the girl. The vendor was saying something in French, but the words didn't register.
When she opened her mouth, her voice sounded different. It had a sweeter, softer quality than the flat, measured tone she usually used.
"Grande sœur, tu es si belle. Tu peux être à moi?" she asked.
(Big sister, you are so beautiful. Can you be mine?)
The vendor stopped talking.
Fleur's hand went still on 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 and then closed again. Behind Nimue, someone let out a sharp inhale, followed by a heavy silence.
Nimue frowned. The quiet felt wrong. She searched Fleur's face, saw the wide blue eyes and the way her lips pressed together as if she didn't know what to say.
Nimue patted her chest, her hand thumping softly 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 at the girl's serious expression. Those green eyes didn't blink or waver. They looked at her as if she were the most certain thing in the world.
Fleur laughed.
It was a small, surprised breath of a laugh that made her shoulders shake beneath her grey coat. She reached out and pinched Nimue's cheek, a gentle gesture like testing a peach for ripeness.
"Tu es trop mignonne," she murmured.
(You are too cute.)
Nimue didn't pull away as Fleur pinched her cheek. She waited, watching Fleur's face with intense curiosity. When Fleur let go, her gaze drifted over Nimue's features, lingering on those striking green eyes.
She raised one eyebrow. "Tu es une Evans?" she asked.
(Are you an Evans?)
Nimue nodded. She turned and pointed toward Jane, who stood frozen nearby with a hand pressed to her mouth. She gestured to Jack, whose hands were buried in his pockets as his face shifted through complicated emotions, and then to Saoirse, who had already started laughing.
Saoirse's laugh wasn't small. It rolled out of her, loud and bright, bouncing off the wooden chalets and scattering the local pigeons. She slapped a hand onto Jane's shoulder, then Jack's, then Jane's again. She couldn't speak. She kept laughing, doubling over with one hand braced against her knee.
Crimson flooded Jane's face, spreading from her neck to her hairline. She stared at Nimue as if she had never seen her before. "How could my daughter talk like that? Where did she learn those kind of words?"
She turned her sharp gaze toward Jack. He blinked, his expression shifting from complicated to utterly confused. "What?"
Jane kept glaring at him.
"I didn't teach her that," he insisted.
The red on Jane's face deepened.
Two women approached from the side of the stall. One was tall with dark, short hair and a sharp, angular face. She wore a long black coat and boots that laced up the front. The other was shorter and softer, with brown curls escaping from her woollen hat and a coat the colour of rich wine.
"Jane. Ça fait longtemps," the shorter woman said, her cheeks dimpling as she smiled.
(Jane. Long time no see.)
The taller woman had her arm looped through the other's, casual and comfortable.
Jane's glare dissolved instantly. "Margaux. Elodie."
Margaux, the shorter woman who had spoken, gestured toward Nimue. "Ta fille?" she asked.
(Your daughter?)
Jane nodded, her voice somewhat strangled. "Nimue."
Margaux looked at Nimue, then at Fleur, and then back again. Her smile widened. "Elle a du cran, ta petite," she remarked.
(She has got nerve, your little one.)
Fleur hadn't let go of Nimue's hand. At some point in the confusion, her fingers had closed around the younger girl's gloved ones. She stood beside Nimue now, her height making the child look even smaller.
"Tante Margaux," Fleur said, "on peut dîner ensemble?"
(Aunt Margaux, can we have dinner together?)
Margaux looked at Jane, who looked at Jack. He glanced at the restaurant across the street. Steam fogged the windows, and a chalkboard listed the evening specials.
"Dîner," he agreed. "Oui. Dîner."
. . .
The restaurant was small and inviting, filled with red-checkered tablecloths, candles in glass holders, and the mouth-watering scent of garlic and butter. The waiter pulled two tables together to accommodate them all.
Nimue sat between Jane and Fleur, her legs swinging beneath her chair. Cinder wasn't there; she had left him at the apartment. She missed him and the familiar weight against her feet.
"Grande sœur," she said again, her voice softer this time.
Fleur looked down at her, and one corner of her mouth lifted in a smile. "Je m'appelle Fleur," she replied.
(My name is Fleur.)
"Fleur," Nimue repeated. The name felt warm in her mouth.
The adults were 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 the quality of dawn light on the Seine. Jack nodded along, his hand wrapped around a glass of red wine. Saoirse had stopped laughing, though her eyes remained bright with lingering amusement.
Nimue didn't listen to any of it. She watched Fleur pick up her water glass, take a sip, and set it back down.
"Tu as quel âge?" Fleur asked.
(How old are you?)
"Quatre."
Fleur's eyebrows shot up. "Quatre." She studied Nimue's face, taking in the white hair and the green eyes that hadn't left her since the market. "Tu es petite," she observed.
(You are small.)
"Je vais grandir," Nimue countered.
(I will grow.)
Fleur smiled a genuine smile that changed her whole face and made her look much younger. "Oui," she said. "Je pense que oui."
(Yes. I think you will.)
The waiter arrived with 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 face and the small hand holding it out.
She took it. "Merci."
Nimue nodded, biting into her own half and chewing as she watched the candlelight dance across Fleur's hair.
At the other end of the table, Margaux tore 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, and then pointed directly at Jack. "Lui," she said.
(He did.)
Jack held up both hands defensively. "Je n'ai rien enseigné de tel," he said.
(I didn't teach her anything like that.)
Margaux laughed before biting into her bread. Elodie set down her wine glass and looked at 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, was he not?)
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, his hand resting on the table next to his wine. "D'accord."
Saoirse set 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 recorded history.)
Jane tore a 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, 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 his own anomaly. Jane's father has warmth in his colouring that most Veela don't have.)
Margaux shrugged. "Les Vélanes mâles sont... différents. 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 his own anomaly. Jane's father has warmth in his coloring that most Veela do not have.)
Jane picked up her wine glass but did not 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 does not pass further. Her own children will not 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 from two Veela parents is called the source. Generation zero.)
She held up her hand, fingers spread. "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 said. "À cent pour cent. Il dort simplement. Il ne montre pas son visage."
(Always. One hundred percent. It simply sleeps. It does not show its face.)
Margaux tore 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, a generation one, two or three marries another Veela who still has outward expression, the child will regain 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 said. "Oui."
(If the other parent is also Veela and still has their traits. Yes.)
Margaux scoop the 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, she is the typical Veela. Light hair. Blue eyes. Everything that goes with it.)
Fleur looked up from her plate. Her fork stopped halfway to her mouth. "Tante?"
(Aunt?)
"Rien, ma belle. Mange."
(Nothing, my dear. Eat.)
Fleur shrugged and went back to her fish.
Saoirse sat back in her chair. Her wine glass was empty. She turned it in her hands. "D'accord. Je comprends."
(Okay. I understand.)
She looked at Nimue, then at Fleur, then back at her wine glass.
"C'est plus compliqué que je ne le pensais."
(It is more complicated than I thought.)
Margaux laughed. "Tout ce qui touche au sang l'est."
(Everything to do with blood is.)
Elodie turned to 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 age 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 mundane 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, with her cheeks bulging as she chewed with complete focus. Her eyes remained fixed on Fleur, bright and unblinking, like a cat watching a bird through a window.
Fleur had slowed her pace and stopped eating altogether. Her spoon hovered above her bowl as she watched Nimue back, her chin resting lightly on her hand. Her blue eyes were full of curiosity. Every few seconds she glanced away, only to return immediately, as if she couldn't quite help herself.
Jane stared at her daughter. Her face passed through disbelief and resignation before settling into quiet exhaustion, which melted into a kind of helpless affection.
"She made friends everywhere she went. Hermione had cried when they left London, Andrew had stood at the gate begging her to come back. Lucy had pressed a river stone into her hand, and Rosie had held onto her at the farm as if letting go would break something. The same thing had happened in Thornwell, London, and at the farm, and now it was happening again."
Jane pressed her fingers to her forehead and exhaled. "It's the same pattern, yet this expression on her face is different. Where did she even learn to say 'be mine'? Surely Jack taught her. Or perhaps Saoirse. It has to be one of them."
"Elle a fait des amis partout," Jane said quietly.
(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. "Fleur," she said seriously, "tu as mangé ton poisson?" "
(Fleur, did you eat your fish?)
Fleur glanced at her plate. "Oui."
"Bon." Nimue stabbed a potato with her fork. "Mange plus. Tu es mince."
(Good. Eat more. You are thin.)
Fleur let out a soft laugh that was barely more than a breath. "Tu es étrange."
(You are strange.)
"Je sais," Nimue replied, still watching her.
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 looking away. "Non. Habituellement, elle est réservée. Silencieuse. Elle observe."
(No. Usually she is reserved. Quiet. She observes.)
"Et là?"
Jane watched as Nimue abandoned her potato and pushed her bread plate toward Fleur. Two pieces of baguette sat there, thick 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 is a first time for everything.)
Nimue pushed the plate closer. "Tiens. Pour toi."
(Here. For you.)
Fleur looked at the bread and the butter soaking into the pale crumb. "Merci."
She took a piece, and Nimue watched her take a bite, her eyes intent and measuring. "Bon?" she asked.
Fleur nodded. "Oui."
Nimue seemed satisfied. She pulled her own piece closer and bit into it, her gaze never leaving the other girl. The candlelight moved across Fleur's hair, catching the silver-blonde strands and turning them almost liquid.
After a moment, Fleur broke the bread in half and held the larger piece back out. "Tu dois manger aussi," she insisted.
(You must eat too.)
Nimue took it, their fingers brushing briefly. She glanced down at the contact, then back up at Fleur's face. "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 girls with raised brows. "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, not even lifting her gaze.
Fleur dipped her spoon into her soup, hesitated, then lifted it toward Nimue. Without hesitation, Nimue leaned forward and opened her mouth. Fleur fed her the soup.
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 siste-in-law's grin was bright and entirely unapologetic.
Nimue had already reached for another roll. She split it and held half out again. "Tiens."
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, and Fleur did exactly the same. Neither of them looked away.