Page 114 of Summer of Sacrifice

Aggie nodded, wiping at her weepy eyes again and nursing her drink. “Where is our destination? Will it take all the days we have left to reach it?” A sadness was thoroughly coating Aggie, one that Seleste did not think stemmed from the loss of Emile or the thought of seeing the First Sisters.

“That is one of the matters we must discuss,” Seleste began. “Laurent and I first thought our destination was Eridon, but we were mistaken. Eridon was merely Chresedia’s launching point after she came through the door in Eldritch. We assume she actively used River Vide to travel for her evil escapades.”

“You found the correct destination, then?”

Seleste nodded. “She is preparing to leave our realm from Helsvar.”

Aggie put a hand to her forehead and began to laugh darkly. “Full fucking circle. Again.” Once her unhinged laughter subsided, she glanced at the door. “I– There’s one more thing I’d like to keep between the four of us and Grimm until it’s sorted out.”

Sensing a juicy morsel of gossip, Sorscha leaned in. “We’re listening…”

“Gaius’ grandfather on his mother’s side, Achilles Zivai, was in league with Chresedia and Asa’s mother at one point. Do any of you know anything about that?”

Seleste’s pulse quickened.

Sorscha mocked an exaggerated frown. “Asa claims his mother knew Chresedia before she was Athania. Morgana had started her Academy of Alchemy and brought on several young academics. Nadja was one of them and the woman named Chresedia. There were two more, they had some…” She flipped her hand back and forth. “Secret society together. But, I guess, at a certain point, Morgana needed a new body and took Chresedia’s. This was before we were born. One of them was also a doctor—his descendants kept it going until about a hundred and fifty years ago when he was killed.”

Seleste couldn’t breathe.

“Chresedia, Nadja, and Gaius’ grandfather, Achilles,” Aggie mused, “then Gideon mentioned a man named Pollock.”

She was going to faint.

“Which was the doctor?” Aggie asked carefully. “Achilles?”

“No. We learned he was a mage, though, and Gaius refuses to talk about it.”

“Pollock,” Seleste interrupted, the name barely leaving her lips. “He was the doctor.”

Seleste, Then

ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY YEARS AGO

Waves lapped at her ankles as Seleste pulled seaweed from Mer Noir, nestling it into the basket on her back, next to the kelp and seashells.

“There we have it,” she murmured to Litha. “Once we collect a bit of samphire, we’ll be all set.”

She walked back to the shore, sand sticking to her feet and the wet hem of her yellow sarong. It felt wonderful to be back on her isle for the last fortnight of Summer, before meeting her Sisters at Aggie’s macabre cottage for the Equinox.

Her Order had been much simpler this year: visit the last remaining gôthi in Seagovia, and keep him company.

Though it had been difficult growing to adore a gentle old man who devoted his life to serving Hespa and then leaving him, it had been a great learning experience for her.

The Church no longer recognised gôthis as necessary, not with The Order moving in to seize control and use their own magicless magi and priests, but what she’d learned from her stubborn, wizened friend reminded her of the teachings of her father. Kindness, love, strength, and devotion. Most days they’d spent sitting outside his parsonage, trading stories.

Gôthi Griswald especially adored Seleste’s tales of sleuthing. She smiled to herself, thinking of his grizzled laugh and twinkling eyes as she picked samphire from between two rocks along the beach, tucking the little succulent in her basket.

When she’d left Whitehall, and Cal, that night the previous Summer, her cunning had felt damaged beyond repair.

It took some time for her to realise it was grief, pushing everything else away. Though she knew grief well, it hadn’t wounded her so deeply since her parents died and she’d been separated from her Sisters.

Last Autumn, she’d needed her Sisters more than ever before, but they were forbidden from seeing one another and she’d faced too much heartache to risk something permanently separating them for her disobedience.

Desperate to heal and occupy her cavernous mind, Seleste had begun a quiet business of sorts. Once every fortnight, she sailed her small boat inland to Bowery. There, she would browse the shops and observe, and check her post box. It had taken some time, but the missives had begun to arrive in answer to her adverts in droves.

Merveille, Segovia.

Bowery, Lyronia.

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