Page 13 of Summer of Sacrifice

“The monstrosity is your ego!” Tindle spouted as he entered their bedchamber from the sitting room, waving his spectacles around like a maestro’s baton. “Spin!” he demanded, admiring his obsidian and ghostly grey masterpiece.

Agatha rolled her eyes and groaned but did as she was told. As she faced the dressmaker in each turn, she made a new rude gesture that he primly ignored.

“Princeling here is correct, though,” he quipped, sliding his spectacles onto his nose and inspecting her skirts. “I’ll gladly hang for treason for what I’ll do to you if so much as one stitch comes out of place. This is an exact replica of the gown worn by the last four queens of Seagovia at their coronations, with my additions, of course. Embroidery made to look like the loveliest lace cobwebs imaginable, a shoulder adornment resembling delicate bat wings, and, clearly, all done in black rather than the traditional white. Elegance and Vitality.”

Agatha huffed. “It’s not an exact replica if you made changes.”

Affronted, Tindle baulked. “Changes made to fit your macabre taste. Obviously.”

“And the forty-five extra layers of fabric?” she complained.

“The bigger the better, darling.”

“This isn’t lace, either. It’s stitching.”

“I said made to look like lace.” He shook his bald head and blinked, befuddled by her attitude.

“It’s heavy.”

“Aren’t you too godsdamned ancient to throw a fit?”

Agatha bared her teeth and Grimm jolted forward, putting his hands on her arms—avoiding the shoulder piece that looked as if it could take his eye out. “Easy now.” He pulled her away from Tindle before she could maim him with that or some other creative part of her dangerous dress. “All right, everyone. Let’s all get along.” Turning to his pouting wife, he made her look at him. “One hour of the ceremony, and then you can come put on the comfiest thing you own.”

“Comfy, but pretty.”

“Of course.”

Her eyes narrowed. “One hour?”

“One hour.” Grimm crossed his heart.

Agatha stomped off, muttering something about applying lip stain. Grimm turned to find Tindle, his mouth pursed and arms crossed, looking at him over the rim of his spectacles.

“She loved that gown yesterday.”

“She’s only dreading the coronation.”

“For what reason?” Tindle whisper-hissed, leaning in. “The people adore her.”

Grimm frowned. “Most of them.”

“Anyone who doesn’t will have to face my wrath.” Tindle pointed sharply toward where Agatha had exited. “Because that witch in there has all but sacrificed her life for these people. Did she even tell you she went out into the slums while you were in mourning and used her power to rebuild the row of witch houses and shops that were damaged in the riots after she set magic free?”

Grimm clenched his jaw, loath to admit she had not told him.

“Then,” Tindle went on, “she marched over to Gemme Road and The Hill to personally have tea with the five most prominent families in the aristocracy. Any peace we have at present is her doing.”

Pushing his newly-trimmed hair out of his eyes, Grimm looked toward the door. He had no doubt she’d done it all alone and in disguise. Too worried someone would try to stop her.

“That next fortnight, every second you were occupied, she hosted an array of mortals and witches, rich and poor alike, in that drawing room your mother gave her.”

He did know that part. And he’d made a point to say nothing to convey that knowledge lest she begin to second-guess herself. If Agatha didn’t tell him something, she had a damned good reason. In times past, those reasons had been treasonous…but she was queen now, and she could do whatever the fuck she wanted. She had his full support. “She knows what she’s doing.”

“No,” Tindle argued, “she doesn’t. But she certainly figures it out.”

Did anyone really know what they were doing? No, he supposed not. “Touché.”

Agatha returned to the bedchamber with plum-painted lips and a look in her eyes as wild as her auburn curls. Grimm braced himself for more of her petulant attitude, but it never came. She’d evidently re-located her maturity in the process of applying lip stain. “Let us be going then,” she said in her most regal tone.

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