Page 17 of Summer of Sacrifice

Nearly three decades of brotherhood passed between them in the charged silence. Grimm ran his hand through his hair, and Gaius rushed him, his vision white-hot with rage and pent-up grief he hadn’t known he still carried. Steady as a boulder, Grimm watched him come, not even flinching as Gaius slammed his fist into his jaw.

“You godsdamned masochist!” Gaius spat, shocked by the emotion choking him. “I thought you were going to fucking die!”

He was vaguely aware of shouting behind them and Aggie snarling at everyone to leave them alone. A dribble of blood slid from Grimm’s nostril and hurt filled Gaius. What had his friend endured? According to Arielle, much, much worse than a bloody nose. According to Aggie, he was now even enduring the loss of his mother. All for them, for their realm. Grimm would forever insist it was all for Agatha, and Gaius was certain that was true, but looking his friend, his brother, in the eye for the first true time in seven moons, he knew it was for all of them.

Wordlessly, Grimm stepped forward and clasped his arms roughly around Gaius. “I missed you, too.”

“Gods!” Sorscha shouted from off to the side. “Get a room, you two!”

Both of them cleared their throats and pulled back. Blinking rapidly, they laughed, and Grimm clapped Gaius hard on the back. He spotted Arielle behind them and strode to wrap his sister in a hug as Gaius approached Sorscha.

He nodded his greetings to Wendolyn and Seleste while Sorscha punched him in the shoulder. Rubbing at the spot, he winced, pretending it hurt much more than it had. “Nice to see you again, too, arsehat.”

Asa snorted and Sorscha gasped. “That’s my term, thief!”

“All,” Grimm interrupted their spat as he gestured to Arielle next to him, a small smile on her face. Standing side by side, their resemblance, even in this life, was uncanny. “This is my sister, Arielle.”

One of Wendolyn’s brows rose before she dipped into a half-hearted curtsy. “Charmed, I’m sure.”

Aggie reached out and squeezed Arielle’s hand in greeting. “Grimm has told me so much about you.”

Asa grunted, unenthused, and Seleste came forward to lock arms with Arielle. It struck Gaius for the first time that the two women might have much in common to bond over. Seleste, in fact, reminded him quite a lot of his mother, and he wished he’d had more time with Sister Summer. Alas, Grimm’s presence in Araignée and the coming eclipse most likely meant he would never come to know Seleste.

“What a lively bunch we all are,” Wendolyn muttered, inspecting her nails. “It really is lovely to meet you, Arielle, but…” She turned to her left. “Asa, I know we’ve only just met, but be a dear and lead us out of this accursed heat.”

“I second that,” Aggie piped up, her arm winding through Grimm’s.

A man of very little flourish and with no desire to entertain guests, Asa led them directly to the place they’d all convened in order to visit: the cavernous library.

Agatha all but squealed when they walked inside, and Grimm had a look of pure lust on his face as he roamed the stacks. “Little witch,” Gaius heard him murmur to Aggie, “think of all the times your father spent in this place.”

Gaius halted, Arielle doing the same, and he watched Aggie’s face slit through several emotions in the dim light before settling on something akin to wistfulness.

“I wonder which was his favourite table to sit at,” she finally said.

Asa came up behind them and pointed to the far corner with little delicacy. “That one. Ambrose always wanted his back against a wall, even here in the safety of Araignée.”

“Ah, well,” Grimm said, “safety is only an illusion, my friend.”

The general stormed off without an answer, growling at Sorscha for handling a tattered old tome with carelessness.

“I could stay here forever,” Aggie said as Gaius and Arielle approached, “just imagining my parents here.” A melancholy smile spread across her face, too forced. “We’d better get on with it, though.”

Seleste snuck up out of nowhere. “When all of this is over, Sister, you and I should return here and learn all we can get our hands on.”

“Come on, whores!” Sorscha called over her shoulder, earning her a glare from Asa. “Let’s go slice our palms and get this shindig started.”

“Yes, let’s.” Winnie pushed past all of them. “If I don’t return soon, Lau will have trained the Druids into the ground.”

Seleste, Then

SELESTE

Her hands were chafed and raw, her mind a jumble of too many facts, too much discernment. Seleste stood in the tearoom, covered in dust and dirt. Massaging her temples, she focused on the little pop and fizz of the soap bubbles on her fingers as they were worked into her skin. After only a handful of days at Whitehall, she was sore and exhausted in ways not felt for decades.

Apparently, Madame Riley had been correct about taking on a smaller occupancy, as his lordship did not keep staff at the country estate at all aside from Leonard and Madame Riley. The work expected of the newly hired staff—including herself—to get the château and grounds in order was a vast undertaking. She’d been too busy to have more than a passing interaction with the other two maids, Susie and Frances. The former was assigned to her ladyship, and the latter to cleaning and laundry duties with Seleste.

Aside from those two, she’d only briefly learned the names of the others on staff. A kind, mild-mannered man named Oliver worked the grounds with his son, Theodore. Two cooks—one exorbitantly talkative, one exorbitantly sullen—called Penny and Liza, respectively. And a snot-nosed au pair about as bright as a lampshade named Becky, who spent all her time squawking and running after the two young ladies of the house—Emeline and Elsie.

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