Page 25 of Summer of Sacrifice

Arielle’s chin dropped, a rare timidity. “No.”

“You should. There is clearly much more to being a Death Seer than the dark and dreary. Promise me you will speak to Asa and Lena about your gift.”

The young Death Seer’s lips curved up. “I promise.”

Seleste, Then

SELESTE

“This is for his lordship’s bed.” Frances handed Seleste a set of sheets. “Her ladyship has taken him out for a small turn about the grounds while he’s feeling up for it. And this”—she piled on another set to the stack in Seleste’s arms—“is for his young lordship’s bed.” Without another word, Frances turned on her heel and hurried off.

“Wait!” Seleste called after her, nearly toppling her stack of linens. “Where is his young lordship’s room?”

He was illusive at best, and she’d not yet seen any rooms that looked like they could be his, though she’d been in every room of the estate. Logic would conclude that could not, in fact, be the case, all things considered.

It was also driving her mad that the men of the family had no names. Lady Della wasn’t using her real name or title, but not even that much had been offered for the men. It had been nearly a fortnight, and no one had mentioned the peculiarity of it. Nor had she found anything to lead her toward an answer. They’d wanted to hire servants outside Merveille, as stated in their advert, making it clear enough that they were of some importance in Seagovia—but why the secrecy?

She couldn’t help the thrill a conundrum always sent through her.

Frances hardly turned back around, speaking over her shoulder. “He stays on the grounds in a châlet.”

Intriguing. “Frances!” she called again, following her. The maid sighed heavily and spun to face her, eyebrows raised in annoyance not typical for her. “Apologies, I know you’re busy. I only meant to ask… Do you find it peculiar we don’t know their names—who they are?”

Frances’ lips turned down in a deep frown. “It’s not our business to know. Why do you think they hired us from outside the city?” Her steps echoed down the corridor as she retreated. “Madame Riley is on a warpath today. Make the beds, Seleste!”

Her puzzle sorting would have to wait.

Once the soft white sheets were on his lordship’s sickbed, tucked, ironed, and folded just so, Seleste took up the other set, a dark forest green, and ventured toward the back of the house. She was ashamed to admit she hadn’t noticed a châlet on the property. Granted, she hadn’t been permitted any downtime during her first days at Whitehall to explore, what with the backlog of work to be done. The last two nights, however, she’d ended up with a bit of time each evening to herself. The first night, she’d elected to write Sorscha and Aggie. Last night, she walked down to the small slice of beach along Noir Bay, burying her feet in the sand and centering herself beneath the moon.

As she descended the steps, she glanced out the window overlooking the hills leading to the bay, longing to feel the waves lap at her ankles again. It was something she always forgot until she left her isle for an Order—just how often she went in the sea, becoming one with it.

The ground floor of Whitehall was a flurry of activity as the small staff prepared for luncheon. Soon, the heads of the household would return from their morning activities to take the midday meal as a family before they all went their separate ways again until evening. The nameless lord had not taken luncheon with his family since falling ill, but it sounded as if he might be doing so today.

Usually, the twins were pestering the cooks for sweets around this time and being shooed away with?—

“Out!” Liza shouted, swatting a tea towel at the two giggling fiends.

The girls darted past Seleste, a rush of wind fluttering her skirts in their wake. She smiled, clutching the sheets to her chest.

Trois, deux, un…entrer Penny…

The younger, more amiable cook stepped out into the hallway, one hand hidden in her apron pocket, and offered some excuse to Liza as to why she was stepping out for a moment. She put a finger to her lips, grinning behind it at Seleste as she passed, her freckled cheeks going bright red. They both knew what she was up to. Seleste winked at her, and Penny gave a little laugh. By the time she reached the back door leading out to the veranda, the twins were rushing past again, tarts from Penny in hand.

“Hi, Seleste!” Elsie squeaked as they eeked by her, rushing toward the gardens.

“Hullo, Mademoiselles Elsie and Emeline!”

Emeline waved, her cheeks protruding with pear tart. It befuddled Seleste how she didn’t fall over, running at full speed with her torso twisted halfway around so she could wave. Oh, to be a child again.

The sun was already scorching, and Seleste was glad she’d wrapped her heavy braids in a chiffon scarf high on her head. Though her maid’s uniform was a drab grey and the scarf was a delicate shade of creamy yellow, far duller than her usual bright attire, it was still a little pop of much-needed colour.

One hand shading the sun from her eyes, she looked out across the grounds for a châlet. Just to her right lay the gardens, alive with vibrant flora and dotted with winged beasties sipping nectar beneath the sun as they avoided the other winged creatures intent on making the sugared insects their own meal.

There were so many butterflies flitting around that Seleste couldn’t help herself—she simply had to veer off for a detour in the garden to visit them. As expected, they were clustered around the aster, phlox, verbena, and goldenrod. Particularly the goldenrod. There were so many there, almost cohesive like they were moving as one big?—

Seleste gasped, nearly dropping the linens she carried. “Litha!” she hissed, rushing for the giant monarch. “Why are you out of our room? Go back this instant!” But Litha’s antennas drooped. It wasn’t fair to bring her along and then keep her caged in a room with only sunflowers to enjoy. She sighed. “Fine. Hold still.” Litha obeyed, the slow, majestic flit of her gossamer wings coming to a stop where she was perched on a blossom.

“Caché.”

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