Page 27 of Summer of Sacrifice

One time, the other three had parrotted sarcastically while bobbing their heads from side to side.

Seleste let out a bemused laugh, returning the books to exactly the way she’d found them. This lord had surprised her thrice now, something very few mortals had ever done. A little off-kilter due to that fact, Seleste extinguished the lamp and moved to retrieve the bundle of linens. She was nearly at the door when a thought struck her. Dropping her burden once more, she rushed back to the desk, risking a glance at the door and hoping the family had officially gathered in the main house for luncheon. Grabbing the book on top, she flipped open the cover, swiftly moving toward the window and holding it up in the dim light. Surely, it has a?—

Right there.

C. Bardot

She snapped the book shut and returned it to the desk, rubbing her thumb and forefinger together in thought. Bardot, Bardot, Bardot. It didn’t ring any bells. However, Seleste was not incredibly familiar with those in the House of Lords. The Grimoire had, on occasion, required something of her that had to do with the beau monde, but it was rare and hadn’t happened since aiding Alejandro the Great nearly a century prior when she’d led a band of Seagovian soldiers to take control of a Lyronian fortress and restore order to the warring countries.

Leaving the châlet behind, Seleste pondered that time in her life. The sun had baked her skin just as it was doing on her trek back toward the main house of Whitehall. She had been so young—not yet six decades. It was a blessed, fearsome time in her long life. One she would not want to repeat for the bloodshed but would never want to forget for the freedom it afforded a great many mortals.

Now, here she was, snooping into a lord’s studying habits and changing bedsheets. She laughed to herself. Boring, Sorscha would say. An Order is an Order, Winnie would say. It’s better than dealing death, Aggie would say. Seleste had to admit she agreed with all three of her phantom Sisters for once. But boring and dutiful did not equate to bad. Life, to her, was about balance. There were times for conquering, pursuing, and times for tranquility, a simple life. Not every season is meant to bear fruit.

Nearly to the garden, Seleste let her thoughts return to the name Bardot, but she had no inclination of any ties to it. Which made the secrecy of the Bardots all the more intriguing. Perhaps the lord had merely bought or borrowed the texts from someone else. Regardless, it was a start regarding her self-assigned puzzle to discover who the family was.

Seleste entered through the servants’ door leading directly to the laundry. As she was dropping her bundle into a bin half-full with other soiled clothes and linens, Penny bustled into the room.

“Hallo there, Seleste. Madame Riley was just searching for you. This evening is his lordship’s day of birth celebration, so she’s requested us all to be workin’ late. He’s not been feelin’ too well again since his walk, and her ladyship wants it to be a special night. We’re to take our downtime in shifts this afternoon, and it’ll soon be your turn after Frances and me.” The kindly cook thrust a straw broom into Seleste’s hand. “She gave me this for you. Frances said she only had the Blue Room and the parlour left to sweep. Your job now, I’d reckon.”

“Perfect. I will get that taken care of. Enjoy your respite, the both of you.”

“Thank you kindly.” The girl had even more pep in her step than usual as she headed for the door leading to the grounds, but Seleste called her back.

“Have you any raspberry seed oil?”

Penny looked at her as if she’d gone mad. “No…”

“It’s good for protecting your fair skin against the ravaging rays of the sun.”

The young cook giggled as if it were a silly notion and skipped out the door.

Seleste was still sweeping when Frances and Penny returned—the latter’s nose and forehead sunburnt—because she’d stopped off to peel one of her aloe vera leaves and bottle the cooling gel, for exactly the reason Penny’s face was red and blotchy. She handed the broom to Frances and the small glass jar to Penny, briefly explaining what to do with it.

“You’re really kind, you know that?”

Seleste waved her off and strolled to her room, grateful they were given any downtime at all. She knew most servants were not given more than a few minutes to eat supper, and most were not even given wages. Not that she was being paid a great sum to work at Whitehall—quite the opposite—but it was something. When she was first Ordered to come to the Summer châlet, she assumed there must be a grand reason. Considering she was to be a maid, she reasoned that perhaps her purpose would have something to do with how cruelly servants were treated in Seagovia. Alas, she and the others had been treated quite well, aside from the ignorant stares she sometimes received for being the only dark-skinned person on the property.

Admittedly, her room was nowhere near the tranquillity of her island hut, but it did give her a jolt of cheer every time she opened the door, and this occasion was no different. Dubbed ‘the Yellow Room,’ there was no better-suited name for it, as it was floor-to-ceiling…yellow.

The walls were a creamy, muted shade, much like her current headscarf, while the expensive rug was a deep mustard-seed colour. There was only one small window, framed by bright yellow curtains the exact shade of the fresh sunflowers Frances placed in the room every other day. The bed was rather small, one step above a simple cot—she was a servant, after all—but the linens were another shade of buttery yellow, and it was impossible to feel morose in such quarters. Although, she thought Aggie might find a way to be, were she there. Her heart gave a little pang. Memories began darting through her mind of baking lemon muffins for her Sisters, threatening to challenge her on the idea that the room would not allow for moroseness.

Seleste picked up the latest cypher she had been decoding and one of her father’s notebooks, which had been given to her for the Summer along with the Grimoire. She and her Sisters traded their father’s four notebooks—the last remains of his belongings—and were instructed by Winnie to study them daily along with the Scriptures. Seleste reserved the still-dark mornings for her time in the Scriptures, though she was loath to admit she disagreed with most of them. Hespa was not a book, but she feared ever voicing such a claim, especially to Winnie.

Her father’s notebook had been memorised since she was nine, and Seleste didn’t really feel like spending her respite reading it again. A small measure of guilt unfurled in her stomach for it. But the cypher in front of her and the letter it was helping her decode sang to her like sirens to pirates on the sea.

She pushed away the guilt in favour of fun. “Just for a moment,” she told the discarded notebook. “Then I’ll read the first entry of you.”

A few moments and several exclamations of joyous frustration later, Litha drew Seleste’s attention away from the cypher. The butterfly was squeezing herself through the small opening of the window, and Seleste wondered why Frances hadn’t opened it all the way to let in a breeze as she usually did upon dusting. She rose to do just that, cooing sweet nothings at Litha as she did so. The yellow curtains began swaying in the sweltering breeze, framing the bright garden below—the perfect picture of Summer. Litha, however, was aflutter with what seemed to be anxious anticipation.

“Litha, what is it, sweeting?”

Seleste followed her as she flitted about the room as if looking for something. Finally, Litha landed on the handle of the lone, small armoire that housed her belongings. Seleste opened it, and Litha darted in, landing on her carpet bag. Curious, she shooed her gently away and opened it. The only item left inside was the Grimoire, cloaked with concealing magic. She knelt down to retrieve the ancient book and took it to her bed. Curling one leg beneath her, she opened it to her newest Order. It had lengthened.

Befriend the coming Earl of Bellvary.

Chapter

Six

---