Page 31 of Summer of Sacrifice

Either way, Arielle had hit the nail on the head with that blasted journal. The broken, the hurt—those were her people. She’d always done everything to protect the wounded, to offer them hope and the life they deserved. But there was no way their mother could have guessed that, right? No. How could she have?

But that line of logic lent credence to Seleste’s insistence their mother couldn’t have had the foreknowledge to tamper with the Grimoire.

Fuck.

Yes….she definitely needed that drink.

“Thought you could use this,” Asa said as she approached their table, holding up a massive goblet of wine.

“Bless you.” She took a deep swill, eying him over the rim. “You ought to stop looking at me like that unless you want to make good on your promise.”

Asa scoffed. “My promise was to keep you waiting.”

“Semantics.” She took another liberal gulp. “Just to be an arse?”

He shrugged his burly, inked shoulder. “Someone needed to show you that you’re worth the wait.”

He might as well have smacked her. “Worth the wait? What in Hades does that mean?”

Filling a plate of food, Asa took his sweet time answering, sliding the meal in front of her before speaking. “You’re afraid everyone will either leave or be taken from you.” He refilled her wine, too. “It’s time you realised that I won’t, on either count.” When he handed her the cup, his gaze had a stranglehold on her throat.

“What has gotten into you?” she mused, taking the goblet and eyeing him as if he’d gone mad.

“Nothing has gotten into me but you. It’s time I verbalised a few things.” The fire in his eyes could have singed as his attention bore into her. “I didn’t choose you for sex, Sorscha, even though you sometimes think that’s all you’re good for.”

She blinked at him, thoroughly shaken. Was she that transparent? Damn him. She hadn’t even admitted that to herself…

Clearing her throat, Sorscha threw her shoulders back. “Gods, you think you know everything, don’t you?” Tipping her goblet, she drained it in three swallows, watching him simmer. All right, so waiting was a little fun. Slamming her empty goblet on the table, she licked her lips and said, “That creepy cult leader thing is hard to get over, isn’t it?”

A wide smile stretched across his tanned face, and her heart flipped. He only ever smiled like that for her, and it was enough to make her feel like she could climb to the moon.

“Mmm, sure,” he said, resting a large, hot hand on her thigh for the span of an admittedly jagged breath. “That must be it.”

She’d been so wrong about him when she’d arrived in Araignée. Wrong about Lena and the purpose of their coven. But she was right about many things. “Speaking of…” She raised her brows conspiratorially. “Have you thought any more about what I said?”

Asa sighed heavily, returning to his meal. “I’m mulling.”

“Oh please, all you do is mull. The residents need less rigidity for their rehabilitation.”

“Structure is important for recovering addicts, Sorscha,” he shot back without pause.

“Nobody said anything about not being structured. I’m only saying they need more freedom. There’s a fine line between rehabilitation and imprisonment. There is something vital about being able to choose one’s clothing or jewellery or shoes.”

Her hands moved untamed as she spoke. These people sparked something in her. She wanted to move mountains for them. “I know I’d prefer to be nude all of the time, and that’s true, but if we must walk around in something, it should be what we select ourselves. Otherwise, the people here who are re-learning who they are, are denied a simple freedom that servants are denied. It sends the wrong message.”

“It alleviates them of a burden to have to make a choice over clothing when they have larger, more important decisions to make,” Asa argued, albeit with no bite in his tone any longer. “There is no hierarchy or classism here.” He sliced his hands through the air, signalling an empty set. “It is an even field. A change like this could cause cliques and in-fighting, judgement and hubris.”

“Have a little more faith in them than that, Asa. And in the beautiful things you and Lena are teaching them here. They’re healing the foundation of themselves, not becoming aristocratic animals.”

Asa looked away, his jaw tight. Finally, he nodded once.

She put a hand on his arm. “You’re doing a good thing here. I’m only saying that this idea can help. It’s such a simple change, but selecting what you put on reminds you who you are as an individual. It—it's art you wear around on your body, proudly displaying part of yourself. They need to remember who they were before addiction, before Chresedia, before life dealt them a shite hand. And this is a simple way to begin that.”

Asa huffed a laugh, one side of his mouth tipped up. “You have other ideas, too, then?”

She rolled her eyes. “Obviously.”

He looked at her, scowling, for so long she thought he’d catch fire. “Fine.” The word sounded like it had almost choked him. “I’ll send some people out to procure some fabric. Maybe—” He looked pained, shaking his head and screwing up his face as if he’d smelled sour milk. “Maybe some residents would enjoy making the clothing, too. It could be good for them.”

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