Page 39 of Summer of Sacrifice

The lord unbuttoned his coat and sat in the desk chair. Seleste looked over his shoulder at a distance as he ran a finger over her work, tracing words here and there. He wore a gold ring on his right hand, one that she’d noticed on several occasions, but had never been in close enough proximity to see what was on it. She assumed it was a signet ring and was correct on that count—finally correct about something to do with him—but the seal itself she still wasn’t able to make out. His hand stilled and she leaned forward so far she almost toppled into him.

cBm.

The first and last initials matched those in his textbooks. C and B.

C. Bardot.

Suddenly, he looked up at her and she fought the insane urge to giggle or jump backwards. What was she, a witchling? She pinched her arm behind her back and merely smiled, awaiting whatever he was going to say.

“I do not have much experience with cyphers.” He stood and re-buttoned his coat before pushing the chair in. Seleste found she was rather disappointed he had nothing else to say on the subject, but then he spoke again. “Nor much experience in discussing existentialism.” He offered her a true smile, and she felt the desperate need to swallow, but her throat was too dry. “I much prefer science. Or what is left of it.”

Seleste shook her head, muttering more to herself than anything, “It’s such a shame.”

Lord Bardot recoiled. “Come again? The aristocracy may frown upon lords having anything to do with science, but it is not a shame.”

“Oh!” Seleste couldn’t help but put one hand to her cheek in dismay. “No, milord. My sincerest apologies. I only meant it is a shame that the beau monde thinks so little of science and that one woman could have caused the downfall of an entire art form.” She huffed a humourless laugh. “And the downfall of women in Society along with it—” She stopped, her eyes going wide. She wasn’t thinking clearly around this man. “Oh my, I’m so sorry, my lord, I?—”

But he was smiling, true and wide, at her outburst. “You’re referring to Morgana the Archane?”

In truth, she wasn’t certain how to answer him. She was a maid, not exactly someone who was supposed to have ancient letters and knowledge of cyphers and the downfall of science. Morgana was before her time, though not by much—a hundred years or so. After the Witch Trials, what was left of their kind began to hide their magic, never gathering to live in covens again. Her and her Sisters’ coven—their parents’—had been the last known coven before they were burned in the fires of Helsvar. When witches began to hide, one of the best ways to still practise magic was with the healing arts and alchemy. But it was tricky business, as alchemy had also become outlawed after Morgana the Archane’s Academy of Alchemy began practising dark arts. There was little written about it, but anyone interested in hidden sciences or alchemy knew that her descent into the dark had ruined the light science could bring to the realm.

The Grimoire’s Order flashed hot through her mind.

Befriend the future Earl of Bellvary.

Seleste sighed inwardly and answered with the damning, honest truth. “Yes, milord. I do mean Morgana the Archane.”

Lord Bardot did not answer for a moment, studying her with those Summer sky-coloured eyes. They reminded her of the depth of the sea, where the great expanse of sky and ocean reflect one another.

Finally, he pointed to the papers, all his previous sullenness long gone. “Could I make a copy of what you have of the cypher thus far?”

It was the last thing she thought he would say. “O–of course. Please, feel free.”

He gave her a gentle smile, a complete contrast to his usual demeanour, and took the parchment, folding it with care as he left the room.

Chapter

Eight

WINNIE

“You want me to what?” Tomás was smiling from ear to ear, per the norm, but his tone had an edge.

“Don’t be an insolent child.” Winnie crossed her arms, arching one brow to drive her point home. “This is an important assignment, whether you think it’s beneath you or not.”

“It’s a quill.”

“It’s a goddess quill,” she emphasised. When Tomás only sniffed, she threw her hands in the air, dropping them back down with such force that they slapped against her thighs. “Please tell me I do not have to go find your mother. You’re a grown man.”

“We’ll do it.” They both turned toward Eleanor as she strode over, soaked in sweat and carrying two water goblets. She handed one to Tomás and grinned at Winnie. “Nice to have you back for more than a day at a time, Gran.”

Winnie ground her teeth together and sent her magic to freeze Eleanor’s water. When the young half-witch gave her a simpering smile and went to take a sip, her teeth collided with ice. “Ow!”

“Serves you right,” Winnie snarked. “Now, this quill is something Chresedia has been looking for since before any of us were even alive. Protect. It.”

Ignoring the questions they called after her, Winnie left the row of tents, heading through camp and into the tree line in search of shade, peace, and quiet. The Druids were as much her family as her own Sisters were, but they were so loud. All. Of. The. Time. It was like having two hundred children running amok. And, of course, they always needed something from her now that she was their unofficial queen, as Laurent insisted she be called. Winnie scoffed at the thought. She had to admit that she’d never been happier, even with the impending doom awaiting them.

“Ah, silence,” she muttered to herself, sitting in the shade beneath a swaying willow. A small, nearly dried-up brook ran next to the tree, and she discarded her boots to slip her feet in it. There was little by way of coolness to the water, but it did the trick well enough. The barest trill of hooting sounded through the woods, and she watched lovingly as Yula swooped down beside her.

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