Page 52 of Summer of Sacrifice

Asa strode as far away as he could get from her, his bare, inked chest still heaving and his eyes glazed. Pouring two glasses of water, he asked, “What does it say?”

Sorscha held it aloft, scanning the contents quickly. “There are several sassy remarks about needing the public of Araignée to know he designed the outfits,” she laughed. “And he suggests that we open a small shop. La Petit Maison de Tindle, like his La Maison de Tindle, only smaller.”

Asa snorted and she chewed on her thumbnail as she read on.

“Hm. This idea isn’t half-bad. He liked your idea to have the residents make the clothing as a form of therapeutic healing, but he also suggested setting the clothing up in a way that they can purchase the items—to give them a sense of returning to society prior to being able to do so.” She looked at Asa, who appeared to actually be listening to the idea. “A trial of sorts for them, so they’re ready to leave once they’re rehabilitated.”

“Not everyone wants to leave here,” he argued, leaning against a bookshelf carved into the stone.

“But some do. And those that do remain here might want a way to shop. It’s important.”

“All their needs are met. We’ve worked tirelessly to ensure that. When basic needs are filled, people can live and truly enjoy their lives rather than toiling for a roof over their heads or food in their stomachs. They can select a trade of their choosing to put their hand to. Something that inspires them, rather than working at something that is only a means to an end.”

“I completely agree.” Sorscha began walking in a small circle, the thrill of a lively debate setting her blood on fire as much as Asa’s hands had. “But I also think it’s important to have choices.”

With a dancer’s grace, she spun on her toes to face him, splaying her hands to drive her point home. “When their magic grows stronger, they can conjure anything they’d like, right? But there is something special about not having to, yet also being able to choose something as simple as a meal or a dress. Do you see what I’m saying?”

Asa only stared at her, a look on his face she couldn’t remotely read.

“Asa?” He wasn’t even blinking. “Asa! Are you listening to me?”

“I love you,” he whispered.

Sorscha baulked so hard she took a step backwards, knocking into the table, another potted plant babe falling to the ground. “What? We were talking about dre?—”

He walked forward and cupped her face in his hands, silencing her. “I love every tiny thing about you. The way you think, the way you move, the way you argue and live. It means everything to me that you care so much about the people here. Our people.”

Tears filled her eyes in a rush, one spilling over to meet Asa’s hand.

“I just needed you to know that. You are not too much. You’re everything.” He kissed her gently and dropped his hands, stepping back. “Now, show me these sketches. We should do whatever you think is best.”

SELESTE

Popping a grape into her mouth and relishing the flavour that burst across her tongue, Seleste poured over the notes and spellbooks in front of her. Across the long table within the council’s meeting chamber, Emile worked silently on his carefully planned integration of those with magic and those without.

“Emile?” Anne said delicately from her place next to Seleste, causing everyone, Dulci and Tindle included, to look in her direction. “Are you not going to eat?”

The girl squeezed Seleste’s heart at every turn. She was so meek to most, but Seleste saw only a person much stronger inwardly than many of them were. Where they had fought and clawed and even killed at the behest of someone else or out of fear and hurt, Anne had looked that grief in the face and found a friend. Not in the way Aggie had befriended her grief. No, Anne had found the true person behind her pain, both in herself and in Emile.

Granted, if he had truly been guilty of his crimes, acting of his own volition and not at the bidding of a mind-addling draught, Anne likely would not have taken the precise route she had. Yet, she’d faced him regardless and accepted the truth, never once playing the victim to Emile, The Order, or her lot in life. They might all be victims in some way or other, but Anne never made it her identity. A trait that took great courage and strength.

“Thank you, Anne, for reminding me.” Emile smiled at her, his eyes crinkling at the edges, and plucked a piece of cheese from the tray Dulci had brought in earlier. “Time slips away from me. These edicts and events need to be just right.”

Dulci placed a slice of wildberry clafoutis on a gold-rimmed plate and slid it across the table to him. “Perfection is not our aim. You’re doing just fine.”

“I feel the Summer fair will be just what the people need.” Emile took a bite of the clafoutis, a little puff of powdered sugar blooming into the air. Around a mouthful, he continued, “What with the different stalls of wares, potions, and goods from all different walks of life, be it magical, socioeconomic, locational…”

“It will be a smashing success.” Anne beamed, her quill still poised over the stack of requests—those interested in setting up a stall at the fair. They only had a fortnight to prepare for the event, and it was chaos.

Emile offered Anne a nod of thanks, the quiet moment punctured by Tindle’s shout of triumph.

“Aha! There we have it.” He slammed his charcoal onto the table and took his spectacles off to rub at his face.

“I thought you sent the sketches out to Araignée yesterday,” Seleste commented with a chuckle, though she’d known full well he had been creating another at the end of the table rather than what he was supposed to be doing.

“Yes, well, I had an epiphany last night.” He rolled it up, securing it with a piece of twine. “There we have it. Now, Anne, be a dear and hand me that stack of vendor approvals.”

Dulci shook her head at their friend, and Seleste hid a smile. It was a beautiful thing, to work collectively with these people. Even when they were all quietly working on their own tasks, there was still a camaraderie. It was difficult for Seleste, as she knew what each of them was doing, working on, muttering, eating…at any given moment. Still, she was growing used to the internal noise of their outwardly quiet companionship.

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