Page 57 of Summer of Sacrifice

Protégeons la magie,

De peur que la ficelle ne se brise

Dans l'obscurité du jour,

La nuit tient bon, il n'y a pas d'autre moyen?*

Together, they bound Athania to them to protect magic, to protect everything.

“Throw her,” Asteria hissed when the spell was complete. All their fates sealed like a fucking tomb.

Thanasim roared, launching forward and plunging his hand into Athania’s chest.

Agatha gasped, returning to her present reality with Grimm on one side and Nyxia on the other.

“What did you see?” Lady Death pressed, her violet eyes anxious.

“Nyxia,” Grimm hissed through his teeth. “Give her some breathing room.”

“I–” Agatha started. Tears were building in her eyes, scratching at the back of her throat. “I know why we left.”

* The only known Seagovian translation: Be bound by magic, Be bound by the seed, Protected in restraint, Entwined we three. Protection for magic, Lest the twine be broken, In darkness by day, Night holds fast, There is no other way

Seleste, Then

SELESTE

She was nervous. It was silly, really. Seleste had been taking refreshments to Cal’s châlet at teatime for over a fortnight—every day since their midnight beach escapade. He’d been excusing himself from the afternoon gathering by telling his family he preferred to nap at that time, to pass the hottest part of the day in a state that conserved the most energy.

It was a lie, but it was so Cal that everyone believed it.

Instead, he spent that hour deep in conversation with Seleste.

Some days they spoke of their lives and interests. On other days, they debated philosophical or religious ideas. Seleste even confessed she’d learned his family name—pleased with herself to find she was correct. None of which made her the slightest bit nervous, or anything other than giddy.

No, she was nervous because of the muffins.

She’d risen far earlier than usual because the cooks had given her permission to sneak into the kitchens before anyone woke, and bake. Of course, she hadn’t told them the real reason why she wanted to make an entire batch of lemon muffins, but they hadn’t cared much. Seleste had stowed them away in her room and gone about her day trying to pinpoint what had her in such a tizzy. They were just muffins, and he was just a man.

The lemonade was freshly squeezed, chilled, and the perfect mixture of tart and sweet. A tray was loaded up with the carafe and glasses for her ladyship, the young ladies, and their au pair, Becky. Seleste added the butter biscuits intended for them to the tray and set it off to the side of the kitchen counter for Frances to retrieve and take upstairs. In a rush to leave before the other maid arrived in order to avoid questions, Seleste made quick work of securing the jar of lemonade intended for her and Cal, and grabbed the basket of lemon muffins she’d retrieved from her room before preparing the lemonade.

Slipping out the back door as Frances entered the kitchen, Seleste heard, “Enjoy your downtime!” just as the door shut behind her. She waved through the door’s window with her pinky, blessedly not dropping the slick jar of lemonade in the process.

She swore the sun was growing closer every single day, and she truly missed the freedom to wade into the ocean just outside her hut anytime she wished. But it was worth it. The heat, missing her isle… All to spend Summer afternoons with Cal. Several times, they’d stayed tucked in the coolness of shadow in his châlet, but some days they’d ventured out. Once to a little pond swarming with goldfish. Once to climb one of the many tall hills to find a view of the surrounding landscape. And once to the shoreline where they dipped their toes into the cool waves of Noir Bay and argued over free will and its effect on mortal life.

Seleste smiled at the memory. Then blushed. The debate had turned so heated that they both stood up, covered in sand and ankle-deep in the bay’s cool waters, arguing their points until the charge between them turned to something decidedly more carnal. She’d watched Cal’s chest rise and fall rapidly, his hand clenching into a fist as his gaze lingered on her lips before he composed himself and immediately walked her back to Whitehall.

Giggles floated toward Seleste on the hot breeze as she walked through the gardens toward the châlet. Two little girls rushed toward her, shouting her name and falling into more fits of laughter. What a joyous time, to be so young and carefree. Not a worry in all the realms.

“Ladies!” Becky shouted. “Please!”

The ladies’ au pair sounded pained, and she was trudging after them breathlessly, a hand on her abdomen.

“Becky?” Seleste bent to set her basket and lemonade down, rushing to the woman as the girls plopped down in the grass, oblivious to anything not right with the world. “Are you all right?” She put an arm around her, but Becky flinched away from her touch, sneering at Seleste.

She let her hands fall to her sides, pushing away the flash of anger and frustration it sent through her. Ignorance was ignorance, willful or not. It would do no good to feed into it. And the woman was clearly hurt in some way. “Are you ill? Can I help?”

To her credit, Becky still backed away, but she softened slightly. “It’s my womanly course. It came while I was on a walk with the girls. I wasn’t expecting it.”

---