Page 61 of Summer of Sacrifice

Her heart sank as he came forward, a man half-mad, and lifted a lock of her hair.

He smiled at her. “I like it.”

“Let’s get some rest, shall we?”

To her surprise, he didn’t argue. He looked bone tired, deep purple crescent moons etched beneath his eyes.

When he began to breathe deeply, and she was certain he was asleep, Agatha snuck out of bed and into her dress. Quietly, she slipped out into the hall to go and find Nyxia.

“Come in, darling,” Lady Night cooed before Agatha had even made it to the doorway of her study.

Momentarily, Agatha was struck by the pleasure she felt walking into the space. It was the absolute dream of any bookish person inclined to all things cosy, melancholy, and academic.

“This place is incredible.” Grimm had done his best to describe it to her, and she’d had a couple of fragmented memories of it come to the surface, but it was much better in person.

“Thank you.” Nyxia smiled sweetly. “Can’t sleep?”

Shaking off her need to run her fingers along the spine of every ook and inquire about every trinket, Agatha cut to the chase. “I think Grimm is going mad.”

Nyxia sighed, looking down at the painted figurines in front of her, toying with one that appeared to be a sorcerer. “Yes. The memories are too much for him without his full power.”

Agatha gave in to temptation and ran her finger along a shelf of oddities as she slowly walked around the room, unable to stand still. “He’s right,” she finally said, more to a bauble on the shelf than Nyxia. “We need to leave here. But we also need to remember more. Or at least I do.”

Lady Death rose and rounded her desk. “Why do I feel there is a question in there somewhere?” she said, her midnight gown rustling as she came forward to stand by Agatha.

“Watch over him. I’m going back to our manor until dawn.”

“Asteria,” Nyxia warned. “I do not think you should go alone. What if you begin to go mad as well?”

Brushing her thumb over a familiar-looking hourglass, she turned toward Nyxia with her chin raised. “Then you come and retrieve me at dawn if I have not returned, and you take us both to the Meadow.”

Nyxia let out a long breath, a tense moment passing before she gave one curt nod. “I will inform the others of the Twelve to meet us there.”

Seleste, Then

SELESTE

She felt lighter than air. After every few swipes of her duster, Seleste found herself touching her fingertips to her lips. She’d had lovers before, of course, but none had ever kissed her like that or even looked at her like Cal had.

Darting off before he could tell her when and where he wanted to meet that night was probably a foolish thing to do. But the moment, kissing in the Summer rain… It had been too perfect to taint with anything so mundane as a plan. Her dress had also been growing increasingly see-through by that rain. It was hardly the way a maid should be seen leaving the hideaway châlet of a young lord.

Now that she was dry, changed, and cleaning the parlour, time felt like it was drawn out to a standstill. Seleste sighed, trying to commit every bit of what she was feeling to memory. Living as long as she had, and experiencing all that she had, it could be difficult to soak up small moments. The years blended together until there were no days, let alone moments.

Even now, she could hardly remember details about even her most substantial Orders. Since discovering that about herself—how easily she let moments drift from her memory for how full her mind could be with current details—she’d made a point of pausing to store certain moments in a pocket of her memory, never to be forgotten or overshadowed.

Her thoughts drifted off when she heard someone coming. A sharp, quick tattoo of steps. Madame Riley.

“Seleste,” the head maid barked from the doorway. “His Lordship would like to see you.”

“Pardon?”

The earl was still ill, as far as she knew, and she couldn’t ask which ‘his lordship,’ considering no one knew she had any contact with Cal. And, of course, she also wasn’t supposed to know who exactly any of them were. Not that Cal would send Madame Riley to fetch her, anyway.

That settled it, then. It had to be the earl. Which made even less sense. Unless?—

Madame Riley huffed as if the head of the household requesting the presence of a scullery maid in the middle of the afternoon was perfectly normal. “Put your things down. I’ll take you to him.”

Seleste’s palms were beginning to sweat as they walked down the hall toward the earl’s sick room. Had he somehow found out about her kiss with his son that afternoon? Had someone been spying on them and told him? Even worse, had Cal regretted everything and gone to his father himself. Were they preparing to send her away?

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