Page 88 of Summer of Sacrifice

Grimm ambled along, a layer of fear coating him as the ghouls gathered around.

“Jasper?” Agatha asked, just as the answer flooded her memory. “Lord Mischief.”

“That is correct.” Nyxia smiled reassuringly. “And do you have any recollection of Smithwick?”

Agatha chewed on her bottom lip. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, the name was familiar, but she couldn’t grasp it.

“Smithwick?” Grimm perked up, finally tuning into their conversation. “Where is that little fiend?” He looked around them, brows dipping into confusion again when only night and glowing soul lights surrounded him.

Nyxia rested a gentle hand on his arm. “We will be making a short stop to retrieve our little friend.”

With a wink at Agatha, she raised her hand to another portal set in the wall of shadow. It was much like the one into Achlys, yet it was a shade of blue she’d never seen before—one which there were no words in her language to describe.

“Tell me if you recall this place, Asteria.”

Embracing her life—lives, she supposed—as Asteria, she followed Nyxia where she’d disappeared through the gleaming portal, pulling Grimm along. Half a breath before they made it through, Agatha would have sworn they’d been under the sea, a magnificent frozen moment in time where marine life she’d never born witness to had swam about them in clusters of shimmering colour.

She was just registering the magic of it all when her boots hit sand. A glittering, emerald sea stretched out before them, surrounded on three sides by colourful buildings bustling with people.

Oh, Seleste needed to see this…

“And now we wait.”

Agatha tore her eyes from the sea, transfixed by the juxtaposition of Lady Death standing on a beach. The sight cracked something in her, something that had barely been tethered together, and she doubled over, laughing. Is this what she looked like standing on Seleste’s isle?

“What, pray tell,” a voice came from nowhere, “are we laughing at?”

Agatha’s laughter stopped abruptly as she found the source of the voice. A little creature sat atop Nyxia’s shoulder. He stood less than a hand tall and bore the resemblance of a tiny man mixed with the likeness of a hedgehog. His nose and mouth came to a jaunty point, twitching as he sniffed the air. His eyes were black and beady, very much like an animal, and his hair was a wild mess of brown and white quills sticking up all over his head. He was bare-chested and barefoot, wearing only ripped trousers and the smallest of leather suspenders.

“Smithwick!” Grimm darted forward almost like a child, and the little creature’s head cocked to one side in surprise and alarm.

“Do I know you?” But then he gasped. “Maker be! Thanasim? Is that you?”

“It is, indeed,” Nyxia answered.

“Has he gone quite mad?” Smithwick sniffed, nimbly climbing down from Nyxia’s shoulder, across her bodice, and up onto the far shoulder to avoid Grimm’s grabby hands.

“That is one way to put it. Precisely why we need to hurry to the Meadow. However, our dear Jasper has requested your presence.”

“Intrigue,” Smithwick said, but his beady eyes were narrowed on Agatha. “You look just like Belfry. You must be Asteria,” he whispered, his voice wistful. “Our Dark Star.”

Agatha’s lips parted. “What did you just say?”

But before anyone could answer her, Grimm started stomping off through the sand. “Is there a ship for us? I’ll need to speak with King Darius immediately. Athania is at it again. I know she’s made it back here, I just don’t know how.”

Agatha’s heart plummeted. How long did he have before he was completely gone to madness? A sharp pain began at the base of her skull, shooting up and over her head, landing behind her eyes just as a memory unfolded there. A king and queen and their children—twins—playing on the beach with Talan and Hissa.

“Darling,” Nyxia called after Grimm, pulling Agatha back to the present. “I am not chasing you in sand. Come back. Athania is not here. She has not been in a very long time.”

“Are you going to tell him, or am I?” Smithwick asked Nyxia, half under his breath.

“Someone better explain what the fuck is going on, or I am going to scream,” Agatha snapped.

Smithwick baulked. “Maker, but you have a filthy mouth.” He tisked. “Always did, I’m afraid. Very frowned upon around here.”

“Pardon me, eh… What are you?”

He rolled his little animal eyes. “Precisely what your friend said to me when she first arrived in Aureland, too. No wonder the two of you got on so well.” He shook his head in a disapproving fashion that reminded her of Tindle. “Either way, it is a very rude thing to ask someone.”

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