Page 89 of Summer of Sacrifice

Agatha crossed her arms. “That doesn’t answer my question.” She looked to Nyxia. “This is Aureland? Why are we here? And who in Hades is King Darius?”

Nyxia risked a sympathetic glance at Grimm, who was listening intently but dazed. “King Darius ruled Aureland after the death of his mother. He also happened to marry Luvenia of Orford—your friend Smithwick was referring to—some time after Athania was taken from the very same place. Athania lived in the Castle of Alban in Orford when her husband, Igor, was alive.”

“Orford,” Agatha clarified, “where Athania left the goddess quill the first time?” Wasn’t that how she remembered it? She massaged her temples.

“From what the two of you have gathered in your memories, I believe that is correct. I do not know anything else that happened here, but”—she looked at Smithwick on her shoulder as best she could from that angle—“I take it you do, and that is why our Lord Mischief has requested your presence in the Meadow.”

“I would wager that is true.” He addressed Agatha, “You don’t have your memories of Aureland? Is that what I’m gathering?”

“No, not really.” Agatha looked to Grimm then back to Smithwick. “I have snippets, but nothing about Athania here.”

Smithwick frowned. At least, that was the only description she had for the way his animal-like face moved. “It’s truly terrible, how your dearest friend could turn on you in such a way.”

Agatha closed her eyes as memories flitted past, nothing strong enough to grasp onto.

Playing tricks on Thanasim, then the two goddesses laughing until they cried. Giggling madly over a love letter a mortal man wrote to Athania. Athania holding Asteria as she wept, rocking her back and forth when she miscarried a babe between Hissa and Monarch. Crying tears of joy together when Monarch kicked for the first time. Eating a meal together, Athania laughing with the young witchlings…

And then it came like a torrent.

Athania blaming Asteria for her pain. For the death of her mortal husband.

Agatha hit her knees in the sand. “It’s too much,” she gasped through building sobs. “It hurts too much.” Clutching at her broken heart, Nyxia and Grimm dropped to either side of her.

“You’re sullying your dress,” Agatha whispered to Nyxia through her tears.

“Oh, pish posh,” Lady Death said, wrapping her arms around Agatha. “I do not care.”

A minuscule hand came forward, touching Agatha’s cheek as Grimm brushed her hair back from her face, still confused. “I’m sorry it ever happened, Asteria,” Smithwick said. “Remember who you are. Remember how you have come this far.”

Breathing in through her nose, out through her mouth, Agatha let the little creature’s words ground her. She nodded once, then let Lady Death help her up. Muttering something about sand getting in the girls’ beds, Grimm swiped at her skirts, trying to dust her off. She and Nyxia exchanged worried glances.

“He will not last much longer,” Nyxia said. “We must hurry.”

The next moment, Agatha opened her eyes to the Meadow. A sprawling land of grass and wildflowers, bathhouses and temples, all columns and open arches. The place within The Void where the gods and goddesses convened. A place only for them.

One particular pavilion rose in the centre, right in front of them. It was surrounded by lush grass and a meadow of flowers. The place that gave the land its name.

It was just as she remembered it when Grimm took her there to remind her of who she was. Who they were.

Except, this time, the remaining others of the Thirteen were not going about their business in the pavilion. They were seated around a long table together, regarding their missing two.

Lord and Lady Magie de la Nuit.

Seleste, Then

SELESTE

Comfrey

Valerian

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