Page 94 of Summer of Sacrifice

An entire millennium of life barrelled into her as they ascended the few steps of the Meadow’s pavilion, memories with each of the gods and goddesses before them landing in her mind’s eye. Tears even glistened in some of their eyes. She wanted to speak, but nothing came out.

Their attention shifted from her and Grimm’s faces, up to their foreheads just before Agatha felt a weight settle on her head. She reached up to touch the crown that had suddenly appeared there, looking from Grimm’s to the others’. All different, yet similar. A mournful grief tugged at her suddenly, the force so strong she almost lost her footing for a moment.

That grief pulled her attention to a lone crown sitting on a pedestal off to one side. A crown of elegant, yet jagged pieces jutting into the air.

Athania. Lady War. Her friend.

Pressing a hand against her stomach, Agatha pushed it all away.

Grimm took one more step forward, a deep, guttural gasp bursting from him, stopping him in his tracks.

Vines of pure night slithered from the others gathered there, wrapping tightly around Grimm’s arms, legs, throat, until they soaked into his skin, leaving only a smoky vapour to dispel into the tepid air.

He took a deep breath and looked at Agatha, his eyes crystal clear again, but all the realms still there. A presence like the rumble of thunder, the cosmos, in his eyes.

Lord Fucking Night.

She was marvelling at him, his thoughts mirroring hers as he did the same of her. “My Goddess of Magic,” he mused, stepping to her and running a finger down her cheek as if there was not a whole host of beings watching them. “My little witch.”

Peace flooded in to replace all her fear. He was back. Hers. Of sound mind.

One of the others cleared their throat and both of them turned to see a svelte and tanned man—a god—smile wide, his eyes misty, and he rushed forward at the same moment Grimm rushed for him.

“Thanasim,” he said, voice muffled by their embrace. This was Orlan, Lord Art. He broke free of Grimm just as Agatha was rushed in a similar fashion.

“Lisbeth,” she chuckled into Lady Love’s shoulder as she crushed her in a hug.

One by one, they traded embraces, smiles, tears. A reunion neither she nor Grimm saw coming.

“Thanasim,” Orlan cut in. “Is this wise, my friend? Taking your power back? You left strands of it with all of us for caution’s sake.”

“Until the appointed time,” Grimm said. “And that time is now.” He looked at Agatha briefly, and she wondered how much of the memory in their gazebo he remembered.

Orlan nodded, gesturing for them to sit around the long, oval table. “So mote it be, then, brother. But we cannot interfere.” Lord Art looked around at the others as they, one by one, nodded subtly. “Not any more than we already have.”

Grimm took the seat meant for him without missing a beat. “You interfered despite my binding?”

“As much as we could,” one of them said. Lady Wisdom—Valeria. “The power connected each of us to you marginally, but we could not consult one another regarding you, nor contact you directly.”

“Goddess Alive it is good to see your seats filled again after all this time.” Lord Art continued, “It was never a fight you should have taken on your own. Athania was our friend, our sister, too.” He shook his head. “We did what we could to aid you, in our own ways.”

Agatha gasped, all of their attention landing on her. “La Femme Déchue. That was you?”

Orlan grinned, tipping his head and flourishing a hand in answer.

Though Grimm had not seen the painting, and the map of star symbols beneath it only briefly, she was certain he remembered it, now that his mind was clear again. “What else?” he asked, looking from one to another. “Lisbeth?” he prompted.

Lady Love cleared her throat delicately, her golden hair swaying. “The two of you continuously threw Athania around the realms, forgetting one another each time. And we couldn’t have that, now could we?”

She smiled impishly and batted her eyelashes. “A ship off course that landed Thanasim in a village where Asteria worked at an inn. A travelling army that almost overran a young woman, who chose to assault the captain with her dagger.”

Grimm laughed, remembering something Agatha couldn’t, but it sounded like them.

Lisbeth smiled slyly. “A peculiar urge to read by the docks on a cold Winter’s day in Merveille, and meeting a handsome dock worker who wished to be a novelist.”

Ira. Agatha closed her eyes hard, reaching for Grimm. That one was still fresh.

Grimm swallowed, immense gratitude flooding their bond before he turned to Lady Love. “Thank you, Lisbeth.”

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