Page 10 of Summer of Sacrifice
“Of course,” Seleste answered diplomatically. “As soon as I ensure Amira is up to date with the happenings, I will return here. It would be my honour.”
Everyone filed out of the room, Agatha watching Grimm closely the entire time.
“What?” he groaned when the door closed behind the others.
“Seleste’s cunning got to you.”
“Call me a believer,” he snarked, pushing in his chair.
“And you trust my Sisters.”
Grimm frowned at her. “Obviously. Court’s still out on Sorscha, though.” He reached out and pulled her up too fast, catching her when she fell into him. “Come on, little witch. I need you to occupy my mind while we await von Fuchs’ plan, which I’ll no doubt want to change.”
“Ah.” She kissed him hard and took his hand to lead him to the door. “Too bad you set me in charge, remember?”
“Oh, that’s right.” He bit his lip, oozing mockery. “And you have a coronation to prepare for, don’t you?”
“Dammit.”
Grimm chuckled as she stomped out of the room.
Seleste, Then
SELESTE
Weary of fanning herself with vigour, Seleste snapped closed her white lace fan. Her isle was hot year round—a great joy—but a gentle breeze continuously floated in from the ocean to cool her cheeks. Being tied up in the current fashion of the working class rather than her swaths of chiffon was not doing her any favours, either. The heat in the carriage was cloying, clawing at her like the ghouls of Hades.
Seleste smiled at her uncharacteristically sullen thoughts. If she didn’t get out of the carriage and into fresh air soon, she would be perilously close to sounding like Aggie or Winnie.
Rather than the bump and jostle of the King’s Road, the journey had grown smoother quite a long time after they’d left the agency in Merveille behind and veered onto a winding dirt path toward Boisloch. Seleste peered out the window, desperate for the slight breeze. She was pleased to find the path had gone grassy, and it was lined with trees just up ahead. When the stately oaks were darting past rather quickly, gravel began to crunch beneath the carriage wheels. The noise filled up the compartment as thoroughly as Seleste’s nerves did.
Sensing the onset of her minor turmoil, Litha flitted out from the travel bag Seleste had bid her hide within and landed gracefully on her shoulder. At well over a century and a half old, Seleste still found meeting new people to be…cumbersome. She quite enjoyed mortals and the scattering of hidden witches who’d remained after the Trials. In fact, she would go so far as to say she did prefer mortals and did enjoy meeting them. It was her nervous system, as well as her cunning, that made the task difficult.
Shy, reserved, timid—these were words often thrown about in conversation when others attempted to pinpoint Seleste’s apprehension. None of them were accurate.
Seleste saw far too much, and often, it was revealed to her instantaneously. On more than one occasion, she’d immediately unravelled the presence of affairs upon meeting couples. She’d sniffed out betrayals, addictions, and secrets within moments of being introduced to people. Insecurities and fears, as well as hubris, were always next to follow. But it was the simple things that were the loudest. Crumbs, ink stains, scuffed boots, loose threads, tired eyes, wringing hands, longing looks… Those exhausting bits of mortals and witches alike were simply too much to take in, for she could usually discern what they meant.
Walking into a crowd was loud. Her cunning was not auditory or visual in any way, nor was it any sort of magic. Yet, it exhausted all of her faculties.
Then there was the simple fact that she couldn’t ignore anyone—ever.
Seleste always knew the exact position of every individual in a room. She knew what they were doing, what they were wearing, oftentimes what they were saying, always what they were drinking, eating… Worst of all, she could almost always sense how they were feeling. That was the most exhausting of all. Every single soul deserved the trifecta of the mortal condition—to be seen, appreciated, and loved. This rendered her incapable of ignoring a person or what she gleaned from them.
This belief was also what landed Seleste in trouble more often than not. Just because a person deserved those things did not mean they would recognise her efforts or reciprocate. She’d learned the difficult way—far too many times—that believing the best in people often only led to heartache. To remove the responsibility from her shoulders, she simply observed from afar. But it did not lessen the knowing. The knowing crowded her mind, a banshee trapped inside her skull until she was alone again in silence. Or, like the boisterous inn of the prior night, it was all drowned out by music—noise so loud it was as effective as silence.
Music and solitude were her peace.
The road began to curve, lending Seleste the view of an estate that sent a little laugh bubbling out of her. Château was certainly the only apt description of a lavish place such as the one she was quickly approaching. Gilded by the afternoon sun, the grand rock and brick manor towered above, boasting four chimneys and two floors. Ivy, thick and trailing, crawled up much of the Estern side. Birds twittered and flew across the wide expanse of blue sky into a woodland area off to the side. Rolling hills could just be seen from far behind the estate, a hint of lush garden peeking out in the area between manor and woods.
Seleste nudged Litha into her carpet bag as the coach rolled to a stop. Gathering her belongings, she made to reach for the door handle, but Bast was already there, pulling the door open and thrusting out a hand to help her down. She thanked him with a gentle smile, noting the rawness of his fingers and the exhaustion bruising the skin beneath his eyes.
“Perhaps they’ll let you rest here awhile before you depart,” she whispered.
Bast’s eyes crinkled at the corners, a distinct, even mixture of amusement and dismay. “I’d not wager so.”
He squeezed her hand gently, pointedly looking at their skin, twin shades of deep brown. The moment sent a pang of memory through her, and she suddenly missed her father fiercely.
“I do hope they choose for you to work here.” Bast’s gaze slid from one eye briefly down to her lips, then back up to her other eye. “But if they’re fools, have them send for me in Rochbury, and I will return to drive you wherever you wish to go.” He let her hand drop, reaching for her luggage.
