Chapter 13

Chapter

Thirteen

SELESTE

" T his is a bad idea."

Sorscha rolled her eyes. "You say that about everythingggg."

"Why are you even here?" Gaius shot back.

"She's my Sister."

"Seleste asked for my help, and Arielle's. You're just in the way."

"Well fuckity-fuck you ," Sorscha sang, waggling a finger in Gaius' face.

"All right, all right. That's enough, you two," Seleste finally broke in. Though their banter was rather amusing to watch. Judging by the curve of Arielle's lips, she was enjoying it as well. "I don't have a lot of time, so let's get on with this."

Sorscha bared her teeth at Gaius and snapped them together like a rabid dog before retreating to curl onto a stool in the corner. Arielle came up beside Gaius where he sat at his worktable, setting the vial of blood in the middle.

"Now what?" he asked, looking up at Arielle and Seleste simultaneously.

"If I locate the blood that is not Laurent's," Arielle began, "can you separate it?"

Gaius' responding laugh held no humour. "How would I do that?"

"The blood was essentially alchemised to give Laurent some of Chresedia's power," Seleste answered. "At least, that's how we understand it. Her blood mingled with his via twin cuts on their forearms, then she used magic to combine hers with Laurent's. All this to seemingly give him her power."

Sorscha snorted from her perch. "Worked out great."

"She gave him a string of her power, sure," Seleste continued, "but it was slowly killing him."

Arielle's mouth quirked to the side in thought. "That makes sense. What I sense is sinister."

"It's safe to assume, as a goddess, she had some measure of power when she left The Void, but she's been stealing magic from others for who knows how long. Somewhere along the line, it seems it has become warped."

"Like the horrid reanimated corpses Grimm saw in the Liminal Place," Arielle said quietly.

"If the powers were mingled by magic," Seleste said, the others listening intently, "then it can be separated in a similar fashion."

"Why didn't that happen when Winnie healed Laurent's magic?" Sorscha cut in.

Seleste considered that for a moment. "Winnie healed his magic, which broke whatever spell Chresedia had on him, but I don't believe it cut the tie between them, or her blood wouldn't still be detected in his."

It was not a comforting thought. No wonder Laurent claimed he was unafraid to be a beacon for Chresedia—he'd already been one for a very long time. Maybe, just maybe, if she added the proper ingredients to her spell, Seleste could break the tie between them. That would have to wait, though.

"Seleste?" Arielle pulled her mind back to the room. "What should we do?"

Seleste turned to Gaius, sorting through all of her medical knowledge. "When two different types of blood mix, the foreign blood becomes toxic. This usually kills a person rather quickly, but with the use of magic and Laurent's Elven lineage, perhaps it prolonged the process. When Winnie healed Laurent's magic, she inadvertently healed the blood as well, but it was still Chresedia's and still present in the simplest form."

She rubbed at her sightless eye, an infernally itchy thing it often was. "What if I… un heal the blood? Unless Laurent and Chresedia had the same blood type, which is possible but unlikely considering the state of his health until Winnie healed him. Perhaps if I unheal this vial's worth, the blood would begin to clot."

Gaius' mouth had turned down in a scowl long ago, but he continued listening intently.

"If I do this, could you use any of your tools to tell the difference? Find one of the clots?"

With a swivel back toward his worktable, Gaius pulled a tool toward him. A cylindrical device on filigreed legs, open at the bottom, and a domed glass covering the top. Seleste hadn't seen one in over a hundred years. "This is a clin d'?il. " He held up a thin sheet of glass. "If I place a portion of the blood on here and look through the scope of the clin d'?il, it would magnify the blood. I would, in theory, be able to see a clot. Separating it entirely from Laurent's blood is beyond my knowledge."

Seleste nodded resolutely. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it." She turned. "Arielle, I have an idea, but it is…unconventional."

"I'm listening." There was an air of excitement beneath Arielle's even tone.

"I am going to spill a little of the blood in your palms. You have no cut on your hands at present, do you?" Arielle shook her head. "Good. I will pour the blood, and you will tell me what you sense. I will use my magic to sift and?—"

"Wing it!" Sorscha cheered from her side of the room. "This is exciting."

"For lack of a better term," Sorscha chuckled, "yes."

Gaius handed Seleste the vial as Arielle stepped forward, her palms up. Seleste popped the cork, pulling a deep breath into her lungs. "Here goes nothing."

Crimson lifeblood poured into Arielle's hands, pooling as she cupped them together, little rivers of red flowing in the creases of her palms. A hush fell through the room as they let Arielle work. Her brows knit together, her lips moving soundlessly. Seleste set her magic to waiting, ready.

"Laurent's blood is so pure." She chuckled, swirling her hands and the blood with it as it smeared on her skin. "I've never sensed Elven magic before. This is remarkable…" She flinched suddenly. "Hers…it's so twisted," Arielle brea thed. "It feels like Aggie's indigenous seed of magic, but…warped."

Seleste sent her magic diving into the blood, closing her eyes as she searched for anything that felt like Aggie. Like a dark, contorted version of her Sister Autumn.

Seleste sucked in a breath. "I feel it."

A shiver snaked down her spine. Arielle was right. It was similar to Aggie's magic but wholly wrong. Violated. Desecrated. A ripped-open corpse where a goddess should be.

She felt more than heard Sorscha come toward her, standing between her and Arielle. "I'm going to create a link between the two of you," she said quietly, letting them keep their concentration.

Seleste couldn't feel anything, and she did not open her eyes, but she did hear Gaius gasp.

"Gods above," he cursed, Sorscha muttering something similar.

Curiosity warred with logic, but Seleste held fast, a tendril of her magic wrapping around the foreign, unholy thing in Laurent's pure blood. Her magic latched on. Almost howling with triumph, she dove within it, nearly seeing what Arielle was feeling, until she began to pull apart the knitting of Winnie's healing spell.

"Let me help," Arielle whispered just before a spangled shimmer of power joined hers, plucking at threads.

Gaius' chair scraped across stone, almost distracting them, but then he was there at Seleste's side. "I can see it. Why can I see it?"

Seleste opened her eyes just in time to witness Gaius dipping a minuscule spoon into the small pool of blood in Arielle's hands .

"What can you see?" She couldn't help the itch of curiosity. It still looked like any other blood to her natural eye.

"The clotting," he muttered, rushing to his clin d'?il. "I could see it from across the room."

"That's decidedly not normal," Sorscha snarked as she broke her spell and Arielle rushed to a washbasin in the corner.

"I'm inclined to agree." Seleste made her way to peer over his shoulder as he poured a droplet onto his sheet of glass and placed it under the clin d'?il.

"This is unbelievable." He looked up from the scope, into Seleste's eyes and then back down. "Tell me I'm wrong."

He stood to give her a view in the clin d'?il, and Seleste peered in, sending her magic to search the blood as well. A small gasp escaped her. "Gaius!" She popped up. "How did you possibly scoop out precisely one clot with none of Laurent's blood present?"

"You did what ?" Arielle shot forward, sliding the glass free of the clin d'?il, her hand hovering over the blood. "My goddess, you did."

"Well, well, well." Sorscha crossed her arms haughtily. "Our little alchemical prodigy."

"Gaius," Arielle's tone was cautious, as if he was afraid she'd spook him. "What if you do have ma?—"

"Stop it, all of you," Gaius snapped. "Take the droplet, Seleste." He handed her a clean vial, carefully slipping the tiny droplet inside.

Seleste took it and laughed nervously. "Now for the hard part."

"What are you going to do?" Sorscha's eyes narrowed .

"Never you mind. Be prepared to take the quill from Winnie if she summons you."

Sorscha's head lilted to one side. "Why?" she asked slowly, suspiciously.

"It needs to change hands regularly, remember?"

AGATHA

She knew why they left the Void.

Why they'd spent so many lives apart, finding each other again and again.

That spell.

That fucking spell .

Entwined we three,

Lest the twine be broken

In darkness by day

The walk from the palace to their manor was different alone. Different now that she remembered things. Now that she knew where she was headed. Remembered so much more about who she was.

A blink, and a pudgy hand was in hers, a dimpled face smiling up at her as they walked. Belfry .

Another blink and she knelt to soothe a crying witchling, fallen from a tree. Hissa .

A breath, and an ice-blue dress fanned out in front of her, its wearer's face tilted up to the moon. Talan .

Another breath and small, elegant hands unclasped before her to reveal a butterfly the colour of the night sky. Monarch .

Agatha pushed at the snippets of memories, then pulled them back, choking on her torrent of tears. Forging onward, she put one foot in front of the other. They had to know all they could, or they wouldn't know how to make it all stop. Make it end .

Some things were different in this lifetime, that was certain. Grimm was able to be in Achlys, she was able to be in Achlys. Nyxia's binding had been undone. Grimm had more of his power back. They were connecting their past lives—the past instances of throwing Athania from realm to realm.

Something they had ensured they would not do, until now—remember, recall, reconnect.

Agatha had not forgotten the prophecy that had dragged them into the fray in the Autumn. That together , she and Grimm would change the course of all things . She had not forgotten the words Chresedia had said to her in the Spring, in a shop of peculiarities on Eldritch Alley, dressed up in the face she'd worn to torture Agatha as a child—Sybil. The Sister Autumn before Agatha.

He did so well protecting you. He really did. But telling your parents that you would be born again into your lineage, that was his downfall. You see, I infiltrated your lineage long, long ago. And he never even knew.

She hadn't forgotten what Grimm had said in the Meadow when he reminded her who she was.

You were reborn into our family line.

None of this had been an accident. It was an intricately woven spider web. She only needed to understand each silken strand. Then, they would have their answer. They would know how to make it all end .

Paired with her newly-remembered binding spell, the threads of spider silk were beginning to weave together, or unravel—she wasn't certain which.

There were so damn many.

And it all hinged on their daughters. She could feel it.

The Sisters Solstice .

The manor loomed before her like a ghostly wound of phantom pain, soothed and aching all at once. Each step forward felt like a walk to the gallows, to the hanging trees. Yet, each step forward whispered of hope. Of love. Of sweet memories that would sift through her fingers like fog.

This time, instead of repeating the experiences of her earlier trip to the great room, Agatha made a beeline for the stairs. Climbing slowly toward the second floor, she stopped to take in each painting that lined the storm-grey wall. Most were the art of night creatures—moths, nightingales, bats, fireflies—with skeletal renderings of each. But there was a smattering of works that were clearly completed with a child's sloppy, untamed hand and proudly hung by their parents, simply to show the child that they, the artist, matter. Strategically placed between these paintings, were five others—portraits.

Lord Night did not face the world in the portrait with his wife. No, Thanasim looked only at Asteria, at her . She could remember that day. Remember what had caused the fiendish smile barely hinted at on his face—the wholly inappropriate things he whispered to make her laugh when sitting there had grown boring and tiresome.

Couldn't he just paint with magic? she'd hissed when she became antsy. And miss the details of true movement? No, my love. Picture all the things I'll do to you when this is over if you're a good little witch . She'd laughed, and that was the moment the artist had captured—Asteria's head tipped slightly back, fiery, copper hair falling wildly over her shoulders, blue eyes full of mirth.

Captivating. They were captivating.

" We were captivating," she murmured to herself, fingers tracing the line of Thanasim's jaw.

The only thing that had remained the same in all the lives that she could recall was the colour of their hair. Midnight-black for him, Autumnal-red for her.

Sniffling at the wisps of memories, Agatha moved on. She reached the next portrait, her hand lifting to clasp her mother's locket around her neck, the amulet tinking against her crystal cage as she did so. She wished her Sisters were with her. Or Mabon.

The next portrait was of a graceful young woman, her chin high and shoulders back. Her hair hung in strawberry ringlets, her eyes an impossible shade of violet, so like her father's. Talan , her heart whispered.

The next was of a smirking girl, one brow slightly raised as if she spent the entirety of her time sitting for the portrait toying with the artist. Agatha smiled. Hissa . Her hair was dark as night, like her father's. Her eyes a crystalline blue like her mother's.

Beside that portrait was one of a soul so sweet you could see it in her eyes, a stunning mixture of her parents' and so bright they sparkled. Monarch . Her bow-like smile paired perfectly with the beauty mark on her cheek and the dark auburn hair that she wore long like her mother's, yet hers was board straight.

The last portrait gave Agatha pause. Belfry . This little witchling looked like Agatha as a child, down to the honey eyes, copper hair, and freckles. The only difference was that she bore Lord Night's dimple on her right cheek.

There were wild hearthtales about mortals perishing violently, then being reborn into their family line a few generations or so later, but those were always filled with outlandish stories of the reborn remembering their time in the family before. It had always seemed like utter insanity to Agatha, but she was staring its proof in the face.

There had to be more answers in the manor.

Bracing herself for whatever may come, Agatha ascended the final steps to the second floor. The corridor walls were dark like the stairway, but decorated in a pattern of damask that Agatha quite liked, and lit by sconces she could only assume held eternal flames. Unless, of course, they'd spelled the house to recognise the moment they arrived, and magically lit the sconces as she used to command her candles to light in her cottage upon her arrival. Now that she thought of it, that was probably precisely it. The manor knew. It knew her, it knew them. And it knew they were home . Home amongst The Primordial, their slice of The Void.

How difficult it must have been for them to walk away.

Trailing her fingers along the beautifully patterned wall, Agatha stopped at a little reading nook. Two black velvet and silver chairs sat situated, one on either side of a small table piled high with books. Two silver teacups adorned with bats sat adjacent to the chairs, long-dried tea leaves settled at the bottom. Agatha bent to look into them, curious how they had not disintegrated after so long.

To her utter shock, both cups' leaves had the same message as the last time she'd read her and Grimm's leaves. Just like on that blustery Autumn day, tricked by a queen to have tea with her son, these leaves lay in the distinct shape of a crescent moon and a bone, encased in an unbroken circle.

It was time they broke that circle. Not around the two of them, but the circle of an endless loop.

Brushing her hands down her skirts, Agatha trudged on, peering into the first door on the right. It was the only space of pure light she'd seen in the manor, all golds and creams, lace and chiffon, flowers and winged creatures.

A coward, Agatha was too petrified to go in. Too frightened to feel the pain it would cause. Instead, she ran her hand down a perfectly intact appliqué of a butterfly hanging just inside the door, that should have been moth fodder long ago.

Moving on, she came to the next room on the left. The moment she opened the door, a half-sob, half-laugh erupted. Autumnal colours burst to life in the space, so vibrant that it even smelt of pumpkin and spice.

And her youngest daughter.

Her chest seized suddenly, breath unable to make it into her lungs. Swiftly, Agatha shut the door, sliding down the wall to sit. Pressing a hand firmly to her chest, she held onto her crystal cage with the other.

Ride the wave , she repeated inwardly. Ride the wave .

Slowly, her breathing returned to somewhat normal, and she rose to continue on before she lost her nerve.

This time, she was prepared. When she opened the door to a room of pure, snowy white, and dotted by little trinkets of silver, she was ready to face the pain of Talan. Blessedly, tragically, no memories came. But she did inhale deeply the scent of her firstborn. And then she tucked it away in the depths of her wounded heart and moved on to the last door on the right.

Hissa . Agatha smiled through her tears. How were all the crawling, vibrant plants still alive? Thriving? A bed of silken red lay in the middle of what could only be described as a jungle. A fragmented memory came then, of Hissa and Talan giggling, hiding under the covers while Asteria pretended she didn't know where they were. It passed quickly, and Agatha stored it in her heart alongside the other painful remembrances.

Moving past a set of stairs that must lead to a third floor, she reached one final door at the end of the hall. Terror and hope gripped her in equal measure as she opened it, memories already singing.

Belfry lay with her head in Monarch's lap, Monarch stroking her hair gently. Hissa was upside down with her legs in a chair, her back on the floor, and a spellbook in her hands. Asteria watched her daughters from her place by the fire in her and Thanasim's bedchamber.

Something still didn't feel right. It hadn't for a while. Not since that day in Aureland.

Talan rushed in, a hand thrust high in the air, holding a book of notes. As she dropped it on the table next to Asteria, her Sisters all sat up. "I've been over your binding spell of Athania endlessly." She sat down across from her mother. "It is ironclad, save for one thing."

The worry in Asteria's gut unfurled.

"If Athania has both you and Father—any measure of your powers further than what she already possesses—then the spell and the binding on her are wholly undone."

Asteria knew that much. They just hadn't had the courage yet to tell their daughters what must be done. How could they?

"But she will never get to you," Hissa interjected, her tone more fearful than factual.

"She could…" Monarch chewed on her bottom lip. "It's not impossible."

"How?" Hissa was shouting now, standing to her feet. "They're gods and she is not! Not anymore."

"Hissa." Asteria stood, smoothing out her gown. "Slow down." She turned to Talan. "How did you arrive at this conclusion?"

Enlacés nous trois,

De peur que la ficelle ne se brise? *

Asteria swallowed hard. Talan was right. And so was Monarch.

"Wait," Belfry jumped in. "I–I don't understand. Can't you fix the spell?"

"No, sweet. Magic does not work like that."

They'd put it off for as long as they could. Danced around what they knew needed to happen. What they'd known since the day they bound Athania.

It was time to tell them.

"Darlings," she began, doing her best to hide the tremor in her voice. "Your father and I must leave here."

"What?" Hissa and Belfry cried in unison.

Asteria held up a hand. "We've put it off as long as we can, but the truth is, I can feel Athania growing closer. Talan is correct. The spell was imperfect. If she has the two of us, she has everything she needs to return here, to take magic and destroy everything."

"You can't leave us here," Belfry sobbed through tears. Hissa launched herself at Asteria, arms wrapped tightly around her waist. She returned her daughter's embrace, and the other three joined in.

Monarch's soft voice pierced through the fray of sobs. "We are the two of you." They all broke apart and Monarch looked at her Sisters, who regarded her with fear. "All four of us."

The memory dissipated like fog on the water.

No . More. Please, I need more. " Plus. J'ai besoin de plus. S'il vous pla?t."

Agatha squeezed her eyes shut, grasping onto the memory—that moment in time. Where had they gone after that conversation? Surely they would have found Thanasim. Where would her husband have been on a regular afternoon in Achlys?

Her eyes flew open and she rushed out into the hall and up the spiral staircase. It led to a turret of the manor she hadn't yet explored, but now knew with stark clarity exactly what it was.

Flinging open the door, Agatha stepped into an observatory. A room that was so utterly Grimm , that her hand flew to her chest. Walls such a dark shade of green that they were bordering on black. A dark, mahogany desk scattered with an endless supply of parchments, inkwells, quills, astronomy tools, open books …

"What happened that day?" she whispered to a golden telescope pointed toward the glass-domed ceiling. "What did our family do, Thanasim?"

As if her question summoned it, the memory unfolded before her.

"It's the only way." The words flew out of Thanasim's mouth as if he'd said them too many times already. "It is no longer up for discussion."

Hissa's arms flailed, fury crackling off of her in sparks of magic. Belfry reached out and clasped her Sister's hand. Hissa's magic calmed, but only a fraction.

"I don't like it," Monarch said, fists at her sides.

"None of us do," Talan agreed, her tone sharper than Asteria cared for. "But Father is right. I see no other way."

They were huddled in Thanasim's observatory, every last one of them looking to Asteria, their eyes all filled with such sorrow…

"Sit down," she commanded. All mother and all witch, cloaking the fear that threatened to choke her. "All of you."

They obeyed, even Thanasim, and the sight of him dropping into his plush desk chair at her behest gave her the warmth and courage to say what she must.

"My darlings. This won't be easy. But we have to go. We have to leave The Primordial as Athania did, but—" She stumbled on her words, looking to Thanasim. There were tears in his eyes. "We have to forget one another, too. Become entirely different. Become something Athania will never recognise. It's the only way we can protect you. Protect magic, and those that wield it."

Belfry's lip wobbled. In so many ways, she was still a young girl, by witch standards. "But you will not remember us."

Asteria and Thanasim darted for her in the same instant. "We will never forget you," Asteria assured her.

"Yes, you will," Hissa whispered, a tear leaking from her eye. "If you forget one another, you will forget us. We are from you."

"We all need to go." They turned in unison toward Monarch. She lifted her mournful eyes to look at each of them. "Hissa is right. If Athania makes it back here, she can get to us. It's all she will need to begin a war. To take over magic. Everything."

Thanasim cursed colourfully. "They're right, Asteria."

She watched his jaw flex as if he were pressing all of his teeth together. His hands worked in and out of a fist. The torture in his eyes matched the agony in their bond. It was such a tangled knot of anguish she couldn't separate what was hers and what was his. She supposed it didn't matter because she knew what he would say, how her heart would be ripped from her body before he said the words aloud.

"We leave tonight. All of us."

* ? Entwined, we Three, Lest the twine be broken