Seleste, Then

SELESTE

C al bit into his orange scone, groaning. "This is delicious."

Seleste gave a little laugh and wiped the drip of glaze from his bottom lip. "I can't take all the credit this time. The girls helped."

She'd been rather unable to concentrate on traditional lessons after the morning's events, both Cal's and his mother's words rolling around in her head. Giving the girls a baking lesson seemed like the best option.

Baking and cooking were therapeutic for her. Whilst embarking upon culinary efforts, the mind is singularly focused, even if it's being pulled in various directions. A sauce to stir here, a roast to check there, a dough rising too quickly… The tasks at hand were orderly and defined, with a dash of creativity, and they were all moving toward one objective: make a dish. Being in the kitchen helped order her mi nd and the fragments of information her cunning unearthed in much the same way—many moving parts, sorted into one clear objective.

Baking with two silly young girls, however, had been chaos. All three of them were covered in flour and glaze by the end of the endeavour, and Liza was chasing them out with a rolling pin.

"Mm," Cal mumbled around another bite. "I will have to blackmail them into making more treats for me, then."

Seleste laughed. "Spoken like a brother."

"Speaking of…" He reached for the jar of cucumber water she'd brought him. "Have you heard from your Sisters? You haven't mentioned them in several days."

She adored that he'd noticed. That he would ask after her Sisters. Of course, she'd given him only the bare bones of their relationship—four very different Sisters who went very separate ways after the deaths of their parents.

"Sorscha wrote a couple of days ago." She was careful not to speak too much of letters, even with Cal, considering they did not always arrive by post, but by courier raven. "But I haven't heard from Aggie or Winnie." She knew she wouldn't hear from Winnie, their uptight stickler of a Sister. Nor had she expected to hear from Aggie.

"Is that why you're so distracted this afternoon?" Of course, he could tell. He was becoming quite versed in her subtleties, reading her with alarming accuracy. "Or is it all that was discussed earlier?"

Seleste stilled. Had he known she was there, eavesdropping on him and his mother?

Cal stood and held out a hand, leading her to the small bench seat beneath his open window. "I know I sounded a bit overdramatic and like I'm digging for a conspiracy."

She let out a little breath. He only meant the conversation they'd had about his father's illness. "I don't think you're being dramatic. If it were simply a hidden illness, all right, but I agree that some of the other things you've mentioned struck me as strange, too. Together, it is minorly alarming."

Cal nodded, turning Seleste so he could massage her shoulders.

"I can tell you my hypothesis," she went on after a few moments of silence and a massage that was making her head feel muddled. "But I don't think you will like it."

"Give it to me straight, Joubert."

She chuckled at his small attempt at humour, then sighed, moving to face him again. "Your father is too intelligent to think he's not gravely ill. If he is pretending he doesn't realise how ill he is, there must be a reason. However, my theory on the entire ordeal is that he knows or, at least suspects, that he isn't going to heal.

"He is trying to get all his affairs in order before alerting you, or possibly even your mother. I would hazard a guess that he's been sick longer than you know about, which is why he chose to quietly, secretly bring his family to Whitehall for the Summer. The staff doesn't know who he is, so they can't report to anyone of his illness."

Cal had gone very pale. "And Dr. Pollock?"

She grimaced. "I believe he's in on it. To keep you from worrying, like you are now."

"Hades." Cal exhaled. "Of course I am. This is why he wouldn't tell me his symptoms, either."

"He knew you would easily diagnose him. "

Cal shot from the bench. "Perhaps there is a cure Dr. Pollock doesn't know about. We could find it."

Seleste's heart constricted. So few mortals could accept that death eventually arrived for all. "We could certainly try."

He shot forward and kissed her hard.

A quiet knock sounded at her door around the time she expected to hear pebbles at her window.

Surely Cal hasn't …

Seleste rushed to open the door. He had.

"Why have you come to my room?" she whispered as she pulled him inside and closed the door. "Someone could have seen you!"

"I wanted to see where you live," he said, setting down two large tomes, she assumed medical ones.

She threw her fists onto her hips. "This is your house."

Cal snickered. "Fine. I wanted to see you living in a room I used to avoid like the plague."

With a scoff, she squinted at him. "Too much yellow for your delicate sensibilities, Lord Bardot?"

He tipped his head back and laughed, a deep rumbling that sent a rush of heat up her body. At the same time, fear that someone could hear him clutched at her throat.

"Hush!" she censured, running forward to clamp a hand over his mouth. His eyes sparked in challenge a breath before he snaked his arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him. She removed her hand and his mouth found hers.

Without breaking the kiss, he walked her backwards until the bed was against the back of her knees. Cal lifted her slightly and laid her on the buttery yellow comforter. With deft fingers, he untied the laces of her dress, groaning when his hands found her breasts.

"I'll never get used to how beautiful you are," he whispered huskily in her ear.

He took his time, kissing a line down her neck, her breasts, her stomach, then bringing her pleasure as she fisted the comforter in one hand, his hair in the other. When it was over, he looked up at her, grinning like a fiend.

Once she had returned the favour, the two of them lay naked and snuggled in her bed for a good long while before Seleste rose to don her peach dressing gown. When she turned around, Cal was smiling at her, his hands resting on his lap, only covered by a thin sheet.

"What?" she questioned, laughing.

"I know colour is becoming all the rage in fashion in Seagovia, but you are the only person who truly makes a room brighter for it. You are the most stunning woman I have ever laid eyes upon."

And yet, she wouldn't be allowed to wear colourful garments in Merveille. Not in polite Society. Not with the colour of her skin.

She couldn't help but smile, anyway, at this idealistic man. His father thought him a fool for his moral beliefs, but Seleste only saw a realm shaker.

"Surely you came for more than a tryst." A playful scowl was writ across her face and he laughed.

"You're right about that." Rising from the bed, he put on only his pants and padded across the room to the minuscule table where his books had rested since his arrival. "You noticed blood on my father's kerchief after a coughing fit, but his eyes are also taking on a yellowish tinge."

"Those two symptoms don't go hand in hand," she mused, and Cal eyed her with one brow raised.

"And here I thought I'd enlisted your help for your observational abilities. You know medicine too?"

Seleste smiled coyly. "Not a great deal, but I know some about herbs and natural remedies from Sorscha, and I did read John Allard's Treatise on Common Diseases ."

Cal's jaw went slack, feigning shock. "You what ?" He laughed outright, and far too loudly for their secrecy. Putting a hand to his heart as if he'd been shot with an arrow., he said, "Woe is me, my heart cannot handle the perfect specimen before me."

Seleste laughed, pushing him in the shoulder. "Oh, stop!" This man was sunshine, goodness, and everything right with the world. "There are serious matters at hand." But they were both still grinning as he bent over his textbook and pulled out a bundled sheaf of notes.

"Those symptoms do not usually go hand in hand, no. But—" He held up a finger, sounding more like a professor than a man searching for what ails his father. "Certain liver conditions, which cause the whites of the eyes to turn yellow, can cause increased pressure in arteries leading to the lungs, or fluid buildup around the lungs. Both of which could, if left untreated, cause ruptured vessels and blood could expel when the patient coughs."

"Interesting," Seleste mused. Studying his notes intently, she felt something was missing. Something she couldn't quite grasp yet, but her cunning would. "Would you be able to arrange a meeting for me with your father? Perhaps to discuss the girls' progress?"

"I'm certain I could. What are you thinking?"

"I'm not quite ready to say for sure, but I think I might have a way to help him if what you're saying is correct."

Moonlight seeped in through the open window, curtains fluttering in the breeze and giving Cal's milky skin a pink glow. Seleste watched his chest rise and fall with each breath, relishing every moment with him.

Summer would be at its end in a fortnight, the Bardots returning to Merveille or their estate in Bellvary, and Seleste would return to her isle to prepare for the Autumnal Equinox.

Perhaps she truly could return with them to the city and be the girls' governess. Lady Della would never approve, but if they could help the earl get better, perhaps his wishes could override his wife's trepidation. Seleste wouldn't be able to stay there forever, perpetually young and hiding her magic in such a populated place, but they could have more time. Some, at least.

She bent to plant the whisper of a kiss on Cal's forehead and rose to collect her charcoal pencil and notebook. As soon as the sun rose, they would need to begin collecting what was necessary for the earl's remedy. Despite still needing to meet with him to be fully certain, she was growing more sure with each passing moment. Having everything prepared already would save that much more time.

Charcoal and notebook in hand, she sat on the edge of the bed, looking over her shoulder at Cal's sleeping form again. She'd have to wake him soon, so he could return to his chalet before one of the maids showed up with his morning tea.

Something orange caught her eye and she turned to look in her lap, only to find Litha fluttering down to land on her wrist. "Hullo, sweeting," she cooed at the butterfly cloaked in magic only she could see through. But Litha seemed agitated, her wings opening and closing in distress. "What is it?" Her antennas curled in and out, out of time with the movement of her wings. "Litha, tell me what's the matter."

The great monarch lifted from Seleste's arm, gliding over to the armoire. She hovered there until Seleste opened it, eyeing the butterfly.

"What is it?"

Just as she had done before, Litha came to rest on the bag concealing the Grimoire. An uneasiness that began at the crown of her head poured down over Seleste's shoulders, settling in her stomach. Aggie might have had cause to tremble before the ancient Book, but Seleste never had. Neither had Litha. But there was an unseen fissure in the air. A rift in peace that only the most intuitive of souls could sense. Something wasn't right.

She snuck a look over her shoulder at Cal. He was still sound asleep, emitting the slightest of snores.

" Lumiére ."

Her golden orb of light blinked to life within the armoire, and Seleste climbed in, letting the door hide her from the view of the bed, just in case Cal awoke. Litha settled on her shoulder, and Seleste pulled out the Grimoire. With a deep, settling breath, she opened it.

Seleste didn't know what she'd expected, but it was not the harsh, clipped handwriting of Talan. No golden script dotted with shimmering butterflies from Monarch. There, scratched into the parchment in angry black letters, was more to her Order.

Prepare the following potion for the future Earl of Bellvary, and ensure its contents are consumed in their entirety.

Seleste's stomach soured at the sight of the ingredient list.

Cayenne

Black pepper

Rue

Crushed Tourmaline

Orange oil

Coriander

Blood of a weasel

Bone of a raven

"Seleste?" Cal's raspy voice called out, her orb of light instantly blinking out. She snapped the Grimoire shut, hiding it within the armoire and climbing out, her heart in her throat.