Seleste, Then

ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY YEARS AGO

W aves lapped at her ankles as Seleste pulled seaweed from Mer Noir, nestling it into the basket on her back, next to the kelp and seashells.

"There we have it," she murmured to Litha. "Once we collect a bit of samphire, we'll be all set."

She walked back to the shore, sand sticking to her feet and the wet hem of her yellow sarong. It felt wonderful to be back on her isle for the last fortnight of Summer, before meeting her Sisters at Aggie's macabre cottage for the Equinox.

Her Order had been much simpler this year: visit the last remaining g?thi in Seagovia, and keep him company.

Though it had been difficult growing to adore a gentle old man who devoted his life to serving Hespa and then leaving him, it had been a great learning experience for her.

The Church no longer recognised g?this as necessary, not with The Order moving in to seize control and use their own magicless magi and priests, but what she'd learned from her stubborn, wizened friend reminded her of the teachings of her father. Kindness, love, strength, and devotion. Most days they'd spent sitting outside his parsonage, trading stories.

G?thi Griswald especially adored Seleste's tales of sleuthing. She smiled to herself, thinking of his grizzled laugh and twinkling eyes as she picked samphire from between two rocks along the beach, tucking the little succulent in her basket.

When she'd left Whitehall, and Cal, that night the previous Summer, her cunning had felt damaged beyond repair.

It took some time for her to realise it was grief, pushing everything else away. Though she knew grief well, it hadn't wounded her so deeply since her parents died and she'd been separated from her Sisters.

Last Autumn, she'd needed her Sisters more than ever before, but they were forbidden from seeing one another and she'd faced too much heartache to risk something permanently separating them for her disobedience.

Desperate to heal and occupy her cavernous mind, Seleste had begun a quiet business of sorts. Once every fortnight, she sailed her small boat inland to Bowery. There, she would browse the shops and observe, and check her post box. It had taken some time, but the missives had begun to arrive in answer to her adverts in droves.