Page 15 of Chivalry is Not Dead

Grandmother reaches over to pat my hand with her frail one. Her nails are all painted a perfect shade of fire-engine red and she has a ring on almost every finger—a stark juxtaposition to her paper-thin, wrinkled skin. “It’s not her fault, dear. You know my hearing is shit. She’s gotten used to upping her volume for me.”

Each one of the Graves women is a witch and has been for millennia, I’ve been told. Mom and Grandmother each only presented with small sparks of magic and only when emotions are extremely heightened.

I’ve only witnessed their magic a handful of times in my life, though I’ve heard the story of the night my mother was conceived and Grandmother accidentally blew out all of the windows in the house far too many times for my liking.

Their magical abilities—or lack thereof—is the reason they were so surprised when they saw I was able to maintain my magic even when I wasn’t feeling particularly… passionate.

I’m brought back to the conversation when Grandmother says, “So tell us the story from the beginning, Penny.”

Sanders and I take turns regaling them both with the tale of Halloween and the almost forty-eight hours since, ending with this morning where Sanders revealed that he manifested at our great-grandmother’s gravesite this Halloween.

“What does it mean?” I ask once we’re done. “Surely there’s a meaning, that he found me and that he feels this thread thing between us.”

Grandmother purses her lips. “I agree, Penny. There would be a meaning, especially given the reading Selene gave you. I’m just afraid I don’t know what that meaning is.”

Mom shakes her head in agreement. “I do feel like maybe I’ve read something about the thread though. Let me check the library.”

The other thing about the Graves women is that we have passed down ancient texts from generation to generation. I don’t know why this didn’t occur to me before—if there’s an answer to our predicament, it’ll be in one of those texts.

I pop up out of my seat following Mom. After taking a few steps, I realize maybe I should have Sanders come along. When I turn to tell him as much, he’s already up, helping Grandmother into her wheelchair and that thread tugs just a bit more in my chest.

He feels it too because his head snaps up, which is my cue to pretend like it never happened and run like a coward after my mom. “Do you really think the answer is in here?” I ask when I get to her.

“It has to be,” she replies. “Graves women know all.”

Mulieres graves omnia sciunt. Our family motto. Translated it means “dignified women know everything,” but some centuries ago a great-great-I don’t know how many times great-grandmother decided Graves should be the surname of everyone in our line.

I think she was probably a bit full of herself.

I look around the room. Old. Dusty. Familiar.

“Let’s get started.”

9

What would a world look like were I to have a

chance to actually live in it?

It takes us two weeks of nearly full-time researching to find an answer.

Well, a half-answer. A maybe-answer.

Sanders and I have fallen into somewhat of a routine over the last few weeks. He wakes up and does some sort of knightly exercise routine in the living room—this involves lots of complicated sword movements and, once, an explosion of feathers when he accidentally slashed through a pillow. I sleep in and pretend like I don’t sneak peeks of his glistening abs post workout while I make us coffee and breakfast.

Sanders has successfully taste-tested fifteen different cereals. So far, the clear winner is Reese’s Puffs with Cinnamon Toast Crunch coming in a close second.

We eat breakfast and discuss any new findings from our research, occasionally venturing into conversations about our personal lives. I learn that Sanders had four younger sisters and was the first knight from his small village in over a century. He asks thoughtful questions about growing up as an only child in a matriarchal family.

The string grows tauter.

I continue to ignore it.

After breakfast and coffee, we walk to my family home and pick up where we left off the day before in our readings.

We eat lunch and dinner with my mom and grandmother before heading back home where I attempt to get some sewing done before going to sleep. Fortunately or unfortunately, the pillow wall between us is still firmly intact. We haven’t cuddled again since that first day and I… crave it. But most days I’m too exhausted, and frankly too nervous, to bring it back up.

Every day is the same, until today. The four of us are quietly reading when Grandmother suddenly shouts, “Solstice!”