Page 28 of Song of the Hell Witch

For a while, Puck just stared at her, like if he looked hard enough he’d be able to kill the toxin with his mind.

Sometimes, Prudence wondered if he was steeling himself for when she woke.

She hadn’t experienced any hallucinations yet, but whenever she opened her eyes, she glared at Puck, like he was a villain who’d stolen everything from her.

It never lasted long, but still, it was undeniable. She was angry about something.

With a sigh, he tore off another piece of sweetcoil. “Distract me.”

It had become a nightly ritual: He spiraled into worry, Prudence told him a story about her adventures in Belacanto, a fair trade-off for his rescuing her from her nightmare back in Hammersmouth.

“I once met the captain of a ship called Bonnie’s Heart .

” She plucked off another piece of sweetcoil and popped it into her mouth, then told him of Captain Toombs, fierce and black bearded, with tattoos that ran from the top of his neck all the way to his ankles.

“He was a mural of every sea creature you can imagine. And he swore he’d seen them all at least once. ”

She talked about his ship, its indigo sails decorated with gold foil moons. “He said he wanted people to stare in wonder as their deaths barreled toward them.”

And she told him how he’d asked her to come to sea with him. How tempting it was, to become a pirate princess. “But, romantic as it sounds, I’m fairly certain life aboard a ship is mind-numbingly dull.”

“Duller than afternoons in parlor rooms?” Puck asked.

“Can’t die of scurvy in a parlor room.”

He swallowed the last of the sweetcoil. “He was a customer?”

Her pulse was a thunderous rush in her ears. She’d been waiting for this conversation for a while, since they’d arrived at the Honey Pot House.

Standish had first asked her to work at Madame Sybil’s brothel when she was sixteen. He offered her an even split of the profits, more money than she’d ever seen in her life. Money to travel. To live. To escape one day.

As much as she’d enjoyed Puck’s company, as much as she’d loved him, she’d loved herself more.

Puck had promised he wouldn’t get jealous, that it wouldn’t change anything between them.

But the day she started working, he began to look at her differently. Touch her differently, like her skin scalded his hands, like she was corrupted and he was afraid she’d corrupt him too.

“He was a client, yes.” Shame burned in her cheeks, a reflex more than anything else.

There was no reason to be ashamed of the life she’d led, either in Talonsbury or in Belacanto.

The men and women she’d met at the brothel in Vivichi gave her lessons in etiquette, explained how to live a refined life.

She’d saved enough money to buy satin gowns and opal necklaces, to dress like a noblewoman.

She’d been careful. And still the pillars of a faith weaponized against desire impaled her with guilt and embarrassment. “He paid well too.”

She waited for the comment that would sink between her ribs and throb the rest of the day. And she was ready with her comeback: I heard you toured many a brothel after I left. What’s worse, a woman making a living as best she can or a man drowning his loneliness in—

“Always thought I’d make a good pirate,” Puck said as he scooted closer to Bea.

Caught off guard by his sudden shift, she squinted at him, confused. “What?”

“Me. A pirate. I’ve got the smuggling part down; all I need’s a ship and a crew.”

She laughed at him. “And a novel’s worth of naval knowledge.”

“I’m a quick study.”

“What would Beatrice do?”

“First mate, obviously.” But he stopped, like letting himself talk about her future, even a completely imaginary one, was too much.

A sheen of sweat glistened on her face and neck, and her nightgown, already soiled and stinking, stuck to her skin.

Her veins were still a translucent blue thanks to the tea, but Prudence knew that wouldn’t last. The poison was eager to finish its work.

“You think it’s too late to save her?”

“There’s no way to know.” Prudence looked at his hand, resting on the top of his knee, waiting to be held. She didn’t move. “But maybe someone at this Borealis place will have some answers for us.”

He clenched his jaw and stared out across the fields of heather, rolling on for miles on either side of the Whip. The lavender shone bright despite the darkness, and golden fireflies flitted over the blooms.

“Hey.” There was no help for it, not when he looked like that, with his face all creased and tight. She took his hand, and he glanced up at her with drowning eyes. “There’s still time, okay? Don’t go giving up before you have to.”

He sniffed, nodded, then drew his hand out of her reach, cradling it to his chest. “You’re right. I’m just …” His smile was tired, thin. “You’re right.”

Bea moaned in her sleep, and Puck took her into his arms, guiding her head onto his chest. He rested his own against the lip of the stern and trailed his fingers through her hair, like he was trying to commit all of her to memory.

Prudence wanted to give him something. Something that might distract him again, pull his attention away from the utter destruction of his family.

“I lied before.”

He turned to look at her, one auburn brow cocked high. “Which time?”

Another dig. She was quite positive he was never going to forgive her. But she reached up, thumbing the ruby pendant. “Back at the estate. You asked about this. And I told you I found it at the bottom of a trunk.”

He blinked at her and said nothing.

“The truth is, I never took it off. Not in Belacanto. Not when I came back. The only reason I didn’t notice it was gone was because it feels like a part of me.

Like it’s always there. Which means I should’ve noticed, I guess.

But once you showed me you had it, I felt naked. Wrong. Like there was a piece missing.”

His nostrils flared, and his lips pressed into a frown. “Why are you telling me this?”

She let the pendant go, dropping her hand into her lap. “I just … wanted you to know.”

“Okay. But why?”

Her pulse quickened. She’d expected him to grin. Maybe tease her, not glare at her like she’d done something wrong. “I don’t know, it felt like you should know. That I … I still …”

“Still what? Think about the bloke you left behind from time to time? Look back on your tough childhood and go Look how far I’ve come ?”

“No, that I …” But her mouth went dry. The pendant’s gold backing stung in the cold night air as the splinter of his words drove deep into the sinews of her heart.

She’d thought perhaps his heart had finally started to thaw, that in these last few days together he’d started to see her as someone he could care about again, maybe even forgive.

It bubbled up inside her, the need to tell him everything. And mixed with it was another feeling, the familiar desire to take off into the night sky and fly far, far away—from Puck. From the boat. From the world itself.

He was never going to forgive her. She’d hurt him too much, torn apart the tender thing that had once bound them together. And she needed to stop pretending she was ever going to get it back.

Sniffing, she gave him a stiff nod and cleared her throat. “I’m going to go see if Mari needs a break.”

When they reached the small village of Chistery, only a few leagues away from Welling, Mari said they should dock. This close to their destination, Pru wanted to keep going, and Puck looked like he was fixing to come out of his skin with worry.

“There’s gonna be a ton of eyes in a big city like Welling,” Mari pushed back as they both took turns cursing at her.

“And sure, maybe we’re way ahead of the rumors, but what if we’re not?

What if there’s more of those posters plastered up here?

Better to know now before we go strolling through Leora’s second-biggest city, don’t you think? ”

“There’s no time , Mari,” Puck barked.

“You think there’s gonna be time if we get caught by Welling’s City Watch?” Mari barked back.

“I …” Puck hung his head. He looked at Bea, who blinked at him and gave him a shrug. Pru marveled at the fight left in her and wondered exactly how much of a handful she was when she was healthy. If she was anything like her father, she was quite the troublemaker. “Fair fucking point. Let’s go.”

They decided it was best if Pru waited in the boat with Bea while Puck and Mari went ashore to investigate.

For the first hour, she struggled with how to break the uneasy silence that had settled between them.

Obviously, Bea couldn’t say anything, but Pru couldn’t stand sitting there while the river lapped at the sides of the boat.

She didn’t want the girl to think she pitied her.

For reasons surpassing understanding, she wanted her to know they could be friends.

She was relieved when, finally, Bea glanced at her, and while she still looked weak, on the verge of collapse even, her eyes were bright, her smile wide and genuine.

“Your father loves you very much,” Pru said. With a deep breath, Bea nodded, though she still wore that peculiar look on her face, the one that betrayed an inner fury. “But you’re mad at him.”

Another nod. Then, without warning, Bea’s lips trembled and her eyes welled. The tears fell like tiny glass beads down her pale cheeks, and Pru lurched forward, taking hold of the girl’s hands. They were cold as the river water.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Oi!” Puck’s voice cut across the docks, and as Pru and Bea both turned, the girl dried her eyes on the cusp of her shirtsleeves. Her cheeks were still pink, but that easily could have been from the bite in the air.

As they approached, Pru spotted the bundle of clothes in Puck’s hands—and the pity etched in the lines around Mari’s mouth and eyes.

“The posters are everywhere.” Puck’s breath misted in front of him. “And yeah, some of them are just as shitty as the ones we saw in Colony, but some …”

“Are pretty fucking spot-on,” Mari finished for him. Then, pursing her lips, she drew a pair of shears out from the pocket of her skirts. “Luckily, we’ve both still got some skill when it comes to thievery, which means …”

Puck climbed into the boat first, and as it began to tip toward the river, he sat down in front of Pru and pressed the clothes into her lap. “I nicked them off a clothesline, so I’ve got no idea if they’ll fit, but …”

Pru picked through the pile: a pair of black trousers, patched at the knee. A white linen shirt, stained with what could have been soot or dirt. Men’s clothing, snatched from a Groundling’s home no doubt.

Mari stepped into the boat, taking the space beside Puck. Her knees touched Pru’s, the shears in her hand glinting in the setting sun. Understanding shuddered through her. “You’re not saying …”

Mari nodded once, and the pain on her face betrayed old scars.

She knew what it was to walk around in a skin that did not feel like her own.

To cover up everything that she was, if only to survive.

It wasn’t the same. Pru knew it wasn’t the same.

And yet the kindness in Mari’s eyes gave her permission to feel the ache blooming in her chest, the crawling under her skin at the thought of cutting her hair away.

She twisted her fingers through her loose chestnut waves, all she had left of her mother. As a child, she’d never found herself to be remotely beautiful, all knobby knees and crooked teeth and sunken cheeks. But even as a half-starved River Rat, her hair had always made her feel like royalty.

It will grow back, she told herself. It’s to keep you safe. To make sure you get to Stormlash.

“Don’t worry,” Mari cooed, taking her hand. Dusk glowed like a flame in her eyes. “I’ll make you the most glorious man the world has ever seen.”