Page 38 of Song of the Hell Witch

Puck, on edge ever since Prudence had spotted the scar on his chest, frowned at them. “Depends on what you want.”

“I’d like to inquire how you came to know of the Great Borealis. Specifically, how you knew to come here to search for Lady Florence.”

Ah, so that’s what this is. A hunt for information.

Prudence took a bite of her green beans, the combination of butter and salt a dream on her tongue. She didn’t want to snitch on the apothecary, but she was concerned that if she didn’t tell Arcadie the truth, they might turn them out into the city, and that wouldn’t do at all.

“We were in a shop in Hammersmouth,” she said, deciding to go with a half-truth. “The owner of the place noticed Beatrice was sick. Based on the symptoms, she guessed it was Subversal and told us if we wanted proper help, we needed to come here. That we’d find our answers at this hotel.”

Across the table, Puck’s mouth twitched into a smile. Almost like he was proud—or even surprised.

He really thinks you’d rat out a woman who helped his daughter.

She stabbed her steak a bit too aggressively and sawed at the meat with her knife, refusing to meet his eye.

If Arcadie noticed the tension, they didn’t say anything. But they kept their hands in their lap, their eyes fixed on Prudence. “And the Ladies? How is it you came to know about them?”

“I met their vampiress.”

“Hetty?” Arcadie asked.

“Yes, Hetty. I met her in Belacanto a few years back, and she gave me …” But she realized she didn’t have the card on her. How was she supposed to …

Reaching into his pocket with his clumsy, tired fingers, Puck fished out the card and held it out to Arcadie.

“This,” he finished for her. “Which I guess Pru here took as an invitation. I heard about them through one of my friends in Talonsbury. She said a few vagabond women helped her son back when he was struggling with seizures and that the vagabonds got their medicines from a group called the Ladies of Leora up in the Fangs.”

She wasn’t sure what she was feeling, if it was anger, relief, or something in between.

So he did have a reason to come north after all.

Which meant his attempt to send her away that night, his whole act about how he couldn’t take her because he had to protect Bea, had all been what? A lie? “You never told me that.”

His shoulders made a pathetic attempt at a shrug. “You never asked.”

“And how was I supposed to know you knew? The entire time I’m sitting in your shop, begging you to take me to the mountains, and you’re telling me you can’t, that it would endanger your daughter’s life!”

“And it did .” It was his turn to stab his steak.

He missed on his first attempt, and then, enraged by his body’s sluggishness, he jabbed the utensil into the center of the meat.

“Am I glad I did it? Sure. But did I want to be forced out of my home? Did I want to become a fugitive in a city where people depend on me? No, Pru. That I did for you.”

Her heart seized. There was nothing to say, nothing to do except sit there in mortifying silence.

Because he was right. She’d used him. Just like she’d used Frederick.

Just like she’d used him all those years ago, when she’d needed a place to stay and someone , a person to love her and care for her and make her feel like she wasn’t alone in the world.

Arcadie pushed back from the table. “Perhaps I should—”

“No, it’s …” Puck held up a hand, then immediately let it slump to the table.

He took a few shallow breaths, like he was running out of air.

Her pulse slowed, and the room spun around her.

“Sorry, Arcadie. What you’ve done for us here, it’s incredible.

Probably the best dinner I’ve ever had. Tell your cook they’re a hell of a talent. ”

Arcadie beamed, and Prudence was reminded once again of Puck’s unique charm, his ability to make people feel seen, appreciated. Important.

“I don’t want to ruin the evening just ’cause I’m …

” Puck stopped, and his gaze found hers again.

This time, she didn’t look away. “The thing is, there are old wounds here. With me, anyway. And sometimes, when I scratch at them a certain way …” He didn’t blink as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I’m sorry.”

The stone that so often called up tears pushed into her throat.

She grabbed the wineglass and took a gulp, the velvet-smooth texture gentle enough to push it down into her stomach, where it settled like lead.

She poured another glass immediately, determined to dissolve it, wash it out of her system by wiping the memory from her mind.

For a while, the conversation drifted toward pleasantries.

Arcadie asked Puck about Beatrice, how old she was, what kind of mischief she liked to get into.

Prudence discovered she had a mouth even fouler than her father’s and that she liked to write stories, dark stories about monsters who punished wicked men and ghosts who rose from their graves to haunt those who had tormented them in life.

“She sounds utterly delightful,” Arcadie said, evidently content to sip wine without touching their plate. “And do you find being a father comes easy to you, or do you struggle with it?”

Prudence perked up at the question, curious about his answer.

Puck finished his bite of steak and set his fork down.

“Think it depends on the day, really. Most of the time, I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.

” He shifted in his seat, then went still, like the effort to move was too much.

“I think it will do Bea good, spending time with women. They’ll understand her better.

Know how her gift works. Lightbringer knows I can’t be all that helpful, in that area at least.”

“You mean Mother knows,” Arcadie corrected him. “If you’re to spend time with the Ladies, you’ll want to shift the focus of your faith. They believe in the Dark Mother, much like the Druids before them.”

“What exactly is it these Ladies of Leora do ?” Prudence asked, taking another swig of wine.

“Oh, a variety of things,” Arcadie replied.

“They typically work in rotations, so each Lady will head to a province for half a season or so. They visit the cities, popping into eateries, brothels, sometimes washhouses or factories, places where they’re likely to run across women.

Plenty of them have been heading to the various protests around Leora. ”

“And when they get there?” Prudence asked, growing bolder as the wine hummed in her veins. She finished her second glass, then poured a third, still feeling the sting of Puck’s words and the weight of his apology. “Do they just prance around each city announcing they’re Hell Witches?”

The eye not obscured by the monocle widened in shock.

“Mother’s mercy, absolutely not. But they have ways of discovering when women are in trouble.

When they might need some assistance . A place to stay, perhaps.

Or, if their husband or lover’s abusing them …

a more permanent solution to their problems.”

“So they’re assassins,” Prudence translated.

“Not always.”

“But sometimes?” Puck asked, mouth full of roll. He swallowed before he asked the next question. “Are they trained to be assassins?” She could hear the fear in it, a slight tremor quaking through his words.

“That, I’m afraid, you’ll have to ask them,” Arcadie said, crossing one leg over the other. “I’m not privy to the inner workings of the Stormlash hamlet. All I know is there are many women in Leora who need the Ladies’ help. And I will do whatever I can to make sure they get it.”

“Why?” Prudence blurted out before she could pull it back. After days without eating a proper meal and three glasses of incredibly strong wine, her tongue was loose, her thoughts hazy. “Sorry, I meant … are you in love with one of them or something? Do you owe them your life?”

“I don’t owe them .” The lines in Arcadie’s face were taut, and there was a darkness swimming in the center of their eyes.

A darkness that spoke of a loss as raw as the one that forced talons to burst from her nail beds and wings from her back.

“But I do owe someone.” They set their napkin down beside their still-full plate and stood, folding their hands in front of them.

“Anyway, I have asked what I wanted to ask, I have served you both in the manner I wished. Now I will leave you to your rest.”

“Arcadie, please.” Idiot, idiot, idiot, Prudence’s mind pulsed. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You did nothing, Miss Merriweather,” they promised, though that obviously wasn’t true.

“But there are guests who may need me and last-minute things I must do before I retire for the night, so … I do hope you both enjoy the rest of your meal. Mr. Reed, will you be needing assistance back to your room?”

Puck swallowed his mouthful of potatoes and shook his head. “I think Pru can manage. Thank you, though. For everything.”

“Of course. I will see you both in the morning.”

And with that, they floated out of the room, leaving Prudence alone with Puck.

Quiet lingered between the two of them, until the wine and food in Prudence’s stomach began to bubble.

Finally, Puck let out a triumphant grunt as he finished his last piece of steak. “Think maybe that’s what I needed. Hunk of meat, bit of liquid courage, and I’m feeling …” He tilted his head side to side. “Halfway like myself?”

“Good for you.” Prudence fiddled with her last green bean but didn’t dare eat it.

“Come on, Spitfire. Don’t sour on me now.”

“Oh, because this meal’s been so pleasant up to this point?”

He set his fork down on his plate, silver scraping against silver. Prudence put her napkin down, readying herself to get up from the table. She was tired, and if they were going to set out for Stormlash tomorrow, they probably needed to—

“Bar fight.”

She shook her head, confused. This was why she didn’t drink often—it made her too slow, too muddled. “What?”

“You asked about the scar.” He held the wineglass slack in his hand, staring down into its center, like he’d find the answer to some long-buried secret in its burgundy depths.

“It was a bar fight. Few weeks after you left, there was this guy running his mouth about Mari. I really wanted to hit something, you know, knock someone’s teeth in.

So I hit him. And he hit me. And I hit him.

And then he stabbed me in the shoulder.”

Her entire body lit up with a misplaced, all-too-late worry. She tried to reach across the table before she saw there was no hand to grab—and the distance was too great anyway. “Are you … I mean, you’re obviously … but still, are you …”

He smirked at her. “Yes, I’m okay. Now. Twinges a bit when it rains and when it gets cold, but other than that, I’m the picture of health.”

“What happened to the guy?”

“No, no, it’s my turn now.” He set down his glass.

“What made you come back?” His eyes shrank into scathing slits.

She knew it was the drink, that it made everything feel far more serious than it was, but she swore he was trying to see right through her, straight down into her soul. “Why did you come back to Leora?”

Every ounce of blood in her body pooled in her feet. She felt herself go cold, felt the sweat bead along the back of her neck. She wasn’t in her right mind to do this. Not here. Not yet .

“You know why,” she said, surprised at how easy the words came.

Drunk and exhausted, she believed herself a fine liar indeed.

“I got word the new Duke of Talonsbury was in want of a wife. That he had a certain taste for Hell Witches.” Perhaps it came so effortlessly because, for the last two years, she’d told herself it was the truth until she’d almost believed it.

“And I saw it. The life I wanted. Mine for the taking.”

His face was blank, but his right eye twitched, one of his old tells. He was angry. No. Not angry. Hurt. All over again. “And before you heard that, you never thought of coming home? Not once?”

She took a deep, calming breath. She wasn’t ready for the whole truth. But you don’t have to lie to him either. “There was a war on. Even if I’d wanted to, I wouldn’t have been able to get back.”

She could see it, the question burning at his center: And did you want to?

But instead of asking, he closed his eyes and wiped his hands down his face. “It’s late.”

“It is,” she said, voice barely louder than a whisper.

“And we’ve got a long journey ahead of us.”

“We do.”

He lifted his head and looked up at her. “Think we should get some sleep, don’t you?”

All she could do was nod.

She helped him back to the room, and while it took some fighting and some shoving, she finally got him to agree to take the fucking bed.

Pulling on her nightgown, she thought of Arcadie offering her a room of her own and how she’d refused them.

She’d figured Puck might need more help, that he’d still be weak and barely breathing.

Now, as she settled into the armchair for the second night in a row, she cursed herself.

“There is room over here, you know.” Puck’s tired voice broke through the dark. He was already caught somewhere between sleeping and waking, headed out to the dream-filled sea , as her mother used to say. “I could put a pillow between us.”

And because it was quite a hike between Welling and Stormlash, because her bones felt twice as heavy and her head ached with wine and unshed tears, she shuffled over to the other side of the bed. He was already asleep by the time she got there, and the pillow felt pointless.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to no one at all, then tucked in beside him. She kept her back to him, staring at the crack under the door until an amber line burned bright behind her eyelids.

Then, for the first time in twelve years, Prudence fell asleep with Puck’s warmth at her back, his scent wrapping around her, kindling to life pieces of her long gone cold.