by Ophelia Silk
“No.” Jane looked down to the flowers at her feet. They were purple, the same color as the petals Adelaide had swept into her apron. “Wicked people are cruel for cruelty’s sake. I don’t think that’s you. I don’t think you meant it.”
“I didn’t,” Adelaide said. “Except I did.” Her face worked for a moment, and Jane got the sense that she was struggling to put her thoughts into words. “I didn’t want to hurt her, or frighten her, surely. I… I wasn’t always like this, you know. But I’m so used to cruelty, to judgement. Perhaps sometimes, I see it when it isn’t there. And perhaps sometimes, I think it’s easier to beat people to it, to lash out before they can do so to me.”
Jane dared to walk forward, putting a hand on Adelaide’s arm. The woman didn’t even seem to notice. “You were acting out of fear, just as Eloise was.”
Adelaide looked out at the dark forest, beyond their circle of sun. “That doesn’t make it alright. How I treated that girl… How I treated you.”
Jane’s first instinct was to brush it off, to demure. But that wasn’t what Adelaide needed. Besides, hadn’t Jane been judging? Hadn’t a thin veneer of politeness been all that had stopped her from calling Adelaide all sorts of horrible things?
“Maybe we can both do better,” Jane said, her voice soft.
Finally, Adelaide turned her gaze to Jane. “Better?”
Jane dared to meet Adelaide’s dark eyes. “You can be quite kind… when you forget to be cold.”
Surprise flooded Adelaide’s features, but then she barked a laugh. “And you can be quite honest, when you forget to be polite.”
Jane smiled—something genuine, not the forced polite smiles she gave to her family, to William. She’d been smiling more lately, it seemed, and far less calculated. “Well, it’s decided then,” she said. “I can try to be more honest, and you can try to be more kind.”
Adelaide laughed again, but this time it was softer, more breath than bark. Her eyes were soft, too. For such dark eyes, they could be rich and luxurious as velvet. They were no less captivating for that, either.
“Alright, then,” Adelaide said. And then there was only silence between them, comfortable but somehow charged. Jane became aware, in a gradual sort of way, that her hand was still on Adelaide’s arm. It would have been so easy for her to move it, equally easy for the witch to step away. But neither of them did.
And maybe Jane didn’t want to.
It was shock more than discomfort from the contact that made her draw her hand away. “So, about those flowers.”
Adelaide blinked, looking down at the blooms in her own hands. “Right. I think it should probably be one of these. Hold out your hands.”
Jane did so, cupping them together, and Adelaide poured the flowers into them. They were mostly small, soft flowers, in pastels or creams. Jane liked the silky feel of the petals, and the sweet scent that drifted up from them. She closed her eyes to focus on them better.
“That’s what I meant to have you do next,” Adelaide said. “You’re a natural.” Her voice was amused, nearly teasing, but it utterly lacked the edge that Jane might have heard in it a few days ago. Jane giggled, and she thought she heard Adelaide breathe a laugh before speaking. “Stay just like that.”
There was a sound of shifting, and then the air around them changed. It was subtle, the way it suddenly seemed to hold weight against her skin. It wasn’t unpleasant, necessarily, even as Jane’s pulse seemed to quicken just slightly, anticipation wiggling at the base of her spine.
“Elvare,” Adelaide said, gentle. Her voice echoed with the power of the Old Word. It no longer frightened Jane, though, not when it merely made the sunlight sit warm against her shoulders, play against the backs of her eyelids. “Nucti.”
The flowers in Jane’s hands tingled, slipping against each other. It seemed like she could feel them shrinking, or dissolving, or fading away into sand. A rather foolish part of her wished that she could open her eyes and see what the magic was doing.
Finally, Adelaide hummed. “Well. That isn’t the one I was expecting.”
Jane cracked open an eye. Only one flower remained in her hand—the most curious white bloom that she’d ever seen. The petals seemed almost wooly, with small hairs growing from them. “What is it?”
“Edelweiss,” Adelaide said. “A noble flower. A flower for the devoted and the courageous.”
Heat rushed to Jane’s face. “You’re right. It doesn’t suit me.”
“I didn’t say that,” Adelaide said hurriedly. Silence stretched between them, not awkward but certainly hovering on the edge of that. Adelaide sighed. “I put it in your hand for a reason, you know. I thought it was at least a possibility. After how you treated Eloise…”
Jane studied the flower, mostly because she didn’t know what to make of this. She’d been complimented for many things. Her beauty, her manners. Never anything as meaningful as this. “What does your flower mean?”
“Hm?”
“The hydrangea. That’s what those petals were, weren’t they?”
“Oh. Yes.” Adelaide’s gaze flickered toward the patch of large purple flowers. “Those flowers are for only the most powerful witches.”
“Oh,” Jane replied, fascinated.
“Ones with intelligence and cunning.”
“I see.”
“Not to mention endless patience, charm…” Adelaide raised an eyebrow, grinning. “And modesty, of course.”
Jane burst into giggles. A hand twitched up to cover her mouth, but it was still holding the edelweiss. She let it drop back to her side. She didn’t have to hide her laughter from Adelaide. “You’re teasing me.”
“Oh, good. You caught on.” Adelaide seemed almost pleased with herself.
“So, what do the hydrangeas mean?”
Adelaide spread her hands wide. “I must retain some of my mystery, mustn’t I?” Without further preamble, she swept back toward the house. “Enjoy the garden, Jane.”
And then Jane was alone, holding her white flower in the small patch of sunlight.
CHAPTER TEN
A Loosened Tongue
JANE PREPARED A meal she was very proud of that night—an elegant dish with potatoes and vegetables, being a bit more daring with the seasonings she didn’t recognize after jokingly confirming that Adelaide didn’t store poison beside her rosemary and thyme. The resulting food was delicious, filling her with pride.
The mood between her and Adelaide was jovial and light—especially when Adelaide produced a bottle of wine from her cabinet. “If I’m going to try to be kinder, this seems like a good way to start,” she said.
“You mean because you’ll be sharing, or because you’re cheerier when you’re drunk?” Jane giggled.
Adelaide flashed her a grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
The more Jane drank of the sweet wine, the easier conversation came between them. But, truly, conversation was never difficult. Jane certainly never would have made that quip about being a cheery drunk with anyone else.
A conversation without a script had always terrified Jane. But that was because she was afraid of the consequences that the wrong words might have brought—one mistake could ruin her reputation with the entire town. But the consequences of her words here would never pass beyond the front door. It was freeing.
Maybe that was why she said what she did, after dinner. “I can’t imagine it being like this with anyone else.”
Adelaide looked up from where she’d been staring into the fire, absently stroking Cabula’s fur. “Hm?”
“Well…” She trailed off, unable to figure out how to put her thoughts into words, even though she wanted to. Her head swam pleasantly, blood buzzing through her veins. It made her want to say all sorts of things. “It’s just been different, staying here with you. I never imagined I could feel so comfortable around another person.”
Adelaide laughed. “Come now.”
“It’s true!” Jane sat up from her position on the floor, and the
room seemed to keep moving even when she stopped. She braced her hands on the armrest of Adelaide’s chair. “Whenever I think of sharing a house with William, it makes me feel awful. Nothing, nothing like this.”
Adelaide’s eyebrows climbed up her forehead, a grin spreading across her face. Jane honestly couldn’t figure out why she looked so smug until she spoke. “Who is William?”
“Oh.” Jane sunk back down to the floor, trying to cling to the pleasant feelings the wine brought as she scratched the top of Cabula’s head. “He’s no one.”
Adelaide laughed. “Certainly. A no one you’ve thought about living with.” She reached over, tilting Jane’s face up with a single fingertip beneath her chin. “Jane. You said you’d try to be more honest.”
A shiver rolled through Jane’s frame, and she was unsure if it came from the wine, the use of her name, or the skin-on-skin contact, however small. “So I did.” And a part of her wanted to be honest, here and now, here with Adelaide. She looked into the fire. “William is the man who wants to marry me.”
“I take it you’re less than enthused about the idea,” Adelaide said, her voice dry.
“I should want to marry him.” Jane sighed. “He’s polite, well-off, a merchant. And quite handsome, too, everyone says so. I should count myself lucky to have caught his eye. I’d be able to live in comfort for the rest of my days, if I married him.”
“But…”
“But I feel nothing for him!” It came out in a rush, almost a shout. Something in Jane’s chest seemed to loosen. She hadn’t guessed how good it would feel, to admit that out loud. She continued on, gaining steam. “Nothing good, anyway. We talk and it feels as though we’re just actors exchanging lines on a stage. He compliments my beauty and it makes me want to vanish. He calls upon me and I count the hours until I can leave. He kisses the back of my hand and it makes my skin crawl.” She shook her head. “I can’t imagine marrying him, spending the rest of my life sleeping beside him, having to talk to him and touch him every day. I think something must be wrong with me.”
The final admission came quieter than the rest. She chanced a glance at Adelaide’s expression. There was amusement there, but it wasn’t cruel—it was, in fact, barely masking a concern so poignant that it made Jane ache.
“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you,” Adelaide said, her voice soft.
Jane drew her knees to her chest. She felt nervous and calm, all at once. And more than a little drunk. “Thank you.”
They sat in silence for a minute, listening to the crackling of the fire and the rumble of Cabula’s purr. Jane let her distress melt away into the gentle hum of the drink.
And then, Adelaide spoke. “Have you considered that you might not be interested in men?”
She might have asked if Jane sometimes considered walking naked through the market. “What?”
Adelaide raised an eyebrow, a sardonic smile on her lips. “It just seems a possibility—since you’re so repulsed by the idea of marrying one. It’s not uncommon, you know. For women not to desire men.”
“Who do they desire, then?”
“It depends. Some don’t desire anyone at all.” Adelaide leaned forward. The firelight seemed to play in her dark eyes, turning them amber. “Some desire women.”
Jane’s face flushed. She couldn’t look Adelaide in the eye. That gaze was far too… too something. “You…”
Adelaide hummed out a laugh. “Me? I desire all. Men, women, those who are both or neither or a mix of the two.”
Jane looked at Adelaide wonderingly. The usual sharp wit in her eyes had been dulled ever so slightly by the drink. She wondered if that was the reason she admitted this so freely, or if she simply trusted Jane. She hoped it was the latter. “Truly?”
“Would I lie?”
“No. I suppose you wouldn’t.” Jane had a thousand questions, and she was just drunk enough to ask them. “Have you ever been with a…”
“Certainly. I’ve been with mostly women, actually, if you’re interested to know.” Adelaide laughed. “They tend to be the ones to show up on my doorstep the most often, for reasons that I’m certain you’re smart enough to figure out.”
Jane flushed. It was easy to imagine a woman, drawn to the cottage for some other reason, or maybe wandering through the wood based only on longing, wanting a release that wouldn’t damage her reputation…
“What’s it like?” she asked.
“What?”
“Being with a woman. Like that.”
Adelaide blinked, surprise flitting across her features. “It is… warm. Soft. But not soft in a fragile sort of way.” She huffed a laugh. “It’s impossible to explain if you haven’t experienced it, I suppose.”
Jane looked out the window at the dark. “Have you ever been in love with a woman?”
Adelaide laughed, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “Gods above, no. I’ve never been in love with anyone. The people who come to me… aren’t looking for that.”
“What are they looking for?”
“A solution to their problems, of course. A means to an end. A tool to be used for their own pleasure and gain, nothing more.”
It wasn’t all that different from what Jane had imagined. But it no longer felt magical or clandestine, to hear Adelaide say it like that. “I don’t think I would like that very much,” Jane admitted. “Being used like that.”
“Well, it isn’t my ideal situation, either.”
“Then why do you do it?”
There was a long beat of silence. Jane turned to look at Adelaide, but the witch was staring into the fire. It made her eyes sparkle and shine with an almost glassy sheen. Her hands stroked through Cabula’s fur almost mechanically.
“I’m as human as anyone, despite what people think,” Adelaide finally said, quiet as a confession. “I’m as susceptible to loneliness as anyone. Even I crave touch, contact, connection. And to get it in that way is better than to not get it at all.”
Jane’s heart broke. She couldn’t imagine being so lonely. Except a part of her could. A part of her could understand the tone in Adelaide’s voice, had felt it reverberate in her own chest even when she was in a room full of people. She understood that longing, that need.
That understanding propelled her forward, the haziness of the drink masking any decorum that might have kept her from doing so. She wrapped her arms around Adelaide’s neck and perhaps part of her was thinking about desire but that seemed distant, secondary to understanding. She wanted the witch to know that she wasn’t alone.
Adelaide stiffened in her arms for a moment. “What are you doing?”
Jane wasn’t sure how to answer. The desire was secondary but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. Adelaide was very warm in her arms. Jane could feel the solidity of her, the hidden strength. But also a surprising softness in the swell of her chest, a gentle pressure against Jane’s arm. She thought she might have understood, a little, what Adelaide meant when she talked about being with a woman. She thought she could understand more.
“What do you think I’m doing?” she asked.
Adelaide shifted. Her arms slowly came around Jane. Her pulse pounded loud in her ears.
“I think you’ve had too much to drink,” Adelaide finally responded.
Jane didn’t think it was the drink that made her head spin, but she didn’t dare say so. “Perhaps you’re right.” She drew back slowly, part of her loath to move away from Adelaide’s warmth, to relinquish the gentle pressure of Adelaide’s breast against her shoulder. But if Adelaide truly wanted her to stay there, she probably would have given a very different answer.
“Jane,” Adelaide called, tone gentle. Jane looked to her, eyes searching Adelaide’s face beseechingly. And it seemed as though Adelaide was gazing at her with just as much wonder. It felt a little as though they were trying to have a conversation without knowing the language that the other spoke.
Then Adelaide sighed. Her hand brushed against Jane’s forehead briefly,
fingertips swiping away errant blonde locks.
“You should go to bed,” she said, gentle.
Jane stood. The world swayed just a little, but she didn’t stumble. “Very well. Goodnight, Adelaide.”
“Goodnight, Jane.”
Jane went back to her room, closing her eyes, losing herself to the swimming feeling in her head, and the lingering warmth of Adelaide’s fingertips against her brow.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A New Perspective
JANE WOKE TO a clatter, and a muffled curse that would have put even the crassest man to shame.
The light pulsed sickly through her head, and her mouth felt dry and disused. It wasn’t unbearable, but it was quite a ways from pleasant. She rubbed at her forehead, hoping that the fever wasn’t returning.
But that wasn’t it. Of course it wasn’t. She and Adelaide had shared a fine wine last night, and she had simply overindulged. It reminded her of mornings after particularly entertaining parties. The memory plucked at her, but it didn’t ache the way memories of home might have even a few days ago.
Jane lay there for a moment, remembering the night before. Her memory was not fragmented or missing the way drink could sometimes cause, but it did have a strange, dreamlike quality. Had it really been her that had admitted those things about William and marriage? Had Adelaide truly confessed to being with women? Had Jane really held her?
Yes, she had. As distant as her memories seemed, the memory of Adelaide in her arms was crystal clear. It should have made her feel embarrassed or dreadfully ashamed. But it didn’t. She rubbed her forehead again, not thinking of the headache this time but of the warmth of Adelaide’s fingertips at her brow.
There was another clatter. And another curse, this time clearly in Adelaide’s voice.
Jane stood, wincing a little. She’d fallen asleep in her dress, the same one she wore in the garden. It was streaked with dirt. Luckily, the bedsheets seemed more or less unscathed, but she still made a mental note to wash them today. She walked down the hall.
