by Ophelia Silk
Jane paused. The voices in the wind whispered, telling her that the witch was a liar, it was all a trick… but they no longer sounded as solid or real as they had a moment ago. And Adelaide was right—what were they doing in the forest? Looking for her? Surely not. They wouldn’t risk it. No one would risk their reputation for the likes of her.
Adelaide’s hands were still on her shoulders. Their warmth made Jane aware of the biting of the wind, the chill of the snowflakes melting on her exposed skin.
“It’s a trick,” Adelaide hissed, her gaze intense. Anger furrowed her brow. “A plot of the beasts to lure you out. Take one step beyond this fence without protection, and they’ll eat you alive.”
“A trick…” Jane repeated the phrase, trying to get the words to sink in. “Oh.”
Unbidden, tears sprang to her eyes. It was simply too much—being attacked, waking up, every conversation with the witch ending with her snapping or Jane feeling as though she were operating without a script. She’d never felt so lost, so confused. So scared.
So tired. A tired that went beyond the physical and seeped into her soul.
She collapsed to her knees in the cold earth, forehead pressed into the dirt. The sobs that exited her mouth felt as though they were being pulled from the very marrow of her bones. Every slight, every frustration she’d ever felt ripped through her in that moment.
Distantly, she was aware of Adelaide walking back into the house. Perhaps she’d lock the door behind her. That was what Jane’s parents would have done—had done, on more than one occasion. She doubted Adelaide had a barn for her to shiver away the night in, but curling up on the cold earth did not sound entirely unappealing. Or entirely undeserved, at any rate. She felt very low.
Then, something fell on her.
She let out an undignified noise, the sobs momentarily stunned out of her. She was suddenly warm—covered. And the scent was familiar. Reaching up, her fingertips found the fabric of her own cloak. She sat up, drawing it around her trembling shoulders.
Adelaide sat in the dirt, her own black cloak wrapped around her. She didn’t meet Jane’s watery gaze, but neither did she shrink from it. “You can hear the beasts once you’ve stayed in the forest long enough,” Adelaide said. “They don’t bother with me, since they know I won’t be fooled. I’d honestly forgotten about it.”
Something like remorse clung to Adelaide’s tone. Jane wiped at her streaming eyes. “If you feel bad about not warning me, you can say that you’re sorry.” A pause, then: “I should apologize, too. For scratching you.”
Adelaide let out a huff of a laugh, holding up her wrist. “Somehow, I’ll survive this most mortal wound.” Jane’s blunt fingernails hadn’t actually done any damage. There were a few red lines on Adelaide’s unbroken skin, already fading. It might not have even shown on someone less pale.
Jane laughed a little, in spite of herself. “Good. I suppose I’ll survive this too, then.”
“Good.” Adelaide tilted her head up toward the moonlight. “Then apologies aren’t necessary.”
Jane didn’t know what to say to that. The conversation felt unfinished, but what did it matter? It wasn’t as though she had a right to ask for anything more. The fact that Adelaide had even come back out with a cloak was more than she expected.
Silence hung thick with unsaid words, but she couldn’t be the one to break it. She’d already done too much. It wouldn’t have been proper.
Finally, Adelaide stood. “It’s freezing. Are you coming back in, or are you going to mope some more?”
Jane gave Adelaide a wary glance. “Am I… allowed back in?”
Adelaide’s eyes narrowed. “What sort of person would I be if I let you freeze out here?” She seemed almost angry, demanding an answer, and Jane flinched back.
“I…” She held up her hands, palms up. “I caused you trouble. Isn’t that what’s done?”
Something indescribable flickered across Adelaide’s face. “Has someone done that to you, Jane? Left you to sleep in the cold because you displeased them?”
Jane felt oddly shamed. Adelaide’s voice was so soft. She didn’t know what to do with it, what it meant. She looked down at her feet, and unable to find her voice, she simply nodded instead. She clasped her hands at her waist.
Adelaide sighed. A displeased sound, surely. Jane waited for her to simply walk away, leaving her to work out what she would do next.
But then Adelaide spoke, sharp and decisive.
“If that’s true, well. I’ve never cared much for how things are done.”
Jane looked up. Adelaide raised a thin eyebrow, something like her usual smug expression back on her face.
“What? Don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed.”
Jane felt a small smile creep onto her cheeks, and she hid it behind a hand. “Perhaps I did, at that.”
“Alright, then. So you know I don’t hold by whatever strange rules make you think you deserve sleeping in the snow.” She turned, her movements sharp and decisive. “Come on.”
Jane could do nothing but follow in her wake. It was true, she knew that Adelaide didn’t care for manners and etiquette. It simply didn’t occur to her that such things extended to the less savory rules she’d been living under.
The house was warm simply by virtue of being out of the wind. Jane let out a small sigh and turned to go back to her room.
“Wait.”
The sound of Adelaide’s voice stopped her in her tracks. She tensed, not sure what the witch intended to do. But she simply put a surprisingly warm hand to the bare flesh of Jane’s arm. Then she sighed, a displeased noise.
“You’re much too cold.”
“I’m sorry,” Jane said.
“Come here.” Adelaide forced Jane in front of the fire pit, stoking flames to life. Jane felt comforted by their warmth, but not by the exhaustion in Adelaide’s eyes.
“You don’t have to go through this trouble for me,” Jane said, soft.
Adelaide snorted and rolled her eyes. “It’ll be more trouble for me if you fall sick. Medicine is difficult to make.”
Jane wanted to ask why she’d bother. Why she bothered with any of this. But exhaustion pulled at her, lulled into her bones by the fire’s warmth. She slumped next to the hearth, wrapping her cloak around herself and sighing.
“Thank you,” she said. She wanted to thank Adelaide for far more than the fire. For letting her back in. For saving her in the first place. For showing kindness, if even in such a strange and distant way.
Adelaide said nothing at first. But as Jane slipped off to sleep, she thought that she heard the witch’s voice. It was impossible to tell if it were truly her, or a dream.
“You shouldn’t have to thank me.”
CHAPTER FIVE
A Strange Arrangement
JANE WOKE UP the next morning surprisingly comfortable.
Her side still burned like fire, but someone had laid out pillows for her to sleep on. Although the fire had died to embers, she’d been covered with a thick quilt.
Only one person could have helped her, of course. But even after what happened last night, it was still strange to think of the blunt witch as capable of such gentleness. Then again, some of the most polite people Jane knew were capable of cruelty.
So what did it all mean?
These were not the kinds of questions that Jane felt prepared to answer this particular morning. Instead, she got to her feet.
A mug of the same potion was waiting for Jane on the counter behind her. Beside it was a note bearing her own name written in a thin, elegant script. Jane squinted at it. She couldn’t read beyond her name, had never been taught, but if Adelaide left a note and her potion, it seemed reasonable to assume that she had gone out.
“Adelaide?” She called into the house. The lack of answer was as good of a confirmation as any.
Jane downed the foul potion as she looked at the fire. She wanted to repay Adelaide for her kindness in some way, although she wasn’t sure how. M
anners and civility weren’t the sort of response that Adelaide could appreciate. But Jane didn’t have anything of use to give her.
Her eyes skated across the clutter and landed on the dirty dishes on the floor.
There was something she could do. She didn’t think Adelaide would appreciate her messing with the curios or probably even the parchment, but surely, these dishes weren’t left out from anything but laziness or a lack of time to clean them.
Unless they’re very strange mouse traps, Jane thought, and clapped a hand over her mouth to hold in the laughter. “I bet you see to that, don’t you?” She patted Cabula, who was perched on the back of a chair, on the head.
So she tidied up the plates and the cups, washing them and looking around until she found the cupboards where they properly belonged. She moved on to picking up the things she could reasonably assume wouldn’t cause trouble—folding blankets and putting them on chairs, stacking books that were printed instead of handwritten, tidying and organizing what she dared.
She left the curios and the parchment, fearing that she would disturb their magic. But even cleaning what she did allowed her enough floor space to sweep and dust. Slowly, she watched the room transform into a space that looked actually livable.
The door opened as she finished her dusting. Adelaide entered, basket at her side, black gloves climbing up her arms. Her hair was windswept and her cheeks were reddened by the cold.
A wave of something washed over her. She couldn’t put a name to it, but it felt very right, to be here to greet Adelaide as she entered the threshold of the house.
She watched as the witch took in the new state of the living area. “You’ve been busy.”
Worry plucked at her, and she clasped her hands at her waist, squeezing. “I thought I’d help out a bit,” she said. “Do you mind?”
Adelaide scoffed, and some of the tension in Jane’s chest eased. “Saves me the trouble of having to do it,” she said. “But why? If you were looking to snoop, you ignored all of the most interesting bits.” She gestured in a lackadaisical sort of way to the skulls and parchment on the floor.
Heat bloomed in her cheeks. “I wasn’t snooping. I just… wanted to find a way to thank you. For last night.”
Adelaide had put her basket on the counter, but she paused in untying her cloak when Jane finished speaking. “It was nothing,” she said.
“No, it wasn’t,” Jane insisted. “You helping me last night wasn’t nothing. You saving me from that beast wasn’t nothing. Not everybody would be so kind.”
A wry smile curved up Adelaide’s lips. “No one has ever accused me of being kind,” she said.
Jane felt the most absurd urge to argue with her. But Adelaide was not kind, at least not in her words. Jane could not refute this. So instead, she tried another approach. “The fact remains that you’ve saved my life twice now,” Jane said. “The least I can do is keep your house for you while you allow me to stay here.”
Adelaide hummed. “If you insist,” she replied.
Jane tilted her chin up, forced herself to look Adelaide in the eye. “I do.”
The witch offered a smirk. “I like it when you’re so insistent. You get such a lovely spark in your eye.”
Jane’s palms began to sweat. She’d been complimented before, of course, but never like this. It went beyond the lovely shade of her eyes and into the substance behind them, where her mind laid. No one ever complimented her on that. She found herself utterly unable to respond for a moment, and when she did, her voice was oddly pitched. “Be serious.”
Adelaide’s smile only widened. “I am,” she replied. “Maybe I should have argued the point more, watched you defend your viewpoint. I do so love a woman who speaks her mind.”
Jane opened her mouth, then closed it. She wasn’t certain how Adelaide meant that, but… no, surely not. She would not admit to such a thing so casually. But hadn’t she also called Jane pretty, or something like it?
While she was at a loss for words, Adelaide swept off to her room. She was moving too quickly to be sure, but Jane thought she might have been smiling.
Jane covered her face with her hands. She was being ridiculous. Sure, Adelaide called her pretty. She also called her foolish and stupid. Adelaide said whatever she pleased, from one moment to the next. It didn’t mean anything.
It couldn’t mean anything. Jane knew who she was meant to be. A good wife to a good man was the future she had to aspire to. To even entertain the thought that…
But you were only entertaining the thought that Adelaide was attracted to you, a part of her whispered. Why would that bother you, unless you felt the same way?
But that was the most ridiculous thought yet. Even if Jane were to fall for a woman, it wouldn’t be a woman like Adelaide. She could never fall in love with someone so blunt, so rude, someone who constantly challenged the way that she thought. The very idea was exhausting.
Jane turned to the kitchen, lips pursed. Now was not the time to be thinking about such things. Now was the time to think about what she would be able to make for dinner.
The witch’s kitchen was surprisingly well stocked. Jane didn’t recognize all of the spices in the cabinet, but the ones she could identify would make for a lovely vegetable stew. She set about starting the broth, chopping up vegetables with the large, sharp knife she found in one of the drawers. It was good, comforting work. She let her mind turn off, lulled by the gentle thump of the knife.
“You look completely different.”
Jane jumped at the sound of the voice. Adelaide stood at the entryway to the kitchen, leaning against the wall. She had changed out of her stiff-necked dress and cape into a more casual skirt and a dark gray blouse. The blouse was not buttoned all the way up, leaving Jane with a glimpse of Adelaide’s pale collarbone.
She turned hurriedly to the simmering pot. The heat from the evaporation made her face warm, surely. “What do you mean?”
“You look comfortable. Haven’t seen that before.” Adelaide strode into the room, leaning over the counter to pluck a piece of carrot from the pile of chopped vegetables. The buttons of her blouse strained and relaxed. “You like cooking, then?”
“I suppose I do find it comfortable.” Jane moved the vegetables into the pot slowly, staring into them to keep herself from staring anywhere else. “There are rules to cooking, a structure. The right ingredients and the right steps make the same thing every time, provided none of it has gone bad. I appreciate that certainty, the formula of it.” She was rambling, could feel herself doing so, but she felt helpless to stop. At least if she was thinking about cooking, she wasn’t thinking about how Adelaide looked in that blouse.
“Is that why you’re so obsessed with manners?”
This, at least, brought Jane’s attention to the witch, confusing thoughts of clothes forgotten. “I—what?”
Adelaide grinned, clearly enjoying getting a rise out of her. “All that about formulas and structures—it applies to manners, too. Say the right thing, curtsy at the right time or whatever such thing, and you’ll get the exact response you want.” The witch huffed. “I can’t say I blame you. Sounds remarkably easy.”
Jane bit the inside of her cheek. “It’s not always easy.” She surprised even herself with the soft admission.
She rather expected Adelaide to tease her, but instead she turned thoughtful. “Why?”
The stew made a good excuse to avoid talking for a moment, while she gathered her thoughts. But she could feel the other woman’s gaze on her, and she knew that she wouldn’t let the matter drop so simply.
Finally, she spoke. “Emotions can’t be controlled as well as ingredients,” she finally said. “When they get out of control, there’s often punishment.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was the easiest to explain.
Adelaide gave her a rueful smile. “I do believe that I can see your emotions getting the better of you. Have seen it, in fact.”
“And that’s just it. You never punished me for that,
not really.” Jane shrugged. “Living in a society where harsh words are given less often than harsh actions has its downsides.”
Adelaide gave her a look. “Then why do you live there?”
Jane was not used to being asked such questions. Especially not in such a voice, one that seemed to actually care about her answer. It coaxed the truth from her. “I often think of manners as… as a shield.” She’d never vocalized this thought out loud, and it felt strange to do so now. “A weapon, sometimes, but most frequently a shield. To protect me from getting hurt. But it only works in a society where I know the rules, so that’s where I stay.”
“Have I hurt you?”
The question, so soft, caught Jane the most off-guard yet. She looked to Adelaide, heart pounding. “What?”
“Manners don’t mean much in this house,” Adelaide said. “So there’s nothing keeping you from getting hurt. Have I hurt you?”
Jane thought of the insults, the harshness. All the more unnerving because she didn’t know the proper response, how to counter it. “You’ve helped me,” she hedged.
“That isn’t an answer to my question.”
Adelaide slid around the table so that she was beside Jane. Whatever answer might have come died in her throat at the look in the other woman’s dark eyes. The last time she had been this close, Jane had been much weaker. So why did her insides still tremble so? Was this just the memory of the fever, coming to haunt her?
“Jane,” Adelaide said softly, insistently.
She looked down at the stew. “Dinner is almost ready,” she said, forced politeness in her voice. “I’ll prepare you a bowl.”
She expected Adelaide to push, to pry until she got the answer that she wanted. But by now, perhaps she should have suspected that Adelaide would never behave exactly how she expected. The witch stepped away. “Alright.”
Jane busied herself with getting bowls, finding a ladle. She served the stew into two separate bowls and brought one to Adelaide.