Pru sat on the bed, a blonde figure wrapped in a discarded blanket, and Rhiannon had to curl her fingers into fists to not reach. To earn the right to do so first.
“I apologize. I must’ve held it too tight?—”
Pru lifted her eyes and met hers dead-on.
“You haven’t. Your barrier spell is leaking, I watched it do so for the past two days, if I’m using the terminology correctly.”
Rhiannon felt her fingernails pierce her palm and welcomed the pain. She earned it.
“I’m sorry I lashed out. And I’m sorry I threw Margaux’s death at you. You didn’t deserve that.” Rhiannon licked her lips and kept going. “I am grateful you took care of me?—”
“I didn’t take care of you for the thanks, Rhiannon.” Pru reached and took Rhiannon’s fist in her hands. She slowly unclenched each finger and placed a kiss on the little crescent wounds Rhiannon’s nails made.
“Her name was Margaux Belcourt. She was a?—”
“Sculptor.” Pru’s voice was tiny, almost inaudible under the rain picking up speed outside. It still surprised Rhiannon when people recognized the name. Margaux’s fame was so short-lived.
“Yes. She was famous in Europe. France in particular. That’s where she met her husband, Jerome Maginot, who took her to America, and they settled here, in Crow’s Nest, opening a studio for both of their work. He was an antiques expert, a true wizard of restoration, pun not intended, as his skill wasn’t predicated on magic.” Prudence’s eyes were immense, full of questions, of understanding, of puzzle pieces falling into place. Still, Rhiannon went on. “I met her when I was eighteen. She was older and… Well, I was young. I was also foolish. We were together for twenty years.”
Prudence’s hands on hers were cold, and it was Rhiannon’s turn to kiss chilled fingertips.
“You met her at the Atelier. Is that why everyone is so shocked at you being back and reclaiming the old building?” Pru’s words held urgency, and Rhiannon forced herself to speak, to share, for once to not run away.
“I was rebellious at that age. Which maybe was normal, when all was said and done, but you know me. I don’t do things by half measure and so I went all out in my rebellions. My mother was desperate to find something to occupy my mind, my hands. I was taking what was supposed to be a twelve-month break before finally committing myself to college. And then I met Margaux. Lonely, unhappy Margaux, under the thumb of a controlling, much older man…”
“You didn’t stand a chance.” Prudence’s whisper cut Rhiannon to the quick, but she smiled.
“It’s okay… Pru.” Rhiannon felt that she had to give something more, for the sincere emotion staring up at her with those all-seeing eyes. “I knew what I was doing.”
“Did you?”
Rhiannon wanted to cry. Or smash more things. Or walk into the ocean. Whichever one would take away the onslaught of memories.
“I thought I did. I was saving the princess from an old ogre. A year from our meeting we would be off to our Happily Ever After, first in Boston, then New York, and finally LA. We opened the auction house. It was what I wanted. Thought I wanted.”
Pru bit her lip. Was she holding something back? Words of consolation? Words of absolution? Rhiannon almost laughed. There was no absolving her. Not this time. There was no indulgence in the whole of the Vatican powerful enough to forgive her the sins of her blood, of her acts, of her decisions.
She knew her voice would break before she even opened her mouth, and she still marveled at how raw it sounded when the words came.
“Until I didn’t want it anymore. You see, Prudence, we are always responsible for those we tame. And I…” Rhiannon swallowed around the lump in her throat and lowered her eyes. She couldn’t say what she needed to say if Prudence kept lookingat her with all that tenderness. She didn’t deserve any of it, tenderness above all. Still, she pressed her lips to Prudence’s palm and continued in a whisper.
“As these tales go, beware what you wish for, it might come true. It sure did for me. She wasn’t the princess I thought I was rescuing, and I wasn’t the savior she thought she deserved. Me being a witch certainly wasn’t something that she embraced.”
Pru bit her lip, and Rhiannon again wondered what thoughts were running through that brilliant mind.
“She saw me in action, you see. I was a bit of a show-off. Not to everyone, obviously, but I was a big believer in showing one’s true nature to one’s chosen mate. And I thought she was mine. Let’s just say neither her nor the guy I maimed, nor my mother or aunt or Christian, who all had to clean my mess, were particularly happy with me. After that, the only way forward was off the island.”
Rhiannon’s fingers trembled and she looked down on her hands. Slender, capable, callused hands of a restorer. The memory of blood on them, the memory of the screams. She shook her head and forced herself to go on.
“Years weren’t kind to us. And it didn’t matter that I enacted the suppressing spell and never used my power after leaving Crow’s Nest. Some things festered.”
“She made you do it? Forsake your gift?” Pru’s eyes were dark, accusing. It was sweet, all things considered. Rhiannon wanted to hug her. Rhiannon also wanted to crawl in bed and roll into a ball and cry for days. Instead, she kissed her slender wrist, the skin soft and warm under her lips, sustaining her, giving her strength to confess the unthinkable.
“Our relationship was complicated. She had been traumatized by years of heartbreak, years of failure?—”
“Failure doesn’t excuse refusing acceptance of one’s wife’s gift. Love doesn’t forsake parts of your spouse. Love takes it all in and cherishes every single thing.”
Rhiannon licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry.
