Chapter Text
A small lunch is eaten in relative silence, occasionally broken by Mildred’s chattering, and Hecate has no desire to change that in her exhaustion. Princess Pippa is a lot of work, even after she calms herself down.
There’s something undeniably warm in Hecate’s chest at the sight of her slowly renegotiating with the world, smiling up at the sun and laughing at a fluttering butterfly. The more the shock wears off, the more she becomes almost eager to experience it all. She is kind, generous, and open—all the things Hecate’s never considered herself to be, and it’s bittersweet.
There’s the half of her that watches Mildred quickly warming to Pippa, whispering secrets and making her giggle at whatever’s been said, that feels a flare of green run through her. She’d felt special for getting Mildred’s approval so easily, but how could she even compete when Pippa isn’t stiff like her? Pippa, completely unused to affection from her time in the tower, takes to it like a cauldron to a fire. She thrives in it, and she’s beautiful in it.
And Hecate wishes she knew how to do that, too.
Sometimes.
On a rare, sparing occasion of reflection.
Then there’s the other side of Hecate’s heart that feels her magic jolt at the sight of Pippa embracing it all, eager to join and call it hers, and she tramples that side down as fast as she can.
They’re only temporary. Only for the length of a journey, and she would be foolish to let herself forget that.
Clearing her throat sharply, Hecate stands, wincing as it jars her injured shoulder.
“If we plan to make any progress back by nightfall, we should be off.”
Pippa eagerly hoists herself to her feet with a wide-eyed expression. “We’ll stop at nightfall?”
“Yes, or we can fly straight through if you’d prefer?” She absolutely loathes the idea of flying so far in her state without a rest, but she’ll never admit it. If Pippa wants to be rid of her quicker, she can endure it.
“Why would you think I can fly?” Pippa asks, voice rising.
“I would not. I don’t even trust Mildred with a broom. Yet,” she adds as an afterthought, remembering the girl is keenly watching the exchange. “We can fit on mine together.”
Pippa looks fretful at the words, squeezing her hands together, and Hecate’s stomach drops. Of course she wouldn’t want to share a broom with Hecate.
She sighs deeply and looks to the side, not wanting to feel so bothered by it. “I’m sorry to say I can’t provide better company or transport suited to a Princess, but short of walking, we really have no other option to get back.”
“Walking! We should walk,” Pippa rushes.
Hecate had meant the comment sarcastically, of course, having no real intention of enduring days of travel through the woods on foot. On her own, perhaps the journey would be relaxing if not tiring, but with a hyperactive child and an increasingly odd Princess? Surely the Goddess wouldn’t be so cruel.
“I like walking,” Mildred pipes in, prompting Hecate to turn on her with a glare. How dare she flip sides against her?
“I thought you liked flying?”
“I do,” Mildred looks down, at least having the decency to be sheepish about it. “But walking’s nice too.”
Hecate quirks a suspicious brow and Mildred folds under it with a soft huff of breath. “We can spend more time together, just the three of us, before Pippa has to leave.”
It’s so simple for her—the three of them. It’s been an hour of Pippa and already Mildred’s adopted her, but considering how quickly she’d decided Hecate was somehow hers, it’s really less surprising than it should be. Hecate feels odd about it and shifts away from her simplistic view that doesn’t at all account for the feelings Hecate shouldn’t have or the complexities of their current needs.
“I think it would be for the best if—”
Pippa holds a hand up to stop her and steps forward, head high and all the regality she can muster under her chin. “I think it would be for the best if we walk. In fact, I insist.”
“If you’d rather we leave you behind…”
Pippa laughs at this and crosses her arms, stepping once more into Hecate’s space. “You need me, remember? I’m part of your deal. You can’t afford the risk that something might happen to me, unprotected in strange woods, probably filled with violent men. And not to mention, the roaming dragon you set loose.”
Hecate clenches her jaw and looks at her hands as they fiddle with her timepiece. It’s so infuriating that she’s right.
“Why, pray tell, do we have to walk? Is the thought of riding beside me so horrific?”
Pippa’s eyes widen. “No, of course not, Hecate. It’s me, I promise.”
“Hmmf.”
“No, really. I must admit, I’m not very fond of heights. Towers can do that to a girl.”
Hecate frowns. There’s something off about Pippa’s words, and while they make perfect sense, they don’t seem to be the full truth. She shifts too much when she says it, falters too hard to string the words into something sturdy. The words are lacking, somehow, and it’s disappointing. Flying isn’t just about height and speed—it’s about moving with the fullness of her magic. And that, Hecate thinks, must be the real issue, the real thing Pippa won’t say to her.
She’s not fond of Hecate’s magic.
She doesn’t trust Hecate to fly her safely with it.
“Very well, then,” Hecate says dryly, motioning for Mildred to gather their things back into the backpack. “We shall walk.”
And so they begin their slow trudge through the woods.
For a while, things are relatively quiet among the trio.
Mildred, always a ball of energy at the worst of times, runs ahead despite Hecate’s attempts to warn her to take care, and Hecate finds herself thankful that her own slow gait is matched somewhat by Pippa’s frequent pauses to take in whatever catches her fancy—a bunny rabbit, a bush with pink flowers blooming across it, a tree stump. Pippa seems to be relishing in the chance to wander about and spread her legs, but Hecate finds it difficult to feel the same.
She’s hardly spent much time walking places further than the outskirts of her swamp, usually preferring to transfer or take her broom over trudging through the woods near a town full of men with harm in their hearts. But out here, where so much of the wood is virtually unknown to Hecate, it’s almost nice to linger and breathe it in.
The heels, she reluctantly thinks, may have to go. Already there is an ache beginning to build in her calves from all the running about, and their journey home will take several days on foot. Just as Hecate is seriously beginning to contemplate a shortening spell on them, she notices Pippa stumble across the path a few yards ahead, only barely managing to catch herself before she crashes into a tree with a great whine of frustration.
It’s the third time in the last hour that she’s stumbled over the ripped edge of her dress, and it seems Hecate is no longer the only one growing tired of the sight.
“This is ridiculous!” Pippa growls, still managing to sound pleasant about it.
“I could always mend it, you know. Magic doesn’t have to be so horrible,” Hecate quips dryly.
She does mean it, she would fix Pippa’s dress in a heartbeat if she asked her, but she won’t impose her precious magic where it isn’t wanted, even if a clumsy princess does begin to drive her mad. It would be such a simple flick of the wrist with all the times she’s repaired her own, but her magic deserves to be honored.
And it’s frustrating, somehow more than it’s been with everyone else in her life, that Pippa doesn’t see that. Clearly Mildred’s having a less than favorable effect on her if she’s starting to expect acceptance from any stranger she meets.
“Oh, Hecate, don’t you understand? Do you have any idea how long I’ve been in this dress?” Pippa stomps her foot petulantly.
It’s true that there are many mysteries behind Pippa’s time in the tower, no doubt somehow fueled by the same magic blocking travel spells and trapping her inside, but it makes Hecate’s head ache to try and wrap her mind around the complexities of all she experienced. Given her own preference for keeping her wardrobe simple, it’s hard to imagine ever being so frustrated with a dress, but as she approaches the pouting woman, she notes her eyes have a particular glassy sheen spreading across them.
Even Mildred has heard the strained commotion and swiveled back to them.
“It’s a perfectly fine dress many would be grateful to have, and I’m sure Lord Hellibore will buy you plenty more.”
Hecate holds back her own private thought that it is indeed hideous. Pippa might take it to mean Hecate thinks it looks hideous on her, which she very much doubts is at all possible.
“All I want is for the rip to spread and unravel the rest of this wretched green monstrosity. I don’t even like green. I just got stuck up there with this thing as my only option. I tried burning it once and another just appeared in its place—the exact same ugly design.” Pippa sighs, then seems to consider her words. “But out here…”
It happens so quickly, Hecate has to choose between breathing and reacting. One moment, Pippa is leaning up against a tree lamenting her dress struggles, truly testing Hecate’s ability to keep a serious face against her plight of fashion. The next moment, she’s reaching behind herself to tug free the bow and loosen the ribbon holding the corset of her dress in place. Pippa takes a deep breath as it falls past her hips, pooling at her feet.
She chooses action over air and grabs for Mildred, shielding a hand over the child’s eyes to stop her gawping up at the Princess standing in her underthings. “Princess Pippa!” Hecate gasps, her own eyes remaining wide open in surprise.
Pippa doesn’t seem to notice her audience, instead taking her dress from around her ankles and giving it a swift kick right into a puddle of mud.
For a moment all Hecate can see are soft curves, and something comes alive inside her just as her mind catches up with her eyes and she manages to tug them down to the ground, flushing an uncharacteristic shade of red. She’s never… and Pippa just… and she… oh, Goddess.
“That’s much better!” Pippa exclaims with a relieved sigh.
Hecate’s hand remains firmly over Mildred’s eyes, her gaze piercing a hole through the ground.
“Darling, I’m perfectly covered, there’s no need to look away for my modesty,” Pippa says with a light chuckle. “Though I must say, it is nice to know there’s an appreciative gaze out there beyond my own in the mirror for once.”
Hecate chances another glance up and forces her stare to stay on Pippa’s face, clearing her throat that’s suddenly gone dry.
“What exactly are you planning to do now? Travel the woods unclothed?”
“Please don’t.” Mildred shudders, eyes still firmly blocked.
Hecate pointedly looks at the trampled muddy mess Pippa’s made of her dress and shakes her head. While she can certainly understand the need to be rid of a reminder of a bad time, she can’t quite say she’d do the same before having a backup in mind. The woods will be cold at night, and Pippa was not wrong to suggest there could very well be strange men and bandits lurking about.
When she looks back up, again careful to keep her gaze even, it’s now Pippa’s turn to blush. “I was so excited to get rid of it, I didn’t get that far in my planning. I don’t suppose you’d like to help me?”
Hecate sniffs. “I could always repair it with magic, but you wouldn’t want that.”
“No, I don’t think I’d like to see that dress repaired ever again if I can help it,” she says with a frown. Then, much to Hecate’s disbelief, Pippa’s eyes widen eagerly. “Oh, you’re brilliant, can you really use magic for things like that?”
“Of course,” Hecate bites out, offended at the implication that she could ever fail at such a mediocre ability as a little fabric repair. “I have no doubt with proper instruction, even Mildred could do a decent job.” Sensing the girl is about to volunteer to do just that, and not wanting to spend the rest of the day on a dress, she quickly adds, “Though I think it best if she merely observes the first time.”
“If you really don’t mind, that does give me an idea.”
“If it will get you out of your underthings, I’m all ears.”
“All ears, or all eyes?” Pippa quips, making Hecate flush red again. “For someone so against marrying me, I’m shocked you’d want me out of these, but if you insist…”
“I’m still here,” Mildred whines. Pippa starts laughing wholeheartedly, and Hecate looks back to the ground, wishing desperately for it to open up and swallow her.
“That is not what I meant,” Hecate hisses through clenched teeth. “Do you want my assistance or not?”
Pippa’s laughter softens at this, though Hecate still refuses to lift her gaze from the safety of the ground.
“I’m sorry, Hecate, I was only having a bit of fun. I was actually thinking that perhaps you might be able to make something different for me?”
“I’m not a seamstress!”
“Of course not! I meant with magic. Does it work like that?”
“Now you’re fine with magic?”
“It’s for fashion, Hecate. Unless you really would rather I continue on like this, because I won’t let that thing touch me again now that it’s off.”
Hecate sighs, trying to let go of some of the tenseness clinging to her muscles. “Theoretically, constructing something from nothing requires a great deal of difficulty. I could do it, but it would require potions and more preparation than I have out here in the woods. However, I might have something…” she drifts off, looking down to Mildred and reluctantly removing her hand from her eyes. Pippa’s covered more or less, she supposes. “Mildred, hand me the bag.”
“Are you going to summon something? Oh, can I do it again?” Mildred asks eagerly, already flinging it off her shoulders.
“Fine. Quickly now, before Pippa catches her death out here.” Even as she says it, she hugs herself against the breeze of the woods. The lava had been stiflingly hot, but their distance has reminded her that fall is settling in the trees, and as the sun struggles to break through, so does the warmth. “I have a spare dress in there. Speak clearly and call it forth.”
“The black one?” Mildred asks, a crumple of concentration on her forehead.
“Yes, that one.” Hecate refrains from adding that all her dresses are some variation on black.
It takes a minute, but eventually Mildred is holding her dress up highly in the air, a look of pride replacing the concentration. “I did it!”
“Very good,” Hecate praises shortly. “Next time, do it faster.” Letting success go to the girl’s head will do her no favors, but Mildred doesn’t seem to mind for long. She’s already flinging the bag back onto her shoulders and watching Hecate expectantly for whatever “big” magic she might do next.
Reluctantly, Hecate takes the dress and steps closer to Pippa, holding it out in front of her to assess the size. Pippa is bigger than Hecate’s own skeletal, relatively flat frame. She curves differently, in ways beyond the rigid dress’s ability to stretch, so Hecate does her best to eye the necessary changes without getting too far into Pippa’s space. She holds it against her front, running her hands over the fabric of the dress to flatten it against Pippa for better accuracy, ignoring the quiet gasp Pippa emits when she runs her hand along the top. She can feel the woman’s brown eyes boring into her, watching curiously to see what she might do, though the fear she might have expected in the wake of possible magic isn’t in them.
Hecate swallows and steps away. “It’s easier to work with something that already exists.” Closing her eyes, she tries to concentrate on Pippa’s dress size and feels her magic weave into the fabric, contorting and replicating it until she feels satisfied by the changes.
“May I?” Hecate asks, and Pippa nods.
This time, free from the bounds of the castle, her transference spell comes easily. The dress leaves her hands and covers Pippa seamlessly, allowing Hecate to assess her work.
“How is it?” she asks, ready to adjust any parts she may have missed. It’s been a very long time since she’s needed to do alterations on anyone but herself.
“Well, the fit’s all right, but…”
Hecate quirks a brow in warning, but it does little to stop Pippa from ploughing on ahead unbothered.
“I do wish it wasn’t so drab. Don’t you ever wear any color?”
Hecate thinks of many colorful things she might say in response to this, after she’s just taken one of her own dresses and very impressively fitted it to Pippa after she ripped and tossed her own perfectly fine dress in the mud, but then Pippa looks up at her and bats those princess eyelashes and, oh no, the words leave her faster than her breath.
“She prefers to look edgy,” Mildred supplies, breaking Hecate’s trance and forcing her to whip her head around in shock.
“I beg your pardon?”
Mildred, equally as unfazed by her attempts at intimidation as Pippa, just huffs and crosses her arms over her chest like she’s talking to a child. “It’s fine, you can pull it off, but Pippa’s too... cheery. Just look at her, HB, she’s like a kitten. Can’t you make it a little bit brighter?”
Hecate ponders the request, trying desperately to overlook the nickname. She could, in theory, absolutely ruin one of her best dresses by turning it into something a little more Pippa. She’s fairly certain she has a fondness for pink, if her earlier interest in the flowers indicated anything, and Mildred has a point—there’s something wrong with the image of Pippa standing in front of her draped in a plain black dress.
She won’t do it happily, but Hecate decides she will do it. A few frivolous seconds of magic seem worth avoiding days of complaining from her travel companions, and though she’s loathe to admit it, she thinks Pippa will look quite lovely in what she has in mind.
Mumbling just loud enough for them both to hear, lamenting the waste of perfectly good magic on something as ridiculous as a dress, Hecate envisions the pink ensemble in her mind’s eye and wills it into being. Pippa practically squeals as the dress once more shifts around her into something with a slightly more flattering cut, and yes, a bright pink hue.
“Oh, darling, it’s wonderful! Thank you!”
Pippa really does look breathtaking, and Hecate stumbles around an answer for a long moment while Mildred chatters on with her own compliments. There’s a certain rosy quality to her cheeks brought out so brilliantly by it, and though the dress looks entirely different, Hecate doesn’t think it ever looked so good when she wore it.
Perhaps not such a wasteful use of magic after all, she thinks.
Especially when it makes Pippa smile so vibrantly.
But then she remembers why they’re here, and where they’re headed, and that it doesn’t matter if she makes Pippa smile, or if Pippa comes to love her magic the way she desperately wishes someone would, because it’s all meant to end.
“Yes, well, perhaps when you marry Lord Hellibore, you’ll keep in mind that magic can be so helpful.”
The spell is broken, and Pippa runs her hands in one final stroke down the dress before they trudge on.
“There’s just one problem,” she adds after a moment of tense silence.
“And that would be?”
“This awful red hair will never look right with pink. Maybe we can change that next? I have always wanted to be blonde.”
They make camp early that evening—Hecate exhausted and Pippa insisting she must be in bed before sundown because she’s “positively petrified” of the dark. Hecate doesn’t find the energy to argue, and so they stop at a nice clear field where she instructs Mildred to carefully set a fire.
It takes only a few moments for Hecate to summon the tent from their bag and wave a hand to put it together. The sections slide into place, and while it’s not ideal, it’s better than nothing. She misses the quiet comfort of her swamp.
Luckily, a fire is one thing Mildred cannot screw up it seems, and they soon have one set perfectly to warm their supper. It’s far from silent between them, but truthfully, Mildred fills most of the conversation with her stories and questions. Pippa tries her hand at chatting, but she’s almost too eager to speak after so long, and Hecate doesn’t feel much like engaging back. She’s sure it’s noticeable, and probably comes across as rude, but she can’t help it. Hecate’s thoughts keep drifting to before, to Pippa and her dress—and her lack of a dress—and she wants to toss her memories into the open flames just to stop them from harassing her.
In a few days, everything can return to normal. Everything should return to normal, and she should be completely thrilled about that. She should be looking forward to her quiet swamp and peaceful solitude, where people only come into her life while they’re out fulfilling their threatening quotas for the month, and then they leave.
She’s never wanted people to stay, and she’s certainly not about to change that now.
“Well, it seems the sun’s setting. Goodnight, I’ll see you both in the morning!” Pippa chirps shortly, and in a blur of pink, she and her newly blonde ponytail rush inside the tent and tug the flap closed.
It’s unmistakably a dismissal, and though Hecate had set the tent up for all three of them to share, she doesn’t find it in her to argue if Pippa wants some privacy. Mildred, always so easily able to roll with the punches, has already stretched herself out in the grass with a happy sigh. Hecate stiffly follows, and while the ground is hard against her sore shoulder and boney spine, she thinks if she pretends to relax long enough she might trick herself into doing so.
“I suppose we’re just to keep guard out here,” Hecate quips in a whisper probably not quiet enough to be missed by Pippa inside the tent.
She may respect Pippa’s need for privacy, but she doesn’t have to like that it leaves her out on the ground.
She does try to think of it as simply a need for privacy, but the bitter part of Hecate’s mind wonders if it’s more than that. Perhaps her magical display is finally setting in, the awe of it all wearing off, and Pippa’s too afraid to sleep near the witch and her apprentice. Or worse, she’d felt Hecate’s attraction to her earlier, and now when presented the possibility of having to share a tent with her, she doesn’t trust Hecate to keep her feelings in check.
Not that she has any feelings. She certainly doesn’t.
But Pippa might think otherwise.
It was one thing when she thought Hecate the knight wanted to marry her, but a witch was probably too much to risk.
They stay there in companionable silence for a while, both tired from the day but too restless to sleep before the sun’s gone fully down. The fire crackles by their feet, slowly beginning to sputter out as it ravages the remainder of the wood. Hecate mindlessly adds a few logs to it, hoping the smoke from the continued flame may keep the insects away and ward off the evening fall chill.
“Miss Hardbroom?”
“Yes?” The ground hasn’t gotten more comfortable over time. Frustrated at that, and having been drawn from her thoughts by Mildred, Hecate sets about pulling a few blankets forth from the bag, making sure at least Mildred will have enough to stay warm. Dusk has come and swept over them, leaving nothing more than a faint echo of light and the soft glow of their fire.
“I need to… uhm…” Mildred fiddles in the firelight, sitting up and tugging her braids.
Hecate waves a hand and watches the bigger of her blankets settle itself in the grass, just out of reach of the fire’s sparks, then drops two more on top.
“What is it, Mildred?” she asks, feeling the exhaustion settle deep in her bones. She doesn’t want to think she’s too old for this, but honestly, there’s far too much cracking when she moves. “I cannot read minds, despite what you might think of my abilities.”
Mildred’s voice drops to an even lower whisper, and she has to strain to hear it.
“I need to use the, uhm, the latrine.”
Hecate rolls her eyes and gestures to the woods around them. “There’s no plumbing here, but there’s plenty of trees just as there have been all day. Take your pick.”
“No, that’s not the problem.”
“Then what is the problem?”
“It’s dark.”
Mildred sounds small when she says it, and for all the fearless things this girl has done in the past two days alone, it seems silly for something as calm as the night to scare her. She considers pressing her further, but thinks better of it.
Considering all the fearful things Mildred’s done in the past two days, if something as seemingly silly as the night scares her, she’s not sure she’s ready to know why.
“Can you come with me?”
Hecate thinks she would rather not do that either.
“Come, sit. Time to learn a spell.”
Hecate magicks herself into her purple silk pajamas and takes a cross-legged seat on the blanket, patting the space opposite her for Mildred to join. “Don’t worry, it shouldn’t take long.”
Mildred sits obediently, looking up in the firelight with hesitant curiosity.
“I’ll teach you how to make a little light in your palm. That way, you can always find your way in the dark when you need to. Now, hands out, palms up.” Mildred follows her movements.
“Now close your eyes.”
“They’re closed. Now what? Is that it?”
Hecate scoffs. “Of course that’s not it, be patient. Are they closed?”
“Yes, Miss Hardbroom.”
“Good, now I want you to think about the night sky. Visualize the stars and find the brightest one in your mind’s eye.”
“My what?”
“Your mind’s eye. You see the sky I’m talking about when you close your eyes, yes?”
“I think so.”
“Then pick out whichever star looks brightest and focus in on it. Have you done that?”
Mildred is silent for a moment, then nods. “I found it.”
“Now I want you to concentrate on that star, and when you feel like you can almost reach out and touch it, repeat after me three times three times. Burning star held by the night, lend the guidance of your light.”
She watches with apt attention as Mildred carefully recites each repetition of the spell, and as a small flicker of light begins to build in her palms, Hecate feels her heart swell with pride. But it simmers out and fades just as she finishes.
“It didn’t work,” Mildred says, defeated. “I’ll never be a witch.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, you had a light for a moment. You didn’t focus enough, you stole a look at your hands before you finished saying it three times three times,” Hecate replies sternly. “Now, close your eyes, hold tightly onto your focus, and do it again. With enough practice, you’ll be able to do this all in your head.”
Mildred nods with the utmost seriousness and starts over.
This time, the light starts slowly, and it builds to something stronger. It’s far from perfect, but a ball of light not unlike a star forms floating several inches above her palms, and the light emanates from it the longer Mildred’s focus lasts. When she opens her eyes at the end of the final repetition, it remains.
“I did it,” Mildred whispers, voice swimming in wonder. “I really made that happen?”
“You did,” Hecate says.
“Huh.” Mildred stares at it for another moment, and then carefully stands, keeping the light cupped in her palms. “I think I’ll be all right now. Thank you. For teaching me, I mean.”
“You are my apprentice after all,” Hecate says with a dip of her head, and finds she means it a little more than she truly had before.
Mildred nods, like she’s trying to process that, and scurries off into the trees with her precious handheld star.
Hecate hums lightly to herself, and by the time Mildred returns, she’s settled the thicker of the two blankets over to her apprentice’s side of their makeshift bed and used a cushioning charm on the blanket beneath them.
They stay like that, listening to nature’s soundtrack and Pippa’s light snoring through the walls of the tent. At least someone can sleep, Hecate thinks, rolling against the hard ground and noting that Mildred’s eyes are open wide, watching the sky like she’s never before seen it properly.
Hecate has to admit, the night is very clear.
“Do you know the constellations, Mildred?”
“No. Can you teach me?”
Hecate thinks on this for a moment. She’s never considered herself much of a teacher—it’s one of the reasons she’s continually turned down Ada Cackle’s offer of a teaching position. But having just taught Mildred how to successfully make a little light, she’s feeling a surge of confidence at the thought.
“Very well. Let’s start simply. Do you see that big shape over there that resembles a ladle? It’s a rather large box with a curved handle?”
“I think so.”
“That’s the Big Dipper, a rather well known part of the Ursa Major constellation,” Hecate begins. “When you add the rest, it resembles a bear.”