12 Fritzi

12

Fritzi

The journey we take to Trier is a stark contrast to my desperate escape months ago with Otto and Liesel.

This time, we do not travel on the barest dregs of resources, scrounging for rations in markets, Otto, Liesel, and I posing as a family to avoid scrutiny. Now, it is clear to all we pass that, though we are pretending to be pilgrims, we are not to be trifled with. No one dares to intercept us, and we travel well stocked, taking crowded barges up the rivers instead of a rowboat. The size of our party means we do not have to duck to hide from hexenj?gers—in fact, there are no hexenj?gers, not in any of the towns we pass through, and at first it is a relief. Everyone gives us a wide berth, eyeing Brigitta and her guards, clearly wondering how so many muscled people became seemingly pious worshippers traveling to Trier, but we are, ultimately, untroubled.

I feel the difference between these two trips like a lifting of a weight. The responsibility to stop Dieter is mine—he is my brother, from my coven. But it is no longer just me standing against him, and I cannot pretend that the guilt and burden of stopping him is only on my shoulders now. I have support, I have aid, I have a whole contingent of Grenzwache guards at my back.

And I have Otto at my side. Always.

Though the guards' support becomes mildly less reassuring when their faces go from the focused glower of a serious mission to utter enchantment with each town and landmark we come across.

This is the first time they have left the Well, I realize, the first they have set foot farther than Baden-Baden, and for a few unguarded seconds whenever we arrive somewhere new, these hulking, vicious witch guards become delighted, wide-eyed children. Alois is the most terrible at hiding his blatant wonder for the surrounding world, gawking at markets and little village taverns as though he's popped into a story being sung over a fire. Brigitta chastises him, but the wonder is refreshing, an innocent break from the purpose of our journey.

I cling to that wonder. Smiling at the guards as they point at the spires of a cathedral we pass from the river and one of them mutters something that sounds like, "Why are they all so phallic shaped?"

Their jesting and awe is far, far better to focus on than the days that pass without issue. The ease of travel.

The closer we get to Trier, the more worrying that ease becomes.

We get off the barge a few miles outside of Trier, preferring to approach on foot. The barge would take us directly into the docks with no time to scout or get a lay of the city; this way, we approach on our own terms, able to retreat if needed.

"Let me make sure I understand your concern," Alois says as he drops a pile of kindling on the ground of our makeshift campsite. "You're upset that we haven't been attacked by soldiers or j?gers?"

"Not upset," I say. "Suspicious. The hexenj?ger influence stretched beyond Trier only a season ago, and now—"

I spread my hand in a show of Where are they?

Brigitta, sharpening a sword across from me, grunts in agreement. "Perhaps Dieter's fall disbanded them, and wherever he is, he's got fewer supporters than he used to have, so he'll be easily overpowered."

The crackling fire between us catches my attention briefly. Was that—a flash of green? I stare at it, but nothing coalesces. Perhaps a bit of grime was caught on a log and burned oddly.

I shake my head and refocus on Brigitta. "That sounds unlikely. Particularly considering we still have not heard from the original guards sent to investigate Trier."

Cornelia has tried to track them as much as we have been trying to track Dieter, to no avail. Which could either mean their presence is masked. Or they are dead.

Alois drops to a crouch next to the flames, orange playing off his attempt at a smile. "Worst case, his possession of you was the last remnants of Dieter's dying breath, his spirit clinging to yours as he was swept into the afterlife, and we'll scout Trier and find this whole trip was a waste, and that the first contingent of guards are merely blackout drunk in a tavern."

My eyebrows go up. "That's the worst case? How so?"

Alois grins. Highlighted by the fire, backlit by twilight's darkness, it's feral. "We won't get to kill Dieter ourselves."

Brigitta thwacks Alois on the back of the head. He winces and gives her an offended frown.

"Her brother ," Brigitta says with a pointed look at me.

But Alois is undeterred. "I think our dear champion will be first in line to do him off."

My chest catches. A stalled breath. A twinge that could be pain, could be anxiety.

I can't figure out where my resistance lies. He is not my brother , I want to say, much as I said to Otto. But also, Yes, I do want vengeance , and deeper, harder, carved from grief and pain, I will be the one to kill him. I should have killed him in Baden-Baden.

I should have killed him in Birresborn.

His fate is your choice, Friederike , Holda says. Do not let anyone else influence what you know in your heart to be right.

I barely restrain myself from laughing, not wanting to be too crazed, sitting here, suddenly chuckling at a voice only I can hear.

In my heart? I scoff at her. What I want or what is right is hardly important. The only thing that matters is stopping him.

Holda's uneasiness is potent. We created the Tree, we hid the stones, we did all of this to protect our people. I am limited from interfering in the mortal world. My sisters are as well. It is part of the pact we made when we created the Origin Tree—limiting magic, limiting our interactions. It is why we depend so heavily on our champions. We intended this scaling back to keep our people safe, but… I am sorry, Fritzi.

She never calls me that. Only ever Friederike , an echo of Mama, of something maternal. My throat thickens with unexpected tenderness, and I swallow, chin dipping to my chest.

Has Dieter found your stone? I ask, changing the subject.

No. I still cannot see him. But he has not accessed it yet.

He's using his access to my magic to block Holda's sight.

Anger surges up through me, vicious and vile.

I weigh her words, weigh my own thoughts. She knows where her previous champion hid the stone. The most direct route would be to have her tell me its location so we can go into Trier and find it. But I can't risk Dieter accessing that information through me. Not yet.

Not until we have no other choice.

In my silence, footsteps crunch through spring undergrowth near this clearing, and Otto emerges, trailed by two of Brigitta's other guards and Cornelia.

"Perimeter set, wards up." Cornelia sinks against an oak tree near the fire. "We left two of the Grenzwache to take the first rotation. We move at sunrise?"

"No," Otto and I say simultaneously, and I blink up at him. The invisible ribbon stretches between us, connecting our intent. His eyes meet mine, and a whole conversation passes through us without words, without thought, and I see my awe reflected in his eyes.

If this is how the bond is when it's been manipulated by Dieter, I cannot fathom how it will be when Dieter is disconnected from us.

"We're an hour outside Trier," Brigitta says, sheathing her blade. "The sooner we can get to the city and scout his location, the better. We are not even sure if he is in Trier—he could be anywhere in the country chasing after these stones now."

Otto lowers to the ground next to me, and I lean into him, absorbing his warmth as he faces Brigitta. "I don't argue that," he says. "But the city is too dangerous for all of us. You"—he eyes Brigitta, Alois, Cornelia, and the two present guards—"especially. We have been lucky with the lack of hexenj?gers on our route. But if they are not spread across the countryside anymore, then it is most likely that they have all been recalled to Trier, and if that city is now beset with them, it would be beyond foolish to bring you lot in there, looking as you do. Our cover as pilgrims will only hold so far."

Alois leans over to Cornelia and whispers loudly, "He's saying we're too good-looking to pass as pilgrims."

She scowls at him, but her eyes glint.

"You propose that you and Fritzi go alone?" Brigitta asks, her brows lowering. "I do not like that idea."

"We'll only scout," I say quickly. "Just see if that is where Dieter even is, or if it is safe for all of us to go in. It's for the best."

"And you two won't be recognized?" It's odd for Alois to voice objection. But he's frowning at Otto, then at me, and I have half a mind to tease him for caring, but his serious tone puts pressure on the situation, pushes and pushes until I feel the heaviness of it anew.

Otto cuts a smirk that doesn't reach his eyes. "I know Trier better than anyone. We won't be caught or seen unless I want us to be."

"So you'll scout in the morning and return with a report," Brigitta tells us. "If you aren't back by nightfall, we'll come in for you."

"Can Holda pass messages, do you think?" Cornelia leans forward. "She woke me when you needed me nights ago. It was simple, an undefined urge to get to the library, but if you fall into trouble in Trier, do you think she could do something like that again?"

Yes , Holda says instantly.

I nod, eyes slipping from Cornelia, fixing on the dirt beneath my fingers, the few strands of vegetation trampled soft and broken over the course of this site being used by travelers.

If we get to Trier. And Dieter is there.

If he has taken the city and holed up in it with his hexenj?gers, then…

I see Baden-Baden, overrun with witch hunters. I see my brother, sneering in the dark, telling me how it wouldn't matter if I ran this time; none of his soldiers could be coerced into helping me. They all wanted me to die. To suffer .

The way Dieter made me suffer.

The way he made Mama suffer. Our whole coven.

Otto's hand closes around my shoulders, yanking me out of the encroaching dread, and he pulls me into his chest. I release a breath, coming back to the present with Alois laughing at something Cornelia said.

It'll be different this time. My brother doesn't have access to his magic anymore, and whatever he can use of mine, it will be paltry in comparison. He can't affect the minds of everyone beneath him to be just as consumed by hatred as he is. Whatever we meet in Trier, whoever we meet, will not be under his control.

It isn't as comforting a thought as I want it to be.

Otto squeezes my shoulder again. "Come. Let's get some sleep."

"You two take the full night," Brigitta says as we stand. "We'll cover the watches. You'll be doing the hard work tomorrow."

Otto leads me to bedrolls near the edge of the clearing, close enough to the fire for warmth but far enough to have some darkness. He arranges himself in his, and I drape myself over his chest and nestle into his arms.

I feel the rumble of his huffed laughter where my cheek rests on his chest, but he says nothing, merely shifts onto his side and curls his body around me.

"A far cry from our first night of sleeping in the woods together," I murmur into him.

He hums in thought. "Quite. The food is much better than hexenj?ger rations."

"And I'm not tied to a tree."

It's meant as a joke. A way to add levity to this, the way Alois does, the way I used to, so easily, sarcasm and humor to buoy against the darkness.

But joking about that now, being restrained, kicks into my stomach like a booted foot. I can feel shackles on my wrists. I can feel the rub of blisters. The stench of burned flesh.

I burrow into Otto, wanting to press close, closer, until my body stops remembering all this pain and only feels him.

Otto presses his lips to my forehead and breathes, one hand lifting to stroke my hair back from my face. He's quiet for a moment, fingers in my hair, and the whole act serves to make me feel like something precious. It counteracts the rising tide of panic enough that I relax, and I do only feel him, the swell of his chest as he inhales, the dip of his waist under my arm.

"I think I knew, even then," he whispers into my skin.

"Knew what?" I whisper.

"That you would be important to me."

My grip on him tightens.

I want to ask him to stay tomorrow. To not put himself at risk by going into Trier. But I know he'd refuse, just like I'd refuse if he asked me to stay behind; and so we're trapped in this, both at risk, both fearing it.

Three stones and one spark:

Water, air, earth,

And fire in the heart.

My brother knows how to destroy the Origin Tree, and destroying the Origin Tree may destroy the world. Stopping him, once and for all, is the only thing that matters.

More than my fear.

More than my desire to lie here with Otto and never get up again.

More than whatever bond links us together.

The walls of Trier are unchanged. I don't know why I expected the city to look different, but it should. If Dieter is alive in there, plotting how he'll get into the Well and break the Origin Tree, then the high gray walls of stone protecting him now should be black with corruption. They should give some clue as to what awaits us within, some way of admitting what they hold.

A line of travelers slowly enters through the eastern gate. Otto and I fall in with them, bundled in cloaks and scarves against the lingering spring chill. The guards are slow to allow entry into the city, and the length of the line stretches around the wall, all the way to the old Roman arena.

The moment it comes into view for us, my body goes rigid. Otto follows my gaze, an unspoken pull, and he stiffens too.

We can just see past the high stones that mark the entrance to the old arena. And there, the door where Otto and his j?gers dragged me into the aqueduct tunnels beneath Trier when we were enemies.

Now, a handful of hexenj?gers, their black cloaks dark and intense, oversee workers hauling rocks out of the doorway.

"We collapsed the tunnels," Otto says quietly.

"And they are trying to reopen them?" I guess.

He shrugs, but his face is set in a contemplative scowl. "It was a useful way in and out of the city, unseen. I can't imagine the tunnels are secure now, though. It is an odd project for your brother to prioritize."

"If he's still in charge," I say. I have to. My hope is brittle.

Otto finally turns away from the workers to give me a soft look. "If," he echoes.

But Dieter survived the justice that the hexenj?gers had every right to dole out. What other impossible things has he done? Reclaiming his elevated position likely wouldn't be hard.

The line of travelers moves, and we soon find ourselves just under the gate of Trier. Hexenj?gers alone stand watch—where are the town guards?—and they throw judgmental eyes over the travelers. Occasionally, they'll yank someone aside, demanding to search a cart or bag; I can't tell what reason they have for the people they choose to search, but I hold my breath as we draw closer to them.

I eye Otto, wondering if he recognizes any of the j?gers close to us, but I barely have to think the question before I notice the way he keeps his head lowered under his cloak's hood.

I have a panicked second of wishing I truly had made him stay in the forest.

I dip my own gaze. We amble through the gate, and I don't think either of us breathes until we pass the final hexenj?ger, who is already focused on a cart coming through, one laden with barrels of ale. He calls out to the driver to stop and pay a tithe , and Otto and I duck away, vanishing into the winding streets of Trier.

For a moment, I'm so overcome with relief that we made it in that nothing else matters.

Then we take a turn, another, Otto's hand in mine leading me deeper into the city, and my mind fights to reconcile my memories of Trier with what I see around us now.

Last I was here, the city at least had the Christkindlmarkt to add flickers of joy. Ivy and holly draped across buildings and music lit the air, tinny and pitchy but celebrating the season. There was still an oppressive feeling of solemnity, but it was offset by attempts at happiness.

Now, Trier is every bit a city of fear and prejudice. The dirty streets snake between towering plaster-and-wood buildings, the cathedral dominating the skyline. The air is ripe with refuse and body odor, and everywhere, everywhere , is an oppressive, invisible scratch of wrong . Something is wrong. An enemy lurks in the shadows. The people who had crowded anxiously through the gate scatter immediately, peeling off into stores or homes or down narrow alleys, no relief in being through the city walls; just trying to get hidden , everyone keeping their eyes to themselves, moving like they're being hunted.

"The streets are practically empty," Otto says, breathless. He's slowed us to a determined walk, not running, but not wanting to draw attention by lingering, and his eyes cut around, spotting faces in windows and people slamming doors as we pass. He looks down at me, brows pinching. "Are you comfortable asking Holda where we should go? We could try to head for the main hexenj?ger buildings to scout if Dieter is there, but if she can tell you where the stone is hidden, that may be a better starting place."

His face is all soft, not wanting to push me to ask Holda. He can likely sense my spike of discomfort at having this information, wondering if Dieter could overcome me in spite of the steps I have taken to keep him out.

But we need to do this.

I close my eyes briefly, letting Otto guide me through the streets. Holda? Where is your stone?

Her pause twines with my hesitation, and I know she fears telling me too, fears that she cannot stop my brother's grip on even the barest power.

After a long beat, she says only, Beneath you.

I frown, eyes splitting open. The aqueducts?

Confirmation comes in a settling of certainty. And I can't help it—I laugh.

Otto glances at me oddly, half his lips lifting inadvertently. "What?"

"Holda had her stone hidden in the aqueducts," I whisper. "The whole time you were routing people to safety and mapping the tunnels—"

"There was an ancient, powerful witch relic lodged somewhere nearby," he finishes, and the same humor flashing in his eyes. "Where in the aqueducts?"

But I slam my mind against Holda telling me more. "Let's get down there first. Step by step. Just in case."

Otto nods. "This way. The fastest access is through the—"

We make another turn, Otto bent on a destination, but he stops up short.

The market square. The place where he took me shopping for food and supplies before we enacted his plan to free the prisoners in the basilica. Here is the starkest reminder that the Christkindlmarkt has passed; what was once the epicenter of festivity is now a wide expanse of dirty gray stones. Everything has been cleared out of this square.

Except for stakes.

Standing tall amid piles of burnt kindling are bodies bound in chains. Each corpse is blackened, shriveled into unrecognizable horror with their mouths agape in last, permanent screams of agony.

My hand goes to my stomach, pushing hard, unconsciously trying to dislodge the rising rush of nausea.

There are more than a dozen people on these stakes. Some still smoking. And there are unused stakes too, set up and ready, but no hexenj?gers are currently here, no one being dragged to their deaths.

Most of the bodies are too burned to be recognized. But I know, in a sudden punch of instinct, that this is what happened to the other Grenzwache guards. This is why we couldn't track them. This is why we didn't hear from them.

Sorrow falls over me in a staggering wave. Otto's fingers clamp on mine, holding tight, and I think he's comforting me until I get hit with a wash of his emotions through our bond: Horror. Agony. Guilt.

I look at the side of his face again.

He's gone pale, lips in a thin line, eyes wide and inert. He takes a frantic breath in. Gasping.

I heave him to the side, into an alley, away from any prying eyes. Though there aren't any eyes, not in that square; no one is here. No one is looking. Everyone has been chased inside by of the fear that rolls through these streets like fog.

Out of sight, I cup Otto's face in my hands and make him look at me.

He worked so hard to free Trier. That was his one consolation upon running away with Liesel and me, that he had instigated sparks of change. Johann, one of Otto's former j?gers, had dared to tell us that the city had begun to buck off the oppression of the witch hunters after the prison break.

Any fragments of that change have been swept away. All the work Otto did, all the things he sacrificed to free this city, have been undone.

"We will fix this," I promise him. My voice comes out stronger than I thought it would. I'm just as broken, just as terrified and trembling, but seeing Otto on the edge of collapse, I find some deeper well of strength I didn't know I still had. It's him, for him and from him, and I lower his forehead to mine. "We will fix this, Otto, I swear to you."

He licks his lips, trembles against me, his hands coming up to encircle my wrists.

"We cannot stay out here," I whisper. "We need to get to the aqueducts. Are you all right to do that?"

I don't want to push him. But at the same time, I know this man. I know how his mind works, how best to distract him:

Ask for a plan.

Otto loves his plans.

I would torment him for it, but it works.

Almost instantly, he peels back from me. Some of his panic recedes, and I catch the moment where he comes through it. Is that how I look when he drags me out of my pain? Like I'd forgotten how it felt to fill my lungs all the way.

He dives in and kisses me hard, rough lips and his hand on my jaw.

"Come on, hexe," he whispers, and drags me off into Trier.