16 Fritzi

16

Fritzi

I didn't know the stories of the Alamanni—so it is likely Dieter doesn't know either. Unless it is something he discovered while using me to research in the Well's library.

I think that and manage not to shudder. The resistance doesn't come from how I usually just ignore the pain; it comes from flashes of memory in the tunnels. The wall of water bending to my magic, then the enhanced power of the water from the stone. The way I kept Dieter out of my head, even with the chaos and destruction of the water thrashing around us.

My bond with Otto, the tattoo strengthening his own fortitude, my now seemingly unlimited abilities with wild magic—it can all work . I've seen it now.

"We can do this," I whisper to my palms, stretching and closing my fingers.

Cornelia, Brigitta, and Otto look at me, but I sniff away the flare of…of thrill . I cannot bear to let Otto, especially, see the spark of hope on my face, not so soon after losing Johann. I can't let him feel that errant emotion from me, and I try to shield it from our connection. Part of what happened under Trier may have felt like a victory to me, but it was a loss in so many ways.

"Do we know if Dieter has left the city?" I ask. "We can still take him out without having to risk going to—"

"He isn't in Trier," Brigitta says, her voice going to iron, the tone I've heard her take with those under her command. Like she expects pushback.

I frown. "How do you know?"

"People are buzzing with news that Dieter left almost immediately after the flood and took most of his hexenj?gers with him. Alois and Ignatz scouted the city while you were resting."

"They— what ?" The breath kicks out of me, all lingering specks of hope evaporating in a lurch of concern. My eyes snap around our forested campsite and there, I spot Alois, with another of Brigitta's guards, packing their supplies. They made it back, but still, fear swarms me.

It's Otto who says, "You sent them into Trier? Without talking with us?"

"They came to rescue you, if you'll remember." Brigitta's tone doesn't change. "And you are not the sole deciders of these events, warrior. We appreciate what you two are doing, but you cannot, will not , be the only ones who take risks."

I want to argue. But all of my arguments stem from exactly that place: that Otto and I should be the only ones to take risks, because we have been given the greatest responsibility. But if we fail in this mission to stop my brother, everyone will suffer.

We came on this mission with friends, with support.

We have to trust in them.

It would be far easier to believe they have a chance at being safe if they could access wild magic, too, I think. The idea springs fully formed into the midst of my struggle. I pause, expecting a wash of…something. A reason to dismiss the idea. Even a comment from Holda, but that is what she wants, and I realize the thing I am imagining is not other witches deciding to sever from the Well and open up to wild magic, like I did. I am imagining there being no need to sever at all. I am, in one errant, unexpected flash, imagining a world where all magic is wild and free, and we do not have to worry about rules holding us back at all.

A world where no matter what horrors are thrown into our path, everyone has the power to face them.

I prod at my mental defenses. I'm still wearing the charm Cornelia gave me, so none of this is Dieter. And it doesn't feel like him, slimy and self-serving. It feels…hopeful.

But it is too close to what he wants.

We do not know what would happen if the Tree broke, if that dam opened.

But…what would the world look like if it was saturated in magic again, as it was before the goddesses funneled magic into the Origin Tree and told witches wild magic was bad? What could witches do with that kind of power?

"…has abandoned the city," Brigitta is saying. "A handful of hexenj?gers remain, but most of his numbers are gone, and we heard that their archbishop is dead. With the flash flood now too, Trier is in shambles. But—"

Otto flies to his feet.

I stagger in the absence of him and follow him up, but I'm hit with the wash of his feelings before I even need to ask.

Guilt. Fear. Such fear, intense and choking, and his eyes snap to the west, toward Trier.

But he hesitates. His indecision is an iron chain tugging him one way, another. He wants to help his city; he will stay with me and see this through.

"No one remains to help the people there," he says. "We cannot linger, I know. But Johann—and I—"

He stops. His lips thin, and I grab his shoulder.

Brigitta stands, too, and her eyes are holding on Otto, her tone and posture still that of a commander. "The city may have no leadership now, but Dieter's form of leadership was cruelty. They are better off without him; we can all agree on that. And with his influence gone, whoever remains highest in power—some clergy, likely?—will be able to wake up from whatever fog he put them under. The city may be suffering the aftermath of his madness, but they are far better off now."

Otto's shoulders relax. I hadn't noticed how stiff he had gotten. So much of him is still tied to Trier's fate.

I'm hit with that image again. Of a world saturated in wild magic, so ripe with it that anyone— anyone ? Even non-witches?—could tap into it.

Otto wouldn't have to worry about Trier anymore. He wouldn't have to stretch himself thin with trying to protect everyone.

The image is spiraling out, my heart racing at the idea of a world that doesn't have to fear .

But for every innocent person who could access magic, there would be someone with ill intent too. And before all of that, we do not know what breaking the Origin Tree would do . It could destroy everything, the whole of the Well and Black Forest flattened; it could obliterate all magic, or something far worse.

These fantasies are just that— fantasies .

But Otto's fear is a potent instigator, and I want nothing more than to make real a world where he never has to fear again.

Otto nods at Brigitta, eyes dipping to the ground in deference.

"So Dieter has left Trier with the water stone," I say.

What if we are wrong about the Alamanni lands? What if we go to this ancient, long-dead settlement, and not only is Dieter not there, but the air stone isn't as well?

Holda? What can you tell me of the air stone, of the Alamanni, of—

Nothing , she cuts in. She has barely spoken to me since yesterday and has been so consumed in her grief that she didn't even react to my thoughts about destroying the Origin Tree.

I get a wash of her sorrow through our connection. Between her emotions and Otto's, I hardly have room for my own.

Perchta hid the air stone , says Holda. I was kept out of it, as she was kept out of mine.

Perchta does not like me , I say. But will she understand why we are seeking her stone? Will she help us?

It's a futile ask. I remember all too well my few interactions with the Mother goddess. Her disgust of me and my refusal to adhere to the rules she oversees. I am the antithesis of everything she commands, order and rules and tradition.

But Dieter is a threat far larger than Perchta's distaste for me.

I will try to speak with her , Holda says, and I feel the finality in it.

"Our best guess is to go to this fort," I say, rubbing my forehead. "How far?"

"It's Glauberg," Cornelia says. "A few days' travel."

I nod. We've only just awoken but exhaustion settles over me, and I nod again, as though affirmation will take the uncertainty away.

Otto takes my hand. Squeezes hard.

"To Glauberg," he tells me. His own roiling emotions give me something to anchor to. We did what we could for Johann, and Trier is safer without Dieter, but there is nothing else I can do to comfort Otto now, and it breaks my heart.

All this magic. All this power.

There has to be something I can do.

Because otherwise, what is the point of being a goddess-chosen champion?

"To Glauberg," I whisper.

We stick to the land this time, not wanting to forgo horses and unable to take a river the entire way, although we pay heavily for both us and our mounts to be ferried across the Rhine.

The cost has increased, it seems, due to the unexpected flooding in the area.

All rivers we pass, offshoots and brooks, are swollen with water. Villages on the riverbanks are flooded, people rushing around to salvage belongings, rescue missions well underway. As we leave the valley behind, I voice aloud my concern.

"The excess water is Dieter," I say.

Brigitta, from her mount next to me, only grunts.

"We could track him based on the flooding," I try. "Follow it back to wherever he originates."

"How long would that take, to figure out which direction the waters started? They wouldn't have to follow the normal current of the river, so we couldn't assume he's upstream. What if we pick the wrong direction?"

I start to respond. But find I have nothing to say.

Brigitta gives a soft smile. "There are many paths to take in war," she tells me. "Learning to trust your commitment to one direction is what sculpts a soldier. Indecision could cost lives."

"The wrong decision could cost lives too."

She nods and kicks her horse on, and I watch her push ahead in silence.

It's only a two-day journey across the rolling hills and thick forests of the Empire, the sky alternating between crisp blue and clouded early spring.

If Dieter took this path with his hexenj?gers, we see no sign of it. There are less waterways, so signs of his flooding destruction, if there are any, are fewer. They could have taken more populous roads; we stick with a direct route, charging our own trails through dense woodlands with Brigitta at the lead. I try hard not to worry about whether Dieter is on our same path. I try not to worry about whether he's already found the air stone, and this is all futile. I try not to worry about how not seeing him means we may have misinterpreted the next stone's location, and Dieter has already found it elsewhere.

I think of none of those things.

Instead, I think about the town we arrive in near dusk the second night of travel, and how we'll reach Glauberg before noon the next day.

And I announce to our group that we'll be staying at the little village's inn.

Brigitta gives me a look of abject horror, as though the mere fact that we are on a mission of utmost importance means we have to sleep on the hard-packed earth of the forest.

Cornelia doesn't give her a chance to interject. She squeals her agreement and throws her head back, red hair tumbling out of her cloak's hood. " Yes . You can continue on for a campsite if you like, Brigitta. Take your guards with you. But I'm sleeping in a bed ."

At least two of the Grenzwache eye each other and look torn between protesting for comfort and duty to Brigitta.

But Brigitta sighs. "Fine," she relents, and if there's a flicker of relief on her face, she hides it quickly.

The inn has a stable where we leave our horses with eager stable hands who grow even more willing to help when Alois pulls out a satchel of coins.

He dumps a mound of gold into his palm. "Is this enough to feed and house our horses for the night?" he asks me.

The two stable hands are practically salivating. By their gaunt faces and gangly limbs, and the brightness in their eyes at the prospect of customers, I can easily guess that they do not see much business, let alone profit, so for Alois to flaunt money like this will either get us robbed or have them build a statue to him in the town square.

"It's perfect," I tell him, and he hands over the coins. The stable hands take the money like they're being handed soap bubbles.

I catch the eye of the one who looks the oldest, not far off from my age. "Have you seen any soldiers come through? Ones in black?"

We crossed out of the Trier diocese and into Protestant lands, but my brother has never cared for subtlety among political or religious struggles. He would barrel through with his forces regardless of who owned what land.

The stable hand shakes his head. "None but our own lord's fighters. Nothing unusual." He hesitates, hands fisting on his share of the coins, and he looks between his treasure and my eyes with a sudden wariness. "Is there trouble about, Fr?ulein?"

My instinct is to tell him no. To lie, to spare them.

But I bite the inside of my cheek. "There may be. Have you noticed any flooding?"

The stable hand's eyes go momentarily sullen. "Aye. A farm flooded on the outskirts of the village not a day ago. Bit unusual for the time of year. Why, Fr?ulein?"

It could be nothing. A single farm flooding is hardly the same power as the whole of the Moselle devastating Trier.

I shake my head. "Never mind."

He nods, wariness trading for practicality. I have seen faces like his before, set with determination; he has seen struggle, has lived through it, and knows he will face more yet to come.

My throat closes.

What if magic was everywhere? What if, what if…?

These thoughts are consuming me. As though I opened my own internal floodgates, and I'm buoyant in possibilities now.

The inn is as empty as the stable suggested, and the innkeeper is just as eager for our business. Brigitta arranges accommodations with her usual efficiency, putting guards on patrol while we ferry ourselves into rooms. The innkeeper offers to make us supper; the hour is late, but Alois and Cornelia jump at the chance to eat a warm meal.

Otto starts to open his mouth, but I snatch his hand and haul him to the stairs.

He stumbles after me, his surprised laugh a cooling breeze. "You're not hungry?"

"Later," I tell him and drag him into the room we've been given.

The inn is all sturdy wood carved from the surrounding forest, dense and earthy and baked in with years of travelers. The room itself is simple, a threadbare straw mattress on a lifted frame, a pitcher of water on a table by a banked fire. The single window is shuttered, darkness pervasive when I close the door behind us.

Otto's brief spell of levity starts to fade as I make my way to the fire and rouse it. "Liebste…"

Flames catch, casting him in orange as he eyes me, a question hanging in his silence.

I brush ash from my skirt and face him. "Banish your debauched thoughts, J?ger. I didn't bring you up here so you could have your way with me in a roadside inn."

He barks a laugh and scratches a hand through his hair, the dark strands coming loose around his face. "Scheisse. You do know how to seduce a man."

"I'm not seducing you. That's the point." I nod at the mattress. "Shirt off. Lie down on your stomach."

He blinks at me. "Pardon?"

"Shirt off . Lie down." I undo my cloak and hold my hands out to the fire, trying to warm them, glad for the smallness of the room. It's heating fast and so when Otto opens his mouth to question me again, I know it isn't because of the chill.

"Please," I cut him off. I turn, the fire at my back, and cross to stand in his space. The bond is so much more intense the closer we are, the emotions from him mingling with the weight of his presence and the warmth of his body.

"Fritzi, I—"

"FRITZI!"

We both jump at the shriek that comes from the flames. I whirl around to see my cousin's face wreathed in orange and yellow, sculpted of gilded fire.

" Liesel! " I snap, hand to my chest. "The Three save me, you have to stop doing that ." But my shock twists sharply into worry. "Wait—what's wrong? Why are you contacting us again?"

Liesel smiles, so my worry ebbs, but it only makes room for that initial shocked annoyance to rage back up.

"We're fine!" she chirps. "Hilde just made me contact Brigitta for her, and they were so gross with all their looooove talk—I really don't think Abnoba meant for this spell to be used for that ."

A voice behind Liesel goes, "I told you not to listen."

Liesel makes a face over her shoulder. "I don't think the magic will stay up if I'm not here!" she says, but her overly innocent tone tells me she knows exactly that the magic will stay up, she's just nosey. " Anyway ," she refocuses on me, "Brigitta told us you were fine, but I wanted to check in on you because we haven't heard anything about Dieter, and Philomena and Rochus are still trying to track him, but they aren't getting anything , and I'm so bored because Hilde made me go back to school lessons yesterday, and I—"

"Liesel." I kneel down by the fire. Her flame-sculpted face twists to me, wide eyes showing a brush of fear before she forces a cheeky smile.

My annoyance disintegrates.

"I miss you too," I tell her.

Otto crouches next to me. "We'll be back soon, I promise."

Liesel looks between us. "And…you're okay?" she asks, her voice softer, smaller than it was before.

I smile. True and gentle. "We are. We're at an inn now. We get to sleep on a real bed tonight."

Her face screws up. "I did not like that part of traveling. I like real beds all the time."

Otto chuckles. "Don't let her know I told you, but I think Brigitta does too. Our tough kapit?n likes sleeping on the hard ground as much as you do."

Liesel laughs, the sound high and bright, and it makes me beam at Otto.

"Oh, I have to tell her!" Liesel laughs again. "She was just telling Hilde how wasteful it is to not be camping out."

Hilde's voice comes through, "Do not mock my delicate love."

Through my smile, I lean closer to the flames. "Go to bed now, Liesel. It's late. We can talk in a day or two."

She hums, seeming lighter, less concerned, than her manic energy when she'd first appeared. "Okay. You too." A pause. "I love you, Fritzi."

"I love you too."

Another pause. Her face in the flames starts to fade.

" IloveyoutooOtto ."

Then she's gone in a wisp of smoke.

"She put out my fire," I pout to the embers.

Otto, next to me, wheezes. "Did she—" He grins when I look up at him. "She said she loves me."

His cheeks are red, happiness shining deep in his eyes, and it warms me more thoroughly than any flame.

I touch his chin. "What's not to love?"

He stands, beaming joy. "Perhaps there's a market in this town," he says, searching along his belt until he finds the money purse attached to it. "I can buy some wood to whittle her a new animal. Or would they have toys to buy, do you think? Or—"

"Otto." I stand and grab his arm in a huff of laughter. "It's the middle of the night."

He wilts, but he's still smiling softly, and he rolls his eyes at himself. "You're right. I'm just—" A low hum of delight. "I really want her to like me."

My chest swells, warmth and happiness overflowing, and I wonder if it's possible to combust from seeing the man I love so smitten over my cousin.

"Tomorrow," I say, "you can buy out all the toys this little village has. I'll help you."

He rolls his eyes again and sets aside his money pouch. "It sounds a bit ridiculous now. I'll control myself."

"Perish the thought."

Otto hesitates, then his lips pucker in a suppressed smile.

"You had mentioned something about me taking my shirt off?" he asks.

I step closer to him and rest my hands on his chest. "And not seducing you, as you'll recall."

"Hm. Definitely not."

My gaze on him goes serious, intent. "There is very little I can do to help you deal with what happened to Johann, what is happening in Trier. Let me do this."

"You don't need to help me," he says. "You're struggling too, I know you are."

"So you can alleviate one of my struggles by allowing me to do this for you."

"Do what ?"

"Take your shirt off and find out."

"Fritzi."

"Otto."

He sighs. I haven't heard that in a while. His sigh of exasperation, of me vexing him, and I grin.

I haven't grinned in a while either. Haven't wanted to, or been able to. Bogged down by fear and memories and worry. And while all of that is still here, I feel like I can move under it. Like the weight of it has lifted, just enough that I can stretch and work feeling back into numb limbs and breathe.

I undo the clasp of his cloak and remove it. He doesn't protest.

"It may be cool in here, but I'm not restarting the fire," I tell him. "Just in case."

"I thought you weren't seducing me."

"Do you think of anything else? I am capable of other delights."

"You're having me take my clothes off in a private room, Liebste. What else should I be thinking of?"

"Innocent things. Angelic things. I am a virtuous, saintly woman, Otto Ernst, and I am appalled you would assume otherwise."

He laughs, rich and hearty, and I hook my fingers under the edge of his shirt and tug. He lifts his arms and lets me strip it off of him.

My breath snags in my lungs at the sight of his bare chest. I hope I never get used to it. I hope he always fills me with longing.

There's a beat of separation, of disconnected thought where all the scars I still carry fight through, but I push past them, I'm able to push past them, and I widen my grin to give Otto a suggestive leer.

"I've changed my mind," I tell him. "I do want to seduce you. Defile me, j?ger."

His gasp is dramatic. "What happened to my saintly hexe?"

"Those two words have no business being used together."

My grin holds on his, and he seems to realize what I have—that we haven't done this, teasing and fun , in far too long.

I push on his shoulder. "Lie down."

This time he obeys, resting his cheek on his folded hands as he stretches out on his stomach.

I straddle his hips and take a small jar out of my pocket, an ointment typically used for healing, beeswax laced with mint and lavender. The smell of it permeates the air with floral and heady mint, and I take some on my fingers and work it between my hands until it warms.

"We haven't yet talked about what you did with water in the chamber under Trier," Otto says, his voice half-muffled in the bedding.

"We haven't," I agree and rub my hands from his neck straight down his spine.

He hisses, more in surprise than anything, his muscles going tense at the contact. But I do it again, more firmly, working my thumbs in circles down his back, and after another repetition, he starts to relax into the mattress. Two more swipes, and he emits a low groan.

I want to talk about what I did in the chamber. How I controlled water and stones to encase Johann, and how those simple acts have cracked open something in my chest so that now I feel like part of me is slipping through that crack. How I can see the world that Holda wants, a world of wild magic and infinite possibilities.

But as wonderful and miraculous as it could be, wild magic wasn't enough to save Johann, and I'm so sorry, so unspeakably sorry, because I don't know if this kind of magic will ever be enough to save everyone.

I want to talk to Otto, I do. But all we've been doing is talking, and planning, and worrying, and this moment feels simplified, the way our travels did when it was just him and Liesel and me. The fact that that time suddenly feels simple elicits a chuckle from me.

Otto flicks an eye open but doesn't turn to look back at me. I push the pad of my hands into a muscle on his shoulder, and instead of asking why I laughed, he keens, long and low and ending on his own chuckle.

"Why haven't we been doing this the whole time?" he mumble-whimpers into his arm.

"There were far many other things I wanted to do with your body," I say.

"So this is you being bored of me, is that it?"

"Excruciatingly. Can't you tell?" I find another knot and work it with my thumbs and the noise he makes is sinful, so deep that my stomach tightens.

"I missed it," he says softly.

I frown down at him. He doesn't see, but he answers my unspoken question anyway.

"Your laugh," he whispers.

My hands still.

It's the barest pause, but he flips beneath me, and I lurch up with a squeal. He catches me and resets me on his hips, only with him facing me now, and he yanks me down, capturing my mouth with his.