28 Fritzi

28

Fritzi

Who they want to be .

I look up at Otto, head ringing with everything he said, everything Abnoba said, all these words and possibilities swirling around me in a storm of building potential.

Who they want to be .

Who do I want to be?

The answer has been many things. I wanted to be a good witch. I wanted to be someone my mother was proud of. I wanted to be someone worthy of my brother's attention and love. Then I wanted to survive, to rescue my cousin from the hexenj?gers, to be safe .

I wanted, and wanted, and sometimes I got what I wanted and sometimes that wanting almost killed me.

But throughout every iteration, I had access to magic in all its varying forms. I had this tool that elevated me even in the darkest, most horrific situations. It gave me a light when all was blue-black, a light that I came to take for granted. A light that I was able to share with Otto, and we may not be the best at using this bond between us, but when I look up at him now, I see the same questions in his eyes.

"Could we…?" I pause, lick my dry lips. "Dieter broke open the Tree. The magic isn't going into him?"

"He will try to direct it," Abnoba says. "But what will you try to do?"

"Magic will flood out into the world," I continue, pieces coming together, "unless we give that magic somewhere else to go."

"Somewhere else?" Otto asks, doubt marring his face. "You? Would you survive it going into you?"

I shake my head. "Not me. Everyone."

His brows go up.

"We could…we could tie it to everyone who belongs to this land," I say to Otto. "Everyone can hold a small well of it in themselves, like you said you could."

"There will still be magic left over." Abnoba twists her walking stick in her long frail fingers. "But the backlash of magic exploding out of the Tree would be lessened significantly."

"So it's possible?" My eyes widen, pleading. "We can give everyone access to magic? Not just witches?"

Abnoba grins. She points between the two of us. "Your mortal is able to access your magic. Bonded pairs could be two witches, sometimes a mortal and a witch, the pairing did not matter. What mattered was the hearts . The souls. That is what determines ability with magic. So these mortals you want to give our magic to—some will be receptive. Some won't know anything has changed."

"But they'll have the chance." I suck in a shaky breath. "Everyone will have the chance to use magic if they want it. We can do this."

I turn to Otto, grab both his hands, something tight and feverish welling up in me. My mouth opens, and I start to explain what I'm thinking, a fumbled, delirious plan, but he squeezes my hands and smiles.

That smile silences me. That smile is a caress on my cheek, a warm beam of sunlight. The connection between us vibrates with that warmth, and I feel his understanding, his acceptance, his surety.

"How?" he asks me, but then he turns the question to Abnoba. "How do we funnel the magic out to everyone?"

Abnoba lifts her hand, and suddenly, she's holding an apple. She takes a bite with a crack and crunch, juices flowing down her chin. "How, indeed?"

Otto made the apple tree bloom when we were trying to practice him accessing my magic. We talked about intent, and will, and instinct.

"We've barely figured out how to use our bond," I say.

"Will it hurt her?" Otto asks over me. "Will it—"

Abnoba smiles at us. "I do think you'll be just fine."

The whiteness around surges brighter, brighter, so bright I have to slam my eyes shut to avoid the piercing intensity—

The smell of smoke has me yanking my eyes open, and I'm sprawled back on the Origin Tree's roots, my hand on the trunk, Otto next to me, his arm around my waist. The Tree burns, the air sullied with gray smoke and the stench of ash, flames of orange licking up the bark.

And there, not an arm's length away, is my brother, slumped at the base of the Tree, his skin charred and bleeding.

I can feel his tether to the Tree's magic. It's a weak, brittle thing, a clumsy final grasp at magic he can no longer host or access, not since I cut off his bond with me. A final, divisive rendering that can never be undone.

He's dying. I can feel that too. The slow drain of his life. The smell of his burning flesh.

His eyes meet mine, startling blue against the burnt black and cracked red of his face, and he sneers at me, reaching one trembling hand until he rests it on the Tree over his head, palm flat against the bark.

"Can you feel it, Fritzichen?" he croaks. Then laughs, a sharp, aching guffaw. "No. You can't, can you? It's mine ."

He's taking the magic. He's pulling the Tree's magic into him, it's the only thing keeping him alive, and I scramble to my feet, Otto with me.

I put my back to my brother. He doesn't matter now. Maybe he never did, and I only thought he did because I wanted to love him.

But I want other things now.

I need other things. And I'm choosing this, to grab Otto's hands and stop him from moving higher up the Tree, toward Dieter.

"Wait." I look up into his eyes. The Tree burns next to us. Dieter lies at the base just across the roots from us, draining the magic into him. It's a pull on the air, a physical jerk in my chest; it's such a potent feeling that the air should be awash in sparks and glitter and flashes, but there is nothing to see, magic effervescent and ethereal. Somewhere beyond the flames, voices shout, weapons clash—hexenj?gers and witches, fighting.

But I cup Otto's jaw in my hands and pull his forehead to mine and breathe.

"This is our magic," I tell him. "Not his. Ours. All of ours."

"That's our intention," he says. "That's our will."

Otto settles his hands on my waist and gasps, his fingers clamping tighter, and heat radiates off his chest—off his tattoo.

I reach out along our bond, and then beyond it, entwining to point into the distance together.

First, Dieter. Our tether winds around him, snuffs out his final grasp at magic like it's nothing more than a candle flame. For all the destruction he caused, that's as strong as he ever truly was—a single flicker, a weak, unsustainable spark. Cut off, he lets out one pained cry, and that desperate hold he had on his dying body begins to slip away.

For a moment, I'm drawn out of my focus. I'm pulled to stare at him again, watching the light leave his heavy blue eyes, eyes that I swear once sparkled with joy, eyes that used to entice and promise.

I don't think that version of my brother ever really existed; I think I cobbled together that memory of him, wanting so badly to not fear him, to not hate him.

Hate is all that remains now. Not even fear. And maybe I should be fearful, on some level, that I can look at him and feel only burning hatred—but that is reclaiming in a way too. This is all he deserves from me. Just enough hatred to stop him. Just enough energy to end this.

His eyelids flicker, then softly close.

The flood of power that had been feeding into him shifts now, widening—without his will against it, it bucks like a furious horse, kicking and wild.

Otto and I stagger, feet slipping on the Tree's roots, flames still burning, brushing up against the edges of our boots, long fingers of it reaching for our arms and faces. But we stay focused, locked together, all of our concentration on that tether, our tether, and now, this magic. Our magic.

Out , I think. We think. Go .

Out into the world. Out into people like those we passed in our travels, people just trying to endure. Out into people like those hiding in Trier, cowering under the persecution of the hexenj?gers. Out even into the hexenj?gers themselves, people who have never considered that there is another way; they have that way now, they have a path that is not lined with hate. Out, out, into hearts and souls.

Faces flash in my mind. All the people who were in the prison with me before Otto blew up the aqueducts. And the children near his housefort, little Mia and her brother.

Then another face comes, one I know is from Otto, the kick of grief that accompanies it: Johann. What could have happened if he'd had magic during the fight with Dieter under the city?

Out, out; our combined will tethers like our bond.

I see witches too. Witches in the Well, and others, still scattered, few and in hiding. I see the rules they have been forced to adhere to that limited their power in ways they aren't even aware of. I see that potential inside each of them, the sudden filling where they had previously only been able to draw in such magic through rigid customs and ceremony. They are full now, full to bursting with power, and tears trickle down my face as I feel their awe and wonder.

The kicking, bucking wildness of the Origin Tree's magic breaks into an all-out sprint, surging, unburdened, unrestricted. It rips my breath away, sucks against the air in a whirlwind that douses the fire, spinning bits of ash and debris around us in a windstorm. It spins, spins, gusts stronger, and in that wind, I spot the three stones whirling around us, caught in the dance of the magic evolving.

Just as quickly as the storm came, it stops.

The magic has left the Tree. It has somewhere else to go now.

The wind settles. The stones drop with heavy thuds to the roots around us, where they come to rest, unchanged.

Otto and I stay there, locked with our foreheads together, panting and hearts racing. I only give us a moment's pause before I rear back and look him all over, patting his chest.

"Are you all right?" I demand. "Did that hurt you?"

He pushes air out his nose. "Did it hurt me ? What about you ? You're the one usually—"

He stops. Pushes on his chest. Panic leeches into my body until he smiles, wide and beaming.

"I can feel it," he whispers. "Fritzi—I can feel the magic in me. It's—not yours, not like when I draw on you. It's—" His smile flickers. Tears glisten in his eyes. "It's mine ."

Behind us, a cry goes up.

We both whirl on the Tree's roots to see a few remaining hexenj?gers on their knees at swordpoint by Brigitta's guards. The witches are cheering their victory, a victory I can hear echoed throughout the Well, beyond this little glen.

Liesel scrambles up the roots and throws herself around my waist, arms locked tight. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—I shouldn't have burned him; I shouldn't have used fire—"

I wrap my arms around her shoulders. "Liesel, it wasn't your fault. It's all right." I exhale, shaking, and feel those words. "Everything's all right now."

In the tangle of guards before us, I spot Hilde, bloodstained but smiling. Cornelia leans on Alois; the two of them give a tentative smile.

Then their eyes lift beyond me, to the Tree, and their faces pulse wide with shock.

I turn. Otto follows my gaze and what wonder he'd had sharpens.

The Tree is split in three pieces. What was once a massive, ageless pillar of magic is now an unraveled heap of charred wood, branches split off, leaves gone.

And at the base, locked beneath a fallen branch, is my brother's body.

I look away, and hug Liesel to me tighter.

"Everything's all right now," I whisper again.

Otto tucks his arms around us both as guards begin to move towards us. I think I hear Brigitta shout a question from farther off, demanding explanation. And it will come. So much will come now—explanation, momentum, forward motion.

But for now, for this moment, I lean into Otto's arms and feel Liesel bury her face into my stomach, and—

Movement catches my eyes in the trees surrounding this glen.

Three shapes, nearly translucent, like ghosts in mist. One bent over a walking stick. One proud and rigid. And one smiling, eyes glistening, cheeks damp.

Holda bows her head at me.

Thank you , I hear in my head, her voice familiar, comforting.

I nod at her.

A twist of concern seizes in my chest. Are you leaving now? Did the Tree hold you here? Will I still be able to speak with you?

Her smile is half relief, half pure joy. You can always speak to me, Friederike. Now, I have other people who can speak to me too. Thanks to you and your warrior.

She bows deeper. A long, slow curtsy.

Abnoba mimics her, gray hair rippling.

After a beat, Perchta lowers as well, her face stoic, severe.

I blink, and they vanish.

"Are you all right?" Otto cocks his head into my field of vision.

I smile, cheeks aching, and I nod, because I am. We are.

Under the shadow of the destroyed Origin Tree, in this hidden sanctuary of magic, at the beginning of this promise for a better world, I do the only thing there is left to do.

I thrust up onto my toes and kiss the man I love.