4 Fritzi

4

Fritzi

The next morning, I find that the bathing grove has been transformed.

Moss-covered stones surround a narrow offshoot of the river that runs through the Well. Folding wood panels cordon this space off from others, dozens of candles now filling this little cove, their light adding pecks of flickering orange to the late afternoon sun that shines down through gaps in the trees. Strands of herbs have been hung between sapling branches, and the whole area smells of them, but tart as well, where some have been burned: spicy mint and bitter rosemary and floral lavender.

I inhale as deeply as I can, willing the scents to elicit the intended calm, but a knot holds in the bottom of my belly. One that tugs, and winds, and tightens as I stand just outside the entrance, holding a robe tight around my body.

Hilde gives up on a purple flower she'd been trying to weave into the plaits across my hair. "Scheisse, I never could figure out how to do things like this. Why did Cornelia give me this task?"

"Maybe it's your test." I force a smile for her. "Otto is busy abusing all of his muscles. You get to solve a complex hair problem. And I get to take a bath."

She sighs heavily and starts in on the flower again. "Did I miss where I have to be involved in the bonding ceremony too? Because as much as I've come to like you, I don't think I want to be a part of that."

"That's not what—why does everyone keep making jokes about it like that? As though I would be so crass as to talk about such things with my lover's sister."

Hilde gags. " Lover ."

My smile becomes truer. "My darling? My truest one? My tender—"

Hilde pats my cheek. Hard. "There. You're finished and ready to be baptized."

I cringe. "That's not what this is."

"You're purifying in water. Cleansing from sin. Dedicating yourself to a deity." Her tone is honestly curious. "How is it not?"

"This isn't meant to dedicate me to anything. This is to get rid of negative energy and reset my internal balance." It's easy to recite the words Cornelia has been drilling into my head for days, why this is so important, as important as Otto jumping around a…waterfall? I had to have heard that incorrectly. "And sin has nothing to do with it. I have done nothing for which I should feel guilty."

My gut thuds at that.

If the council knew where I got my true magic from, they would certainly disagree. Which is why it's so important I adhere to these traditions, to their rules, so as not to arouse suspicion.

But that's where my reticence comes from. Not in actually thinking I've done something wrong in connecting with wild magic, but in knowing that it will be a source of contention with the council.

Hilde cocks her head, a bewildered look falling over her. "I'm still not used to that," she says softly.

I straighten my robe. "Used to what?"

"Not being ashamed."

My eyes fly up to her.

I have gotten to know her well these past months. She's only similar to Otto in moments like these, when she is serious. Most of the time, she is uncouth and loud in a way that blends all too well with my own natural state, to the point Otto frequently regrets having us both in his life. Especially when we team up against him.

But now, when she stares up at me, her eyes are all Otto's, dark and sincere, and I can easily imagine her turning those same eyes heavenward in a cathedral, searching for answers in votive candle smoke.

I squeeze her shoulder. "Have I told you today that I'm glad my magic sent you here?" The errant spell that transported her to the Well so long ago is the reason for all of this, her presence here, mine, Otto's.

She beams. Wide and pretty. "No. But I do like to hear how much you adore me, so go on, go on."

My squeeze on her shoulder turns into a pinch, and she chirps. "I'll let Brigitta be the one to properly fawn over you."

Hilde blushes, and with a satisfied sigh, her eyes drift out. "And, oh, she is so very good at fawning."

My turn to gag. "All right, truce on talk of our…exploits?"

Her smile turns devilish. "I don't know. You did promise you'd give me all the details of that time you tried to woo the traveling merchant's daughter in Birresborn."

From one angle, I want to smirk—it was a rather silly moment that involved trying to steal a dried flower hanging in the rafters of my aunt's house, only for me to topple headfirst into the fireplace and come out covered in soot. Instead of swooning over my attempt at romance, as I'd hoped, the girl had laughed at me.

But even as I remember it, grief punctures holes in the story. I remember my aunt's house. Liesel's mother.

I remember it standing empty, bodies littered at my feet in the wake of Dieter's attack.

With a hard shake of my head, I drop my eyes from Hilde and straighten my already straight robe. "Can you see if Cornelia is ready for me yet?"

Hilde pats my arm, misreading my shift for nerves. "Of course. You'll do great."

She ducks into the cove, and for a moment, I'm alone.

Birds chirp somewhere overhead. The sounds of the Well are more distant, the bulk of the hidden city farther back, but I can imagine the bustle of day-to-day life, makers selling wares and people working looms and lessons underway. Liesel and all the other school-age children are missing more lessons for the upcoming ceremony; she was all too thrilled about that.

These normal thoughts serve as enough of a distraction that when Cornelia dips out in front of me, I'm able to square my shoulders without hesitation.

"Ready?" she asks.

I nod.

She slides away, and after a beat, I follow her in.

A path is laid out for me through the bathing area where two rows of women create a funnel to guide me toward the pool. At the edge, ankle-deep on a stone that lets them stand just within the water, are Liesel and Hilde, with Cornelia joining them.

If any of the women lining this path raises an eyebrow at a non-witch being part of this purification ceremony, they don't show it. With Hilde's help creating the bonding potion, watching over it as it brewed, and her relationship with Brigitta, she's become an honorary member of the Well.

The headache I can't seem to get rid of thuds behind my eyes, and I fight a wince as I step down alongside them, the cool, clear water lapping at my bare feet.

Will any amount of cleansing spells ready me?

I can pretend all I like for the council. Play the part, obey their rules and traditions, make it look as though, when I use magic, I am doing so through casting spells and harnessing ingredients. But it's a lie, all of it, and I have done far worse than that.

Holda chose me to do this; Otto eagerly fell into his role as my warrior. But I know, after this ceremony and the bonding one tomorrow morning, that I will be forced to the front of Holda's crusade. It will fall on me to convince the council—well, to convince Rochus and Philomena—that wild magic is no different than the magic they painstakingly protect in the Origin Tree. That the limitations we put on witches on how to use our power are unnecessary and harmful. That our entire way of life is a lie, and we should undo the very systems they've upheld for decades, and—

I drop the robe before I sink down into the bathing pool, and the shock of the chilly water silences my inner turmoil. The thin white shift I'm wearing billows up around me, dispersing herbs that bob across the surface of the pool, and with the nearby glow of candlelight and the soft, steadying presence of all the women behind me, it is, for a moment, peaceful.

I did not choose you idly, Friederike , Holda tells me.

My muscles go slack, and I lean against the edge of the pool, head and shoulders out of the water, my back to all the people in this cove.

So you chose my brother with the same careful intent? I can't help but snap. He had been her champion before me.

She goes silent.

The grotto fills with the velvety murmurs of chanting. The voices of the women rise around me, swelling high in a gentle litany. A spell. A prayer.

Water sloshes as Cornelia, Liesel, and Hilde kneel behind me.

After him , Holda says, I made sure I did not choose incorrectly again.

I don't respond.

Fingers tug at my head, tipping my face up to the high blue sky above. The murmured words catch, gain in volume:

"Water to wash. Plants to grow. Smoke to carry. Fire to ignite."

You may not believe it, Friederike , says Holda. But you are the most suited to this task. I will not downplay the size of it, nor what I ask of you. I know I demand too much. But I will be at your side through every moment. I will not abandon you.

I almost reply with an observation of how much good her allegiance did me when Dieter ripped me out of the Well and had me chained at his mercy in Baden-Baden. I almost respond with how much good the favor of a goddess does against potent cruelty.

But I agreed to this. I agreed to be her champion, however misguided I was, however desperate. I'm here, and I'll face the confrontations and struggles I know are coming, so pouting about it will get me nowhere.

The voices chanting, the smells of herbs and candle smoke, the velvety warmth of the water and air—it all combines, egged on by my sleeplessness, and for a moment, I think it worked. This cleansing ceremony. I feel made anew suddenly, shoved into a dazed aura—

You ask too much of this one, sister , snaps a voice. Recognition shatters the brief aura of fogged drifting. Perchta, the Mother goddess. She will fail you and hurt what we have built.

You do not wish to change our ways , Holda says. You have made your stance clear. But you and Abnoba agreed, even so, to allow me to try.

Still in the water, still wrapped up in the chanting of the people around me, I go immobile.

Holda could have this conversation without me hearing. So she is letting me hear it.

The other goddesses are aware of what it is she wants me to do: remove the restrictions on magic so all witches can access it without the requirements of tapping into the Well. But last I knew, Holda was shielding my connection to wild magic not only from the council but from her sisters too. It is not surprising that the goddesses saw through her scheming.

I do not move, skin gone cold in the water, pinned in place by the sensation of being near something forbidden, something sacred.

"Water to wash. Plants to grow. Smoke to carry. Fire to ignite."

The chanting continues, Cornelia, Liesel, and Hilde closest to me, but even their words are monotone, as though those who chant are no longer aware that they speak, like the whole of this cove has fallen into a lull under the conversation happening in my head.

Our priest and priestesses will never allow wild magic to be accepted , Perchta says, undeniable haughtiness in her tone. Especially when it is this one presenting such an ill change. She cannot be trusted. She will only disappoint you the way her brother did.

My chest bucks, heart wrenching hard, but I keep my lips pressed together, teeth digging into my cheeks until iron sours my tongue.

Holda doesn't respond right away. Does she think I will argue with Perchta? That I will fight for my abilities and swear I am not my brother?

Where is Abnoba? What side of this argument does she fall on?

I say nothing. I do nothing. I just sit in the water, trapped beneath Perchta's condescension, and stay silent.

You will not interfere , Holda tells Perchta. Friederike will have the best chance I can give her.

I will not interfere , Perchta says. But if she endangers us, you will not be able to keep her safe from me.

The air sucks out of the cove in a jarring pop that vibrates in my ears.

The chanting around me continues, but there is a livelier note to it now, not the droning, dizzying quality it had before. And behind me, Cornelia dips a cup into the pool, scoops water and a few pieces of rosemary, and dumps it down my hair.

"Water to wash," she says again, in time with the other women. "Plants to grow. Smoke to carry. Fire to ignite."

Her fingers on my scalp ground me. They still my shaking, shaking I hadn't even realized I was doing.

Perchta's words linger in my head. Holda's defense and certainty.

My palm presses flat on the brand on my stomach. A spot on my thigh aches. A third on my chest.

Dieter's brands. The scars he left behind.

I smell the stench of burnt flesh suddenly, hear distant screams—my screams—and I just want to rest , I just want to run —

Cornelia shifts aside, making room for Liesel, who repeats the action, scoop, dump, recite.

This spell is unnecessary. This whole cleansing ceremony is unnecessary. All the spells we memorized because they were the only way to access the Well's magic—lies. All the herbs we use, the potions we brew—lies. Catalysts, at most, ways to focus our intent. But they were just rules inflicted on us by the goddesses, who sealed away as much magic as they could in the Origin Tree so they could divvy it out in a controlled, methodical way, as opposed to the unpredictable, unrestrained might of wild magic.

Hilde is next. She repeats what Cornelia and Liesel did.

Their voices lock together, the women all behind me, a faceless, chanting sound rising, rising in volume.

"Water to wash. Plants to grow. Smoke to carry. Fire to ignite."

My eyes flutter shut, and I see the outline of the Origin Tree again. Its branches twisting, reaching for the sky.

Water . Plants. Smoke. Fire.

Four elements twist up around it, streams of each that lock together in a braided rope of protection—or, no, they contract, and the Tree shudders—

I gasp, but the image is there and gone so fast, a twinge of nothing more than ghost pain.

I've been sleepless. The headaches are getting worse. My nerves are rubbed raw.

That's all.

It has to be.

Cornelia squeezes my shoulder, and I rise up out of the water, shivering. Even though it is a wet spring in Baden-Baden, in the Well, it is perpetually warm, but that does nothing to stop the bone-deep shudder.

I see the Tree quaking under the tightening of that elemental rope.

A blanket is wrapped around my shoulders. I huddle into it, and when I turn, the women have gone silent, a dozen shining eyes watching me.

They have not had a witch-warrior bonding ceremony in decades, much less a champion -warrior bonding ceremony. And I feel the weight of their hope tenfold, an invisible power even more intense than wild magic.

My knees wobble.

I take a breath, spicy mint, bitter rosemary, floral lavender.

My eyes meet Cornelia's, and she beams, a wide, excited grin.

"Now," she tells me, "we get to have some fun."

Fun turns out to be a rather lengthy dressing process, where Cornelia, Hilde, and Liesel twist my hair with flowers and cocoon me in a gown that had to have come right out of one of the fantastical stories Liesel loves listening to. It's more or less a kirtle—a fitted dress—but the sleeves have been removed so my arms are free, and slits up the side leave my legs bare to midthigh. The deep green color is offset by stitched plants, herbs for protection, and flowers, bright, beautiful, violent bursts of orange and blue and gold, and a thinner cover is placed on top, sheer gray fabric that almost makes up for how much skin I'm showing.

If we were staying in the Well for the final piece of the purification ceremony—the bonfire—then I wouldn't mention it. But as I trail Cornelia through the forest, our procession of women making for Baden-Baden, I can't help but clear my throat awkwardly.

"I think this outfit may cause the Catholics to collectively turn on us again," I say.

Hilde laughs. Boisterously. "Rest assured, this Catholic is manically in favor of this sort of fashion."

Liesel's big eyes blink up at her. "Why?"

Hilde blanches. "Oh. Um. You see—"

I nudge her with my elbow, and she tumbles a few steps like I tripped her. "Nothing, Liesel. Hilde thinks she's funny."

Liesel scowls, clearly knowing she's missed the joke, but she relents.

All around us, the woods are darkening with dusk, but lanterns dot the gray-black trees like fireflies determined to emerge before summer.

Hilde clears her throat. "Is my role done? I'm off to—"

"Yes," I say instantly. Then grin when, for a second, she looks offended before realizing the game.

She rolls her eyes. "Such gratitude. I don't know what Otto sees in you."

"With this dress, he'll see quite a lot."

Liesel giggles. " Ohhhhhh . I get it now."

Scheisse.

Hilde chortles and playfully punches me in the shoulder. " As I was saying , I'm off to find Brigitta." And she's gone with little more than a backward wave.

Cornelia chuckles at Hilde's departure, but she edges closer to me and sobers. "Do not worry about the dress," she tells me. "We aren't hiding from them anymore, remember?"

Her smile doesn't counter the intensity in her eyes.

No. We aren't hiding. We declared the existence of magic and witches quite spectacularly when my brother overtook Baden-Baden, and while the distant reaches of the Holy Roman Empire may be able to deny us still, the people of this little hamlet no longer can. Most have embraced us, no doubt for saving them from Dieter, but how long will those good graces hold? We're having this bonfire ceremony in their town square as another good-faith outreach. What if seeing our practices is too much, too soon? What if—

I cut myself off, balling my hands, eyes rolling shut on a groan.

The Three save me. Is this how I sound to Liesel, to Otto? How are they still tolerating me?

Yes, there are terrifying things to be done. But we survived . We survived my brother. We survived his crusade. We're here, and people without magic know about witches and are willing to at least attempt to embrace us.

This is good.

Whatever happens after the bonding ceremony.

This is good .

I repeat that to myself as we wind through the forest, emerging into the town of Baden-Baden.

There is no city wall, not like the fortress that is Trier, and I'm glad there's no comparison between those two cities. Trier was dark and smoke grimed, a war of Roman architecture and Catholic oppression. Baden-Baden is sprawling and open in a way that matches the untamed mystery of the Black Forest, as though it remembers its roots, even under the Empire's hand.

We weave through the streets, most buildings shut up against the late hour, past nightfall now. The sky is clear and star speckled, the air cool but not frigid, and I'm grateful for that, dressed as I am.

A hand tugs at my wrist. I accept Liesel's fingers between mine, and she squeezes.

"Don't be nervous," she whispers up at me.

I cock a smile down at her. "Me, nervous? Never."

"You don't have to— whaaaaat ?"

Her words end on a long, drawn-out gasp, eyes plastered ahead of us, to where the road spills open into the town square.

I turn, and my smile grows.

The bonfire in the middle of Baden-Baden is truly impressive, a pile of logs that sends fingers of orange and yellow dancing up into the black sky. Music plays from somewhere, tinny instruments and tapping drums that shoot urgency into everyone as they hurl their bodies around the fire. Most are from the Well, witches all too glad to no longer be forced into hiding. Some, more than I'd expected, are from Baden-Baden, and their tentative smiles grow as they watch members of Brigitta's Grenzwache toss themselves in daring leaps over the flames.

There are pockets of discontent too. Some people have come merely to fold their arms and glare at the celebration, muttering to each other and shaking their heads disapprovingly. But they are far, far fewer than I expected—errant groups, hardly the majority. And most of their discomfort seems to lose its force against one man in particular: the town priest, who is clapping alongside witches, smiling at the music, dark robes lit by the flames.

He is accepting of us. Of this.

And so the dissenters hardly have support to turn their muttering into action.

Liesel bounces next to me and points at the people leaping over the flames. "Oh, I want to try that! Fritzi, Fritzi , oh my—"

Before I can say anything at all, she takes off, darting through the crowd in a blur of blond curls and blue dress.

Cornelia laughs. "She gets it." Her elbow pierces my side. "Why are you so sour, then? This is your party, after all."

"I'm not sour." I frown at her. "And I'm not nervous either. I don't know why you and Liesel are so set on me being upset when I am clearly fine ."

Cornelia gives me a flat look. "Yes. You're terribly convincing. All I'll say is—ah." Her eyes dart over my shoulder and a coy smile takes her. "All I'll say is that you had better do something tonight to purge yourself of all this being fine before you undergo the bonding ceremony tomorrow. That is the point of all this purification, after all, and, oh look, there is something coming up to you right now."

I whirl, feeling his eyes on me even before I see him.