7 Otto

7

Otto

It should have been uncomfortable, sleeping in a meadow under the stars. Although God knows we did enough rough sleeping when fleeing Trier. But it's peaceful, and the blooms that are here because of Fritzi's magic wrap us in soft scents and petals.

I wake up near dawn, the sun rising over the mountains, a vivid, fiery red that seems impossibly bright. I don't move. Fritzi is wrapped in my arms and my tunic, but soon enough she stirs and stretches luxuriously.

"I don't remember the last time I slept so well," she says, her eyes still closed. She nuzzles into my chest. My arm tightens around her, and she whispers, "Mine."

"Yours?" I ask, bemused.

"This spot. Right here. This spot on your chest. It was made for my head to rest on. It is mine."

"Yours," I confirm, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. "Good morning, my hexe."

Distantly, I hear a horn, the sound low and melodic but insistent all the same.

"We should go," I say without moving.

"They can't very well do the bonding ceremony without us."

Horse hooves—slow and plodding—thud on the ground near us, and Fritzi and I have just enough time to make ourselves somewhat presentable before Skokse emerges from the Black Forest. The horse blows out a breath of grass-scented air from her nostrils. Atop her bare back sits Liesel, curls perfect, cloak spread out behind her.

"There you are," she says impatiently. "Come on. Everyone's waiting."

"Everyone's waiting?" Fritzi asks. "It's barely dawn."

"Yes, and I've been up for an hour. Rochus said we can't do anything until this ceremony is over, and Hilde said she'd bake me cookies after, and I've run out of parchment, and I have to wait a week until I can get more, and there's nothing left to do, and it's time to go."

I silently vow to never have children.

Liesel scoots up Skokse's withers, and I use a stump to mount before holding my arm out and lifting Fritzi up. It's awkward, but Skokse is a warhorse, trained to carry gear and armor far heavier than me and two girls.

By the time we reach the village, it's well and truly morning, and there's a bustle of excited activity. We separate to freshen up, and Fritzi swaps that gauzy gown for a dress embroidered with every plant imaginable, so decorated that it's almost impossible to see the base of green wool. I find that Brigitta has delivered a week's worth of garments similar to the ones I donned last night, all of them presumably magically enhanced. I select the darkest pair of leggings and a tunic more black than blue.

Fritzi meets me at the base of the tree with Cornelia in tow. "Where are we going?" I ask as Cornelia leads us down a path deeper into the Forest.

"Near the Origin Tree," the priestess says, setting a fast clip. "Something this special, well…we wanted to do it right."

The Origin Tree. My hand goes unconsciously to my chest, feeling the new tattoo on my skin. I need to ask Brigitta what sort of power the Tree sigil on my skin may grant me, how I can use the magic without drawing too much from Fritzi. There are two types of training for me to complete in order to be a suitable warrior for my witch. I must hone my body, but I also need to explore this new magical bond.

With Dieter out of the picture, there are still enemies to face, threats that I must ensure are met. Last night's celebration in Baden-Baden, that unity between two different groups of people who had once been deadly opposed—that's worth fighting for. And I am certain it's the type of peace that can be achieved widely.

How can I not believe we can change the world if Fritzi is by my side?

Cornelia slows as we go along a narrow path skirting the coven. In the Black Forest, there are plenty of trees, but I've yet to see the Tree. I know it's southeast from the main coven, set off on a higher peak and, from the way the others have spoken, near a lake. I know also that few in the Well coven visit the Tree. The main priest and priestesses do; Brigitta, as captain of the guard, accompanies them. I think the others have seen the Origin Tree before, but as a special-occasion event, not regularly.

My suspicions on that are confirmed as the village comes alive, a current of excitement zinging through each person as they join us on the path.

I asked once why more didn't visit the Tree. Brigitta tried to explain—much like the Black Forest had helped to protect the Well by keeping others out, forcing Fritzi, Liesel, and me to overcome a test set by the goddesses before we gained entry, the Origin Tree is similarly protected, only allowing people to draw close when they are needed.

"We protect it, of course," Brigitta added after I'd asked. She waved toward the guards who used spells as well as regular patrols. "But the Tree is sacred. It is the link between magic and mundane, between mortals and goddesses. And so it protects itself."

I can feel a buzz of excitement as we draw nearer. Some people had already set out before Cornelia collected Fritzi and me. Their mood is infectious—I feel myself practically vibrating with anticipation. But there's a coil of fear tightening inside my stomach as well.

Technically, bonding with Fritzi is going to be nothing more than drinking a highly powerful potion, one that could kill me and destroy her magic if she brewed it incorrectly. But no one has bonded like this in living memory, much less a goddess-chosen champion and warrior, so I guess the Origin Tree approves of a little more pomp and ceremony than usual.

Fritzi, who'd been following Cornelia's quick pace, slows down a little until she's side by side with me. She slips her hand in mine, and I give her fingers a squeeze.

The crowd behind us has grown. Liesel darts in and out of the people, seemingly on a first-name basis with every single witch in the coven. I take a moment to appreciate this new home I've found—because my home is not the room I share with Fritzi in the trees, but instead, it's this. It's Hartung, who wakes before everyone else in the Well to bake bread. It's Alberta, who sharpened my blade for me when she saw me struggling with a whetstone. It's Manegold who teaches the children spells and spelling, and it's Volkwinna who patches their scraped knees. In Bernkastel, I had only the smoke from the fire that consumed my mother. I could never feel a sense of community among those who had done nothing but watch her burn. And in Trier, I was surrounded by enemies. There were the orphans who I helped and who helped me. With a pang, I send a prayer up, hoping they're okay. Trier, though, even with the few friends I could count on, had been a mission.

The Well has become a home.

Our steps slow as we reach a clearing. Hilde stands near Brigitta, both of them beaming at me—they must have arrived here earlier. The other council members—Rochus and Philomena—are behind a table that's been placed in the shallows of a crystal-clear glacial pool.

And behind them—

My eyes grow round. The Origin Tree—for what else could that massive, sprawling tree be?—grows inside the center of the pond. And it's not one tree.

It's three.

The roots sprawl out, tangling like vines, knobby knuckles peeking up over the surface of the otherwise still water. The roots are a knotted mess, and so are the branches, woven almost as tightly as a basket. But I can see, even from the distance where we stand, that there are three separate trunks. I stop, shocked, looking up at the way the three trees interlock, the trunks braided together to form one.

It's early spring, but one of the trees already has new growth on it, crisp, pale green leaves still uncurling. In contrast, its branches are tangled with a tree whose leaves are more red and yellow than green. The other tree's branches are bare and spindly.

Fritzi tugs at my arm, and it's only then that I realize I've been awkwardly motionless, gawking at the massive tree. I had heard the legends, of course, the ancient beliefs of Yggdrasil from a Norseman I met in my travels, or the axis mundi, that invisible line between the realms, an astronomer told me about. But seeing this tree makes me wonder if there is a seed of truth in the legends, a history that I have not yet uncovered.

I don't really grow aware of my surroundings until I splash into the pool—the same pond the tree grows from—stopping at the table where Rochus and Philomena wait for us. The water laps at our ankles, cool but not cold. Cornelia moves to join the others, with the priest and priestesses on one side, and Fritzi and me on the other.

And between us, a bottle.

The noises of the crowd of onlookers fade. A still silence wraps around us.

Cornelia speaks first, then the others. It is so quiet now that no wind rattles the leaves, no bird breaks into song. The entire world, it seems, hears what Cornelia says.

But not me. Her words fade into the background. I should listen, but…

I'm watching Fritzi's eyes, wide, rimmed in a barely suppressed panic. I hear the thrum of her heartbeat, louder than anything else. I feel the whisper-light tremble in her fingers.

I rub my thumb over her knuckles until she lifts her eyes to mine.

I love you. My words are silent, my lips barely forming the words, but I know she hears the truth of them.

There it is. The shadow of her smile as her gaze focuses on me, her mind focuses on us.

Nothing else.

Cornelia's voice raises, loud and clear. "And now, to seal your fates together, you will both drink of the potion that binds your souls and your powers." She raises the bottle so everyone can see it and then offers it to us.

Fritzi reaches for it first. I watch as her throat muscles work, swallowing half the potion in several big gulps. Her eyes seem to darken; her body grows still.

Is something wrong?

I glance at Cornelia, panic flaring, but the priestess just nods, indicating that I drink next. I pluck the bottle from Fritzi's fingers and down the rest of the potion.

Black.

Cold.

Fierce rage, washing over me—something wanting my head to turn, to look. At what? My neck muscles twitch. My eyes grow dim. My body is being jerked, pulled, tugged to look at—

The Tree.

Covetous fury blinds me.

Black.

Cold.

The frigid darkness fades. A connection stretches between us, an invisible tether from Fritzi's soul to mine.

Morning light filters through my eyes. I squeeze Fritzi's fingers again.

Her gaze focuses on me, her eyes full of terror.