8 Fritzi

8

Fritzi

I keep my gaze on Otto. I focus on him, only on him, because that's what this ceremony is about—bonding with Otto.

But there is something… wrong .

In my chest.

In my stomach.

In the brand on my thigh, an itching, a burn, and it rises, aching, throbbing —

I ball my hand, the one not clinging to Otto, to keep from tearing at my skin as if I can escape the sensation—and my eyes catch on Cornelia.

She is frowning at me, her head cocked, eyes looking not at me but through me, beyond me, seeing with magic, not sight.

Her face goes slack. And in that expression, shock and a flash of horror, I feel it all over again, wrong, itching, my skin is burning, burning —

"Well?" Philomena leans into Cornelia.

Cornelia's specialty lies in the veil, magic beyond our physical plane—Philomena and Rochus have other specialties, which means, of the council, only Cornelia can see if the bonding potion worked.

It did , didn't it? Otto isn't dead. I can still feel my connection to wild magic; I haven't been cut off entirely.

But something is wrong .

Cornelia nods sharply, but her face is all tension. She turns to the crowd, raises her hands. "They are bonded! Champion and warrior, our mightiest hope made true!"

The crowd cheers, applause that hits me like a thunderclap, and I flinch.

Otto tightens his hold on my hand. "Fritzi? Are you—"

Cornelia dives around the table as the music starts. More dancing. More celebrating. An endless party, this one only for those who live in the Well, everyone basking in the landmark this makes—a goddess chosen champion! A bonded warrior! And our borders open to the non-magical world, hexenj?gers driven out—we are a mark of their mightiest hope, indeed.

But I can't get a full breath. My brand scars are throbbing and burning.

Cornelia smiles sweetly at Otto before taking my arm. "You'll get your witch back in a moment, warrior," she tells him, and before he can protest, she hauls me away.

I go, shoes sodden from the pond water, half-aware of her touch on my arm, half-consumed by the pain rising in my brands, in my head, that headache returning tenfold and banging on my skull.

Like a knock.

Like something trying to get in.

I wince, nearly collapse, and I feel another hand on my other arm, another firm grip.

Otto.

"What's wrong?" he asks it of Cornelia, who has led me out of the open area around the Origin Tree, behind another cluster of oaks, hidden from sight of the celebration.

I try to lie to him. I'm fine. Give me a moment.

But what comes out is a croaked, "It didn't work." I look at Cornelia, pleading, terrified. "Did it?"

Holda? I dare to ask. What happened?

She is silent a moment, a thoughtful, tense stillness that seeps over me.

You are bound to Otto, and yet— Holda stops, sounds frustrated by confusion. This magic is old and powerful. I will follow these lines and figure out what has happened.

Cornelia pushes me an arm's length back and keeps looking at me how she did after Otto drank the potion. Studious. Frowning, a line between her brows.

"I don't know," she finally says, an echo of Holda's frustration.

"You don't know?" Otto has his arm around my waist, keeping me up. "I'm still alive, so I'd say it did work. How can you not know?"

One hand lifts, Cornelia's fingers tugging at something invisible just beside my head. "The magic is there. You are connected. But—something—"

"Didn't work," I finish.

Cornelia squints. "I can't see it. The magic is murky. I've never seen a bonding ceremony performed before. I have no experience with this type of magic other than in stories. So maybe—" She drops her hand with a scowl. "Maybe this is how it works? The magic merely takes a day or two to truly coalesce? Because it did connect you. It's almost like there's something blocking it from fully taking effect, like oil mixed in with water—not truly together, but not apart."

My body goes cold. The brands ache, burn, itch—

But I don't say what I'm thinking.

I can't.

Can't even begin to consider the fact that whatever magic my brother worked on me in Baden-Baden, when I was at his mercy, blocked any chance of me bonding with Otto.

I should feel horrified by this. And I am—Dieter's invasiveness keeps finding new ways to torment me.

But this also means that Otto can't be a part of whatever crusade I have to enact on behalf of Holda.

That…might be the only way I can keep him safe.

But if Otto and I are not bonded—if the potion failed, if the ceremony failed—then Rochus and Philomena will have further cause to bar me from the council and any chance I have at enacting change.

Will this mantle be removed from my shoulders?

I am ripped in two. Half with relief, that maybe I won't have to be a champion, won't have to endanger Otto even more and take up the task of undoing centuries of prejudice and belief. Half with…regret. And that regret pierces me in an unexpected burst, that any part of me could look at the possibility of being free of this responsibility and not be elated.

I don't want this burden.

Do I?

Beyond where we linger, the celebration is in full swing, music filling the soft forest. I remember the sight of the Origin Tree, the immensity of this symbol of magic that haunted my dreams and has, for so long, been the constant in our lives.

Holda doesn't just want me to undo the way witches perform magic.

She wants me to show the world the truth in our power. That we can help non-magical people instead of being feared by them; that our magic can be used for their good too. That the ways we perform spells will not harm them. Like the people of Baden-Baden, who accepted us with thanks and joy. Like the people of Trier, who still may be trapped under whatever controlling doctrine the hexenj?gers adhere to, even without my brother at their helm.

The Origin Tree is both a symbol of hope and a symbol of shackles, and I could change it all.

But can I do all that without Otto?

His grip on me is still tight, reassuring and resolute. Cornelia continues studying me, and Otto just waits by us, patient as ever, effortlessly embodying why he's a warrior. Why he's my warrior. Because he's this , so easily, so naturally.

I'm still the champion of a goddess without him. I'm still bound to Holda, if not to Otto. But I'll have been a failure at the bonding ceremony, and Philomena and Rochus will dismiss any suggestions I try to make because of my proven weakness here. Whatever change Holda asks of me will have to come with struggle and fight and war , because I'll be demanding new beliefs be accepted without any authority to enact them.

A bubbling sensation puddles in my gut. The need to—to laugh .

Here I have a way out of what's been terrorizing me for so long, and I'm trying to think of ways to follow it through anyway?

I do laugh. Just once. It pops out of me, and Otto and Cornelia both eye me strangely.

"Do you want to lie down?" Otto asks, thumb moving against my hip.

My body still aches. I gather myself, the back of my hand to my lips.

It's all right.

It's… right.

I don't know where that word comes from. But it rings through me again.

Right.

"No," I say and stand upright, out of his grip, pushing all my pain to the back of my mind. "No. We should celebrate, shouldn't we? The potion worked."

Cornelia sips in a breath, hesitates, and I shake my head.

"We'll figure out whatever happened," I tell her, and I don't know where this certainty comes from. A calmness I haven't felt in weeks descends over me. Calm and steady and… right .

It's okay.

Whatever happened.

It's right .

No— wrong. Wrong. Something is… wrong …

But I smile up at Otto. I feel it distantly, fogged, but I blink, and my gaze focuses, and he smiles back, cautious, still not sure whether he should sweep me away to bed.

I touch his face. "It's all right," I promise him. "I feel…great."

And, strangely, I find it isn't a lie.

I feel more awake than I have in days. Weeks, maybe. A burden is lifted. Or merely softened. Whatever it is, I find it hard to care , and that in and of itself is freeing.

Cornelia doesn't even bother trying to force a smile, staring at me in that abstract studious way like she's trying to see the threads of magic that tether me.

Hm.

They both may be a problem.

Problem?

I shake my head.

There is no— problem.

Everything is right now.