Fritzi picks the girl up, even though her weight is awkward, and she turns. Liesel’s eyes are wide, and somehow, while she cannot see Dieter yet, she must know thewrongnessof Fritzi right now, of this whole situation.
Her worried gaze lands on me.
I see her mouth drop open, fear flooding her as she takes in my appearance—battle-weary, soaked in blood, not beside Fritzi. Her worst fears are confirmed.
Slowly, I raise a finger to my lips. Sticky blood—Rochus or Philomena’s—smears on my face. My throat is so tight I can barely breathe; my eyes sting with unshed tears.
Liesel gives me one tiny nod, her curls bobbing on Fritzi’s shoulder. Fritzi takes her to a ladder and starts descending.
Dieter is nowhere to be seen.
I step carefully around the branches to another ladder, keeping Liesel’s bright yellow curls and Fritzi’s braids in sight. Cornelia and Alois stalk behind me, alert, covering me as I narrow my focus.
The minute my feet touch the earth, the battle sweeps by me. I donotbreak eye contact as Fritzi carries Liesel through the heart of the storm.My sword arm swings down, crashing into an oncoming hexenjäger. I shove, hard, to the right, knocking another back. Behind me, Cornelia screams spells at men who approach, and Alois cuts down the remaining ones with his blade. I stride forward, one long step after another, never once looking away.
Silent tears streak Liesel’s face. She knows that Fritzi is not in control of herself. She knows whoisin control.
But she watches me.
And I will burn this forest to the ground before I let Dieter take either of them.
26
Fritzi
The Well is a battlefield. Swords clash, enemies scream; it is a bloodbath, but I walk through it, limbs stiff with Liesel wrapped in my arms. I walk, and walk, and I think I’m humming, some lilting lullaby Mama always sang to Dieter.
Or, no, it isn’t a lullaby—
“Three stones and one spark.” Singing, singing. “Water, air, earth. And fire in the heart.”
“Fritzi,” Liesel whimpers into my neck. “Fritzi, you’re scaring me. Stop, please.”
“Three stones and one spark. Water, air, earth—”
“Fritzi.” She sobs and clings to me. “Fritzi—this isDieter, he has you—let me go, please.”
But she doesn’t struggle. She holds on to me, an eleven-year-old’s tense grip, as I walk us through the battlefield. No one dives at us, no one attacks.
Up ahead, I see my brother, standing beneath an archway of trees. He beams at me, that smile that is the sun, and I walk, keep walking, even as Liesel shivers in my arms. The weight of her presses against a wound on my chest, but the pain is far away. There, but on the horizon. It doesn’t matter.
Something tugs at the base of my spine. Revulsion? No, it is smothered in the wash of pride that my brother’s smile gives me.
“Good work, sister,” Dieter says and looks at Liesel. He reaches a hand out, strokes her hair. “Hello again, cousin.”
She glares at him, her jaw set, eyes flashing orange. “Don’t touch me.”
He clicks his tongue and drops his hand. “Oh, but I don’t need to, do I? This way.”
I follow.
The sounds of battle fade behind us as we step into a glen. Hexenjägers encircle the space, and as soon as Dieter enters, he nods behind him, and they file out, leaving us alone in a copse of trees that sway in a gentle wind, a small pond undisturbed and peaceful—and the Origin Tree looming over us all.
Its massive roots and reaching branches dominate the glen, leaves clinking against one another, its sheer presence loud even as this space is quiet in reverence.
Memories fight through. This is the place where Otto and I—
Pain lances in my head, and I stumble, almost dropping Liesel. She cries out and tries to scurry out of my arms, but I clamp tighter, regaining my footing.
