Fritzi sees my glance and slips her hand in mine. How long ago that feels now. How desperate I was.
How alone.
“There you are!” Alois calls, darting over, Cornelia at his heels. Alois skids to a stop in front of me, his face grave. “Have you or have you not had apfelkraut before?”
“Of course I have,” I say. The fruit spread is delicious on fresh bread; my stepmother used to make some at the end of every summer.
Alois’s eyes narrow, and I notice for the first time that he has a jar of the sweet stuff in his hand, purchased from some merchant, no doubt. “Howdareyou keep this a secret from me? I need bushels of the stuff delivered to the Well immediately!” He eats some straight out of the jar, sticky, dark red syrup staining his lips.
I laugh at him. “You know, my sister could make you some. She has my stepmother’s recipe.”
“Yes, but then Brigitta would get all of it.” Alois pouts.
“There’s nothing stopping you from getting the recipe and making it yourself,” Cornelia says. “Itisquite good.”
Alois whirls around to her. “I can!” he exclaims, eyes full of wonder. His gaze turns inward, as if the secrets of the universe have been revealed to him. “I can make some myself, and then eat it all myself.”
“You have to share with me,” Cornelia tells him sternly.
He stares up at her with adoration. “Of course!”
“This is a very good development,” Cornelia tells Fritzi.
“Having fresh apfelkraut and brotchen at the assembly meetings will be wonderful,” Fritzi says. The two women bend their heads together, discussing possibilities. After the deaths of Rochus and Philomena, as well as the destruction of the Origin Tree, Cornelia and the coven at the Well voted to dissolve the council. Now Fritzi and Cornelia moderate a monthly assembly of anyone who wants to discuss matters, a more open forum that relies on honesty and group efforts rather than secrets and control.
Alois is long gone by the time Cornelia looks up. “Where did he go?”
I point toward a shop. Cornelia heaves a sigh. “We’resupposedto be fostering new alliances,” she mutters, chasing after him.
“He’ll be fine.” Fritzi slips her hand through mine. A new archbishop was selected a month ago and will be arriving from the Vatican soon. We are staying in Trier long enough for Fritzi and Cornelia to have a meeting with the recently appointed religious leader of the diocese, and there is hope that a new sort of peace can be reached between those who use magic and those who choose not to. It is early days yet, and while the new archbishop has seemed receptive, we shall have to wait and see. Our steps toward introducing people to magic have been hesitant and careful. It’s not yet widely known or understood. Cornelia and Fritzi have practiced various different scenarios for how to soothe the prejudices that once scarred this city.
Trier will not be forgotten.
Not again.
“Come on,” Fritzi says, tugging on my arm. We have our own mission to complete today.
Together, down the hill, away from the cathedral. The last time I was here, I was racing toward the church where Johann had hidden his message in plain sight. I push the memory of how he died away. I will have to face the guilt, the sorrow, I know.
But not today.
Today, I have a different task in mind.
As we reach the city square, Fritzi shifts a little closer to me. It’s hot now, and I realize this is the first time we’ve been in the city together without cloaks obscuring our identities. Just a scrap of material, but pulling the hood up had felt like armor. Striding over the ancient Romancobblestones now makes me feel both free and exposed. I throw my arm over Fritzi’s shoulder.
“So much has changed,” she says, looking around in wonder. The market square is now being used as it was intended—as a communal meeting place, a shared space for citizens to barter for goods, chat among neighbors, discuss ideas.
I stumble and look down. The cobblestone at my feet is slightly taller than the others, a paler stone. A replacement for the cobblestone that had been removed so that stakes could be set into the earth. The rocks nearby are black; the weather has not yet removed all the char on the surface, making the new stone even starker and more noticeable than the others.
I hope it stays like this, I think, moving more carefully so I don’t trip on the other stones that mark the places where stakes stood. There are no names, nothing more than a rock to trip on, but it’s a grave marker nonetheless.
Fritzi slips out of my hold, heading past the apothecary, toward the opposite side of the square. The Judengasse is still mostly empty; our world may have magic now, but it is still cruel. The people here are no longer burning witches, but they have not allowed Jews back inside the city walls. The knowledge of this is not enough; I must at least try to foster change.
As if guessing at some of my dark thoughts, Fritzi shoots me an encouraging smile, leading the way as we wind around the curving alley. We pause, both looking around.
I feel a tug on my sleeve, and I jump. Little Mia, the orphan girl who’s worked as a spy and a watch for me, grins up, clearly pleased that she escaped my notice until she forced my attention.
“You came back,” she says, and this time her expression is one of joy, a feeling I know is mirrored on my own face. I was worried it wouldbe difficult to find her—she could have left the city or fallen victim to the hexenjägers after I left or been hurt in the floods… But she’s here, alive, safe.
