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 achampion-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.”
Funturns 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,thisCatholic ismanicallyin 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 knowwhatOtto sees in you.”
“With this dress, he’ll see quite a lot.”
Liesel giggles. “Ohhhhhh. I get it now.”
Scheisse.
