Otto
Fortunately, after the mock battle with the Grenzwache, being dunked in an ice-cold pond and then climbing up the rocky side of a waterfall wasnothing, and the freezing water actually helped revitalize me despite my exhaustion at the trial. By the end, beer and laughter and a lot of back-clapping hugs assured me I passed. I am now both a member of the guard and a citizen of the Well.
All around me, the celebrations roar just as loudly as the flames.
A heavy arm falls over my shoulder as Alois pulls me closer. “We should absolutely be doing this more often!”
“The trial, or the party after?” I ask, grinning at him.
“Both, as long as it’s not me scaling rocks.” He laughs loudly, even though his joke wasn’t that funny, and I smell the beer on his breath. Before I can say anything, Alois seems to sober. “It’s a little intimidating, isn’t it? To bond with someone else? To irrevocably declare yourself as the warrior of a witch?”
I blink, surprised. I hadn’t considered that. I had only ever thought of Fritzi, and how I could best help her.
“You’re going to be her shield,” Alois continues, his eyes growing distant. “If there’s a battle, you’ll be in front of her.”
I push his arm off my shoulder. “No,” I say. “If there’s a fight to be had, I’ll bebesideher. That’s the point.”
Alois opens his mouth to say something, but then his face goes slack. I follow his eyes. Cornelia is in front of a procession of women, and I have no doubt whatsoever that she’s the cause of Alois’s sudden awkwardness as he scurries away, too shy to actually approach the priestess.
But then I see Fritzi.
She walks through the darkness toward me. A different sort of heat washes over me at her scorching gaze, stronger than the bonfire at my back.
“What are you wearing?” I ask, the words barely clawing through my tight throat. There’s cloth—some sort of gauzy material draped in panels over her kirtle—but there’s also skin, so much of Fritzi’s skin visible it’s decadent, and—
“You like it?” she asks, twirling, knowingexactlywhat she’s doing to me.
“Love it.” The words come out strangled, barely audible.
She slows, the cloth drifting over her legs and arms, a cloud of beauty, then stops, raking her eyes over me. “And look at you.”
I glance down at the green tunic and brown leather leggings I got after my pond-dunking. At the time, I’d just been grateful I didn’t have to climb the waterfall nude, but after that and fire-jumping, I realized this wasn’t just the standard fare of what the Grenzwache wear on patrols, but magically enhanced garments. The tunic is thin as cotton but sturdy as leather; the leggings are supple, easy to move in but impervious—sofar, at least—to fire or sharp rocks. The boots Alois laced for me make my movements in the forest silent.
I don’t know if there is anything magic about Fritzi’s dress, other than the way it makes my body flush at the sight of her in it.
“So, you survived your trials,” she says, oblivious to the way I cannot rip my eyes from her.
Although I felt that the Grenzwache had come to accept me already, the tasks had not been easy, and I dread to think of what failure might have meant. The witches bandaged me up after, giving me a potion for healing, tinctures for the cuts and burns on my body. But hard as the trial was, I’m grateful. If I could not have passed this test among friends, how could I even be close to worthy as Fritzi’s protector?
“You survived your bath,” I say, giving her a smile I hope doesn’t reflect how grueling my day was.
Fritzi pauses, and my stomach tightens at the dark look that flickers over her face. But then she glances at me, her smile cutting across my worries.
“Well, it was pretty questionable there at the end,” she says, a mischievous glint in her eye. “I’m fairly certain Hilde tried to drown me.”
I cast my glance over Fritzi’s shoulder and spot my sister, her arms draped around Brigitta.
“Oh yes,” I say dryly. “She’s a burgeoning murderess. I’ll have a talk with her. If I can muster up the courage to face someone so vicious.”
“Please do. It was a very trying day for me. My fingers got pruney, Otto.Pruney. While you were making merry in the forest, I’m sure.”
She holds her fingers up for me to see, and it’s all I can do not to grab them, to pull her to me, to claim not just the tips of her fingers but her whole body.
But there’s something she’s not telling me. Even though she speakslightly, I think there must have been something more to her bath than scented soaps and warm water. I recall last night, the strange way that she crept to the council’s library.
“Fritzi—you know you can trust me, right?” I ask.
She looks at me curiously.
