“It’s just…” I pause. She has a right to her secrets, especially when it comes to magic, something I cannot advise her on. But I want her to know that I will do anything to help her, and that she is not alone in whatever worries her. That I will be beside her, no matter what the fight entails. “Last night…”
Fritzi frowns, her gaze sliding away. “Last night, I had a nightmare.” I can see the muscles in her jaw clenching, and I stroke the side of her cheek until she turns to me. “I really don’t want to talk about it. Not now.”
I nod. I can only imagine the sorts of terrors she dreams about. She hadn’t seemed distressed, but if she woke up with dark memories, going to the library, where there are spell books… She may have been seeking a way to drive those thoughts from her head.
I curse myself. Maybe she actually did want to be alone, and I forced my presence on her. She’s had nightmares before, and she’d wanted me to hold her after, but now… Her fears could have a different tenor; perhaps the only way to drive them out is through magic.
“Whatever you need from me, I will give to you,” I promise her, my hands sliding down her arms to grip her hands.Even if that means you want me to leave you alone.
“Always so noble and serious.” Her lips quirk up in a smile, and she lifts on her tiptoes, a swift kiss fluttering against my lips.
“As for tonight,” I say, “there is one other task, no?”
Brigitta had informed me that the last part of the night would need to be the marking of my body. All the guards of the Well have blacktattoos etched in their skin, each a sigil, a spell, that aids them in their defense.
Brigitta explained it to me before we left for Baden-Baden. “Typically, I would use this night to determine your weaknesses and needs as a soldier, and then I would mark you with counter sigils that would strengthen you where you need it most, infusing the tattoo with magic.”
But I am a goddess-chosen warrior with a powerful witch who will bond with me tomorrow.
This ceremony is ours and ours alone. And only Fritzi will ever mark me.
Cornelia, the one member of the high council that Fritzi likes and trusts, approaches. I look over her shoulder and spot Alois watching her some distance away, as if he is entranced. “We need ash,” she says, oblivious to Alois’s adoration.
The raucous celebration doesn’t abate as Cornelia leads us around the fire. It’s good, I think, to see so many people out tonight, sharing in joy. There is a fervor surrounding us—witches from the Well mingling with the people of Baden-Baden. There’s a unity here that I appreciate; the priest of the local parish may be willing to dance with Liesel at the bonfire, but I know he’ll continue to hold Mass. That’s fine. No one is trying to convert or change anyone; we’re all simply allowing the others to exist, sharing in the joy of life, not any god or goddess.
How different life in Trier would have been, had this been the attitude from the start.
The thought makes me stop in my tracks. I have spent my whole life focused on one goal at a time. Stop my father from hurting my stepmother. Protect my sister. Infiltrate the hexenjägers and tear apart their reign of murder from within.
But it’s not until this moment, seeing the joy of shared respect andacceptance of humanity among all, that I realize my goals were always leading me to this point.
Peace.
Not a peace achieved through uniformity and control or even tolerance. One achieved through acceptance.
It’s obvious not everyone approves of tonight. There are people in the houses unwilling to join us in the town square, glaring down from behind cracked shutters. And it makes me wonder how long this peace can last.
Fritzi walks with her head held high, even the blooms in her curling hair standing at attention as she looks out at the crowd. Does she fear the same things I fear? It is not yet fully spring, and the witches of the Well brought not just fire but food and beer to the townspeople. The dark night is lit; the long hunger between harvests is sated. Can this unity survive in the bright light of day when there is no night to hide behind, no need to be grateful for an extra feast?
This celebration has brought two peoples together, but such unity is fragile.
Despite all my doubts, I find that hope burns vivid. This one sparkling moment has proven a peace like this is possible. And now that I’ve seen it, I know I can fight to make it last.
Trier had joy too. Once. But the yule nights gave way to other fires, and in the end, terror divided the people in a way no shared love of life could withstand.
Now, though, I can’t help but believe the joy of a bonfire is a greater bond than the fear of a witch burning.
No one stops to stare at us as we near the flames, so close that I feel a sheen of sweat on my skin. Even though we are in a crowd of people, there is some privacy here. The people around us are all celebrating their ownjoys, taking their own tentative steps toward linking with others of their choosing. Brigitta has swirled Hilde into a boisterous dance; Liesel is now regaling a group of children from Baden-Baden with her tales, hands splayed and arms thrown wide as she exaggerates; even stuffy Philomena accepts a sip of beer from a brown-robed monk who offers her a taste.
Cornelia starts to pull Fritzi away, but I grab her, spinning her to me, searing a kiss on her lips that would make the fire beside us wither to ice in comparison. There’s a nervous tension between us. We are crossing several thresholds, each ceremony a reminder of a tie that binds, a net woven around us, drawing us closer together. I cannot ease the worry lines between Fritzi’s eyes, but I want to assure her that this is what I choose.
Her. Us.
Every time.
“If you’re quite done,” Cornelia mutters as she kneels with Fritzi to scoop up a palm of ember-filled ash from the base of the fire, adding oil from a vial, turning the mixture into black paste in Fritzi’s open hand.
“I don’t know how to mark him,” Fritzi says, a rare moment of vulnerability.
