We are in the coven of the Well, with Brigitta and the guards patrolling, and Fritzi is a powerful goddess-chosen witch.
Dieter got her in the Well once before.
But Dieter’s dead. Or as good as.
We never got confirmation from Johann. The Grenzwache we sent to Trier have not yet returned.
My eyes dart around the room. I note that Fritzi’s cloak is gone, her slippers too. And the candleholder.
She’s just stepped out. She didn’t want to wake me.
I tell myself these things because I want to believe them. I don’t want to think about the chance that she had another nightmare and simply doesn’t want me around as she deals with it.
I don’t want to think about the concern that lingered in her eyes after the bonding ceremony, as if she worried she made a mistake.
Minutes trickle by. More time. It’s dark and late, and too much time has passed for her just to be relieving herself, but—
She’s done this before. That night when she went to the council room.
Let’s keep this our little secret.
I stand, pause. She’s fine. I know she’s fine. There’s no danger here.
But I grab my dagger and slip it into my belt.
I head straight toward the council room. It’s unlocked, the door cracked. I step inside, moving slowly.
There are some things—witch things—that I know I don’t have the power to help Fritzi with. And while Cornelia is trusted, the others are not. There are politics at play that are beyond my comprehension, but I do know that I’m on Fritzi’s side. I’malwayson Fritzi’s side. And so if I can do no more than hold her candle, I’ll do that.
Which she knows.
And she knows I can hold her secrets.
Why did you not wake me, Fritzi?
I try to be silent as I head to the council room. Icankeep her secrets. But thewrongnessof this all twists my gut. Something claws at the back of my mind. A warning, an instinct that experience has taught me never to ignore.
I haven’t felt this way since Trier.
There are no enemies here, I tell myself, but I drop my cloak, feel for the dagger.
I go to the library Fritzi went to before. I never talked to her about it.
Let’s keep this our little secret.
But my stomach tightens. Ishouldhave talked to her about it. Inprivate, I should have asked. Pressed her for information, or at least some sort of confirmation. I let all the ceremonies distract me from what really mattered: her.
The library door is closed but not locked. I turn the handle silently. Step inside.
A figure hunches over the desk, back to me, illuminated only by flickering candles and moonlight. I know instantly it’s Fritzi. Her cloak, her hair, her body.
But…
I pad forward silently.
My hand does not leave the dagger hilt.
Books have been tossed about the room, and I step over them carefully, winding around the minefield of literature. Fritzi wouldn’t treat books so mercilessly.
