“Regardless,” I continue, “we cannot let Dieter go on. Hemustbe stopped.”
“You have no idea.” Rochus’s voice is hollow and dark. Everyone else watches him, but he is zeroed in on the parchment, barely glancing up from it as he turns to Philomena. “He can’t do anything if he doesn’t have them all.”
What does that mean?I wonder.
“He can do much,” Philomena says to Rochus, her voice a razor edge of warning. Her gaze shifts from Rochus to the rest of us. She looks around the room, finally settling on Brigitta. “What is your purpose?”
“To protect the magic that protects my people,” Brigitta answers immediately, speaking the words like the mantra they are.
“And it is magic itself that is at stake now.” Philomena’s voice rings with authority. “This is no longer just about one girl and her demented brother.”
Fritzi flinches, and I squeeze her hand, glaring at the pompous priestess.
“This is about a grasping witch who wants to break the magic of this world,” she concludes.
Outside, the wind is howling, branches scraping against the windows and walls of this sanctuary built into the trees. But, while vast, this tree is nottheTree, the Origin Tree that’s hidden even in the Well.
Cornelia shifts closer to Rochus, reading the words etched on the scorched page. Her face goes pale, her mouth slack in horror.
“What aren’t you telling us?” I demand, whipping my furious gaze out at the members of the council, the priest and priestesses.
Fritzi takes a shaking breath. That’s what kills me. The fear she’s trying to hide. She repeats the words she read on the page before: “‘Three stones and one spark: water, air, earth, and fire in the heart.’”
“Please,” Cornelia whispers, “don’t.” Her eyes are downcast, as if the words themselves hurt her. Philomena and Rochus glower behind her.
But none of them steps forward with an explanation. Whatever it is Fritzi’s read—a spell of some sort—it’s the key to all of this, and still,still, they cling to their secrets.
“Is that a picture of the Tree?” Brigitta asks, looking at the page in Fritzi’s hand. She turns to the council. “Is this a spell toburnthe Tree?”
Cornelia steps forward, and Philomena grabs her elbow.
“Is it really better for you to keep us all in the dark when Dieter knows more than us?” I snarl. “Secrets will kill us as surely as he will.”
Cornelia’s jaw clenches. “You’re right,” she says, ripping her arm free of Philomena’s grasp. “The Origin Tree is the connection between our world and the goddesses. It is through the Tree that all magic flows.”
“Why is there a spell to destroy it?” Brigitta asks. She’s moved even closer to us, and so have several of the Watch. Her eyes narrow in rage. “And why was I never informed? How am I supposed to fulfill my oaths to protect magic if you do not even tell me about this potential danger?”
We’re drawing battle lines.
“Because magic is a gift.” Cornelia’s shoulders sag. “And a gift can be refused. If there was ever a time when magic was causing more harm than good, the goddesses gave us a…a fail-safe. A way to sever our world from theirs.”
“Water…air…earth…” Brigitta says, reading the paper Fritzi holds. “The elements?”
“Each goddess used a key—a stone—to create the Tree,” Cornelia explains. “And each goddess worked with one of her champions to hideor protect those stones. The Tree is otherwise indestructible. But if you bring all three stones back to the Origin Tree, it can be burned with witch fire.”
“That’s what Dieter wants to do,” Fritzi whispers, but everyone hears her.
“Why?” Brigitta gapes at her. “Wouldn’t destroying the Tree destroy magic?”
“The Tree is like a dam. Burning it down will open the floodgates. All the magic will pour out—likely into him.” Fritzi’s voice is hollow, monotone, and I realize it’s because she’s so deeply aware of how horrific this situation is, in a way no one else in the room grasps.
Her brother, herbrother, would let the entire world crumble just so he could have more power. And he is willing to burn up his sister’s soul to do it.
“It is cataclysmic,” Philomena states, tilting her chin up. “Abnoba gave her stone to the council. We protect it here.”
Brigitta makes a noise in the back of her throat, a growl of frustration. I’m not sure if she’s mad at the council for having kept this secret from her or if she’s worried that whatever protections they’ve cast aren’t enough.
“Where is it?” I ask. “Because whatever you’re doing to keep it safe is probably not enough.”
