He hums in thought. “Quite. The food is much better than hexenjäger rations.”
“And I’m not tied to a tree.”
It’s meant as a joke. A way to add levity to this, the way Alois does, the way I used to, so easily, sarcasm and humor to buoy against the darkness.
But joking about that now, being restrained, kicks into my stomach like a booted foot. I can feel shackles on my wrists. I can feel the rub of blisters. The stench of burned flesh.
I burrow into Otto, wanting to press close, closer, until my body stops remembering all this pain and only feelshim.
Otto presses his lips to my forehead and breathes, one hand lifting to stroke my hair back from my face. He’s quiet for a moment, fingers in my hair, and the whole act serves to make me feel like something precious. It counteracts the rising tide of panic enough that I relax, and I do only feel him, the swell of his chest as he inhales, the dip of his waist under my arm.
“I think I knew, even then,” he whispers into my skin.
“Knew what?” I whisper.
“That you would be important to me.”
My grip on him tightens.
I want to ask him to stay tomorrow. To not put himself at risk by going into Trier. But I know he’d refuse, just like I’d refuse if he asked me to stay behind; and so we’re trapped in this, both at risk, both fearing it.
Three stones and one spark:
Water, air, earth,
And fire in the heart.
My brother knows how to destroy the Origin Tree, and destroying the Origin Tree may destroy the world. Stopping him, once and for all, is the only thing that matters.
More than my fear.
More than my desire to lie here with Otto and never get up again.
More than whatever bond links us together.
The walls of Trier are unchanged. I don’t know why I expected the city to look different, but it should. If Dieter is alive in there, plotting how he’llget into the Well and break the Origin Tree, then the high gray walls of stone protecting him now should be black with corruption. They should give some clue as to what awaits us within, some way of admitting what they hold.
A line of travelers slowly enters through the eastern gate. Otto and I fall in with them, bundled in cloaks and scarves against the lingering spring chill. The guards are slow to allow entry into the city, and the length of the line stretches around the wall, all the way to the old Roman arena.
The moment it comes into view for us, my body goes rigid. Otto follows my gaze, an unspoken pull, and he stiffens too.
We can just see past the high stones that mark the entrance to the old arena. And there, the door where Otto and his jägers dragged me into the aqueduct tunnels beneath Trier when we were enemies.
Now, a handful of hexenjägers, their black cloaks dark and intense, oversee workers hauling rocks out of the doorway.
“We collapsed the tunnels,” Otto says quietly.
“And they are trying to reopen them?” I guess.
He shrugs, but his face is set in a contemplative scowl. “It was a useful way in and out of the city, unseen. I can’t imagine the tunnels are secure now, though. It is an odd project for your brother to prioritize.”
“If he’s still in charge,” I say. I have to. My hope is brittle.
Otto finally turns away from the workers to give me a soft look. “If,” he echoes.
But Dieter survived the justice that the hexenjägers had every right to dole out. What other impossible things has he done? Reclaiming his elevated position likely wouldn’t be hard.
The line of travelers moves, and we soon find ourselves just under the gate of Trier. Hexenjägers alone stand watch—where are the town guards?—and they throw judgmental eyes over the travelers.Occasionally, they’ll yank someone aside, demanding to search a cart or bag; I can’t tell what reason they have for the people they choose to search, but I hold my breath as we draw closer to them.
