Playing by Rochus and Philomena’s rules is still necessary. They don’t trust me. I can’t think about broaching the subject of wild magic now; Otto and I have to bond; we have to continue fostering relations with people outside the Well; we have to do a dozen other things first. Maybe then, the council will trust me, and it will be easier to begin taking wild magic seriously.
My head aches, and I rub absently at my forehead—
—before coming to a stop in the middle of the staircase.
“Hold a moment,” I say and turn to Cornelia. “You said we havehoursof work ahead of us? What could possibly take that long?”
We’ve been over what the bonding ceremony entails. Otto’s preparation will be physical exertion, the skills he will need to hone as my warrior, which he is already off on. My preparation, from what Cornelia told me, involves tinctures and herbs, simple spells of purification and cleansing.
But from the look of sly glee on Cornelia’s face, I completely misjudged what she intends to do with me.
That slyness softens into true happiness, and she brushes a blond curl back from my face. “This is the first bonding ceremony the Well has seen in ages,” she tells me. “We must get it right. Not just for you, but for us”—she waves around, at the whole of the village, the treetop community bustling—“and all we have accomplished. This is the mark of our future, Fritzi.”
“So it’s hardly an important thing Otto and I are doing, then.”
She gives me a look. “Don’t pretend you wouldn’tbondwith him anyway.”
A smile creeps up over me, unbidden and traitorous, verdammt.
I bat at Cornelia. “We hardly need a ceremony forthat.”
“Oh, I know. My home is not nearly far enough away from yours. The neighborhood gathers together to complain about your…bonding noises.”
My face heats as my eyes go wide. “No. Truly? No. We’re careful not to—”
She laughs, and it’s evil, and I have half a mind to push her off the tree.
“I hate you,” I tell her, but she hooks my arm again.
“Ah, this is excellent energy to have going into preparations. Annoyance and hatred.”
“Well”—payback occurs to me, and my smile is devilish—“maybe you’ll also be a cause for complaints once you tell Alois how you feel.”
Cornelia chirps her offense and bumps me with her shoulder, but she purposefully shifts the conversation as we continue on, talking idly of the preparations she’ll need, the herbs for potions we’ll brew. Burdock root and rosemary, mint and sage, all things to burn away impurities and ensure the bonding ceremony is true. And final details of outfits she’s arranged for us both, stylings and preparations for every event over the next few days.
Another twinge behind my eye signifies my headache hasn’t left, and I fight not to rub at my temple, not to wince.
If Rochus and Philomena only knew how justified they are in distrusting me.
If they only knew how very much change I’m destined to bring to the Well.
Not only opening our hidden society to magicless mortals. But maybe, eventually, opening upallmagic toallwitches.
The world that the council oversees, that the goddesses ordained, is one of strict adherence to defined rules to access magic. Witches like me, green witches, access the magic by plants, by potions and herbs and green growing things. Witches like Liesel, through fire; witches like Cornelia, through spells that let her bridge the line between life and death. We do not reach beyond our set rules. We do not cross our defined areas.
To do so is to access wild magic. Wild, wicked, corrupting magic.
Or so we were told.
Wild magic, though, is nothing more than what it sounds—magic that is boundless. Magic that, once accessed, allows a witch to doanything.
The day my brother was defeated, I broke my tether to the Origin Tree and gave in to wild magic—just as Holda was always trying to get me to do—so I could realize what she knew, what her sisters deny: that wild magic is a stronger source of power than the stifled, narrow sieve of the Origin Tree. And with the rise of threats like the hexenjägers, who burn us without cause or trial, we need all the tools we can get.
It is time for witches to reclaim their true power.
It is time for us to stand against the burnings and death and slaughter.
But doing so…is all on me. I’m Holda’s champion. After this ceremony, Otto will be my warrior, my bonded guardian, someone I will be able to call on through a connection established by the bonding potion. He’ll be in this with me, whatever my fate may be, and my stomach cramps, my headache rages. All I wanted was to free my cousin from Dieter and to make sure Otto was safe.
