“A stone?” My breath stutters, and I try,I tryto be strong, but everything shakes. “I will bring you nothing. You’redead.”
He has to be.Please.
Dieter giggles. It’s high and thin. “No, no, I do notdie,Fritzichen. Why would you want me dead? Now, my sweet, sweet sister, you willbring me the stone.”
“What stone? What are you talking about?”
“Thestone!” he shrieks, voice shattering in desperation, and he reaches for me. I flail back with a whimper—
But then Dieterscreams.
He arches, body bowing unnaturally, and the fire behind him snuffs out. The wall of cedar trees vanishes, sucking away in an ear-popping abyss that leaves only me, him, and—
Otto.
Otto, standing with his back to me, Dieter in front of him, his arms up in defense.
Relief chokes me, gives my body permission to feel all this pain even more. He’s here. How is he here?
Whereis here?
Dieter doesn’t hesitate. He lunges, toying amusement gone, all primal fury now as his hands wrap around Otto’s throat.
“Mine!” Dieter screeches.
Otto fights. Punches and kicks, wrenches to break Dieter’s hold, but my brother is a thing beyond now, untethered. His grip on Otto’s neck tightens, and Otto’s face purples, a sputtering gasp escaping his lips, and I feel that gasp in my own body, a choked release of air.
The word Dieter has been screaming echoes down into me.
Mine.
My warrior. My bonded.Mine.
I shove to my feet, wobbling, but I teeter toward them, one hand extended.
“Let,” I demand, sweat beading on my forehead, “him”—my body cries out with each movement, each step, each thud of my heart—“go.”
I flare my palm at Dieter. The cedar trees launch back up, but there are other things now too, marjoram and nettle and rosemary andeverything, everything I can think of that protects.
But I don’t need these things, do I? I don’t need anything but wild magic.
And Otto.
Hands out by my sides, I scream, and everything goes dark.
“Fritzi!Fritzi—”
“Don’t move—the Three save me, what happened?”
“I didn’t—Dieter—”
“Dieter? Scheisse, Fritzi, what did I tell you?Don’t move.” Cornelia. She’s talking to me, I think, but all is dark still, dark and—
Pain explodes, bright and consuming, and there’s a ringing shriek, like a bell—no, it’s me. I’m screaming, and hands are on my shoulders, pushing down.
“Please, Liebste, please,” Otto begs, his voice thick. “Please stay still—Cornelia’s here, she’s here, and we’ll help.”
“Scheisse,” Cornelia curses again. “Why did Holda call me here? She couldn’t have woken up the healers, no—hold still—”
