“I believe that may be a bit…too obvious,” Cornelia says. “Baden-Baden may have been swayed to tolerate us, but marching a militant branch of our coven through the principalities may not go over so well with the rest of the Holy Empire.”
“So we operate undercover,” I offer. “We can appear as…nomadic merchants. Pilgrims. Something.”
“You’re not assassins!” Philomena says. “You cannot just leave your posts at the Well! If we protect the stone we have, and—”
“No, they’re right,” Rochus says, touching her shoulder. “Even if he never gets the earth stone, the water and air stones are powerful in their own right. He could cause such destruction…”
“On the lands of the people who would burn us,” Philomena snarls. “They wanted the hexenjägers. Let them deal with the monster they created.”
Cornelia and Rochus both gape at the priestess.
“Perchta is the Mother,” Fritzi says quietly. “Does she love the children without magic less than the ones with it? Is your goddess truly willing to let children die just because they are not in the Black Forest with us?”
Nothing could have silenced the priestess more.
“I may be the Maid’s champion,” Fritzi adds, “but I don’t think the Mother easily forgets her children. Any of them.”
I hold Fritzi tighter. I know without a doubt that she’s not thinking of the Mother goddess Perchta; she’s thinking of her own mother, who loved Dieter too much to kill him. Her mother could only banish him,because even when she knew he had become something twisted, something dark…
She still loved him.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to Fritzi while the council starts planning with Brigitta. “I know he’s your brother.”
She swallows, her eyes sliding away. “He’s not. At least…he’s not the brother I thought I knew. Not the brother I remember. Whatever he is now, he’s…twisted.”
And beyond saving.
I’m not sure if it’s her thought or mine.
The quiet certainty in my heart that I must kill Dieter is like a stone weighing down the bridge between us. This mess happened because I did not see it through in Baden-Baden. I must be the one to assure Fritzi she is safe, and the only way I can do that is…
Our dual intent is held between us by grief and sorrow, by guilt and regret. But that concept—Dieter must die—has no doubt attached to it. From either of us.
I squeeze her hand, then turn to the others in the room, even if they’re so lost in their plans they barely notice us. “You may all figure out what you want to do, who will come with us. But at dawn, Fritzi and I are riding to Trier.”
“You are not,” Philomena snaps. “The stone the council holds here needs to be protected. Fritzi is our champion, and you are her warrior, and—”
“I am not your champion,” Fritzi says, her voice low and monotone and terrifying. “I am Holda’s champion. I do not answer to you, and you would do best not to think you can command me.”
Silence weaves around the room. Fritzi stands strong, glaring at everyone, daring them all to try to object.
And then a tiny voice cuts through the awkward quiet. “Me too.”
Everyone’s attention whips to the door, where little Liesel stands wearing nothing but her long chemise, her blond curls shining in the candlelight. “Is it true?” she asks, stepping fully inside. “I heard… Fritzi, is he back?”
Her eyes are red rimmed and wide; her face is splotchy. When she looks up at me, I’m sure she can see the weariness in my body, the aftermath of my fight with Dieter as he possessed Fritzi, the blood on the walls, the destruction. She can smell the smoke that clings to my hair, and this little girl with an affinity for fire and a background of her own abuse at Dieter’s hand must also smell the different sort of smoke, the burning smell of Fritzi’s skin. Her lips tremble; her eyes water.
“I’m so sorry,” Fritzi says, her voice breaking into a sob as she drops to her knees. Liesel rushes to her, wrapping her arms around her.
“Careful!” Cornelia says, unaware that Fritzi has been healing on her own. Her blisters are gone, the thin cut around her jaw no more than a shadow. Even her split lip is a narrow scab that belies the severity of the cut before.Magic, I think, shaking my head.
Liesel pulls away from Fritzi and glares at me so fiercely that I flinch. “You weresupposedto kill him before,” she accuses.
“I thought I had.” The poison in Baden-Baden rendered him powerless, and the hexenjägers had finished the job. I’d thought. I’m the planner, though, the warrior who should be prepared for every threat. I should have known; I should have finished the job myself; I should have…
Fritzi’s hand taps my knuckles, and I look up and see her watching me. Our connection isn’t clear, but it’s enough for her to not let me spiral into a dark hole of guilt.
“Catholic,” she accuses gently.
