Page 118 of Night of the Witch
“The council values the Well more thanpeople,” Hilde answers for him. She emphasizes the last word, and I can tell from her sharp glance that she means non-magical people.
Caden looks down at his hands. “The Well was meant to be a safe place,” he says in a low voice. “But it’s become a prison.”
I stare at him long enough for the look to become uncomfortable. My gaze slides to Hilde, and I know she understands.
Our home was supposed to be a safe place. But our father was a tyrant. We were children—where could we go? Who could help us? I approached the priest in our village church at Bernkastel once. I told him of my father’s violence, and the priest merely nodded, praising my father for not sparing the rod against spoiled children. Hilde tried to reach out to a neighbor, but the woman, while sympathetic, told us of the horrors of being homeless, the hardships of a life without a husband and father to protect the family.
I can still remember what the woman had told us as she shooed us from her home: “Don’t tell anyone else what you’ve told me,” she said. “At least you have a roof over your head. At least you’re safe.”
Safe.
Caden is right.
Safety can be a prison.
“There are some among us,” Caden says, meeting my eyes, “who hope that your arrival means we aren’t going to stay besieged in the Black Forest any longer.”
Fritzi and Liesel insisted that the Black Forest was where we needed to be—we have worked for so long, traveled for so far, just to end up in a place that may not be the haven we hoped for.
“There have been rumors…” Caden adds, shooting a significant glance at Hilde. “The council has been hinting that our protection spells aren’t enough, not to keep out a witch who’s turned against the Well.”
Hilde frowns. “The council is too secretive.”
“We don’t know the full scope of their plans.” Caden shrugs. “But if there’s a goddess-named warrior here, maybe that will change things…”
He looks at me as if every hope he’s ever held is pinned on my chest.
Warrior…
I have worn the label of “hunter” for the past several years. It was a mask to hide behind, but still a mask I wore well. I never truly considered wielding the sword once I left the hexenjägers. Not until a goddess called me a warrior.
Is that what Holda meant? That I would fight for Fritzi and the Well, and that if I fought well enough, there would be no need for a barrier?
Because as surely as it has kept Dieter out—at least for now—it has also kept Caden and the rest of the witches here trapped inside.
37
FRITZI
I gape at Philomena, her cheeks pinking in her righteousness.
Cornelia glares at Philomena too. “You cannot force them to participate,” she whispers, aghast.
Rochus, though, islivid.
For the first time, his facade cracks, and he takes a surging step toward me. Liesel shrinks, and he notices her with a wince of regret, but the moment he looks up at me again, he’s seething.
“You are ignorant of our ways,” he says. “Of our customs. So you will be forgiven your outburst and your accusations. If you—”
“I didn’t ask for your forgiveness,” I cut him off. “I’m only ignorant because ofyourchoices. You chose to abandon us. And you are currently choosing to abandon everyone else again. I will tell you right now—thischampionwill not be part of it.”
Rochus draws back for a moment. “That is why the goddesses sent us not one witch to possibly take the bonding potion. But two.”
Liesel looks up at Rochus. “I won’t help you abandon everyone either.”
“You are young, child,” he tries. “You do not understand—”
He reaches for her. He willtouchher, and I start to dive forward, but Liesel’s lip curls, and all of the candles lit in this room flare brighter in a surge that makes Rochus jerk back.
