Page 147 of Night of the Witch
I push her away to look into her eyes. “You havenothingto be sorry for.”
Her lips pull into a soft smile. “Neither do you.”
Silence falls between us. She truly means that?
Can I ever begin to believe it?
“Where is Otto?” I ask, voice rough.
Liesel grins. “Oh,him? Why would you want to seehim?”
My lips flatten, barely suppressing a smile, and she rolls her eyes.
“He’ssort ofbeen worried about you. He comes here all the time. It’s really annoying. I told him: this is wheregirlssleep.”
“How long have I been out?”
“About three days.”
Three—?
My breath catches.
But Liesel squeezes my hand and wriggles out of the bed. I start to follow her, pausing with each movement to readjust to the soreness in my body, but she gets me standing, and I balance on her shoulder, my thin shift fluttering to brush the tops of my feet.
There’s a bandage wrapped around one ankle. A series of bruises shows when I look at my wrist, splayed purple and yellow petals like a wildflower, the final kiss of the manacles that hung me from the ceiling of Dieter’s room and bound me to the stake.
I can’t even begin to think about what the rest of me looks like. I’m on the verge of healing. I’malive. I should be grateful.
But each motion prods at the remnants of the brands. Scars my brother left on my body. Will I be able to heal them completely with wild magic? How will I try here, in the Well, without drawing fury from Rochus and Philomena—or even Perchta and Abnoba? And what about the barrier Dieter ripped; what has it done to the Well’s magic?
How will I be able to convince everyone here that the Well and the Origin Tree are not only unneeded, but that we should do away with all of our laws and ceremony and embrace wild magic?
How does Holda expect me to fix any of this?
My heart thunders, and I have to pause, hand to my forehead, breathing deep.
Don’t think about that now. Don’t focus on tomorrow.
There is only today. Liesel at my side. My body, healing, repairing.
And Otto, waiting for me.
Liesel hands me a finely woven shawl from a nearby chair, silken soft and brightest blue.
“The council has been in constant meetings,” she tells me as we work our way to the door. “They shout. Alot. But from what anyone will tell me, it’s good. They were mad that Cornelia took guards into Baden-Baden, but the people in the city have been rejoicing over them. There’s a big festival they’ve been having, thanking the forest folk; they’rehappyto know that all this magic has been nearby this whole time. Otto said that once you’re better, we can try to go down to see it. It’s like a bedtime story, Fritzi.”
I smile down at her. “It is, isn’t it? Forest folk coming out to be among us.”
Her nose scrunches up in excitement. “I’m going to turn all this into a story, actually. I’ve been working on it! Something we can tell around the fireplace. Do you want to hear it?”
My muscles go stiff. But her eyes are so full of joy that I nod. “I would love to.”
We reach the door, and Liesel opens it. “Not right now, though. Now is for—Otto!”
I jump and scramble to grab the doorframe as her scream rips across the treetop village, the swooping bridges and sturdy branches lit by the canopy-muted afternoon light. Forest folk scattered all around flinch and gape at us; some bellow laughter; others curse and pick up whatever she made them drop.
I fall into giggles, and Liesel shrugs.
