Page 117 of Night of the Witch
“Meet Caden,” Hilde tells me as the boy slings himself into one of the empty chairs at the table. “Brigitta’s younger brother.” She turns to him. “Where are the others?”
“Others?” I ask.
“Oh, there’s always a gang of the young ones wandering around.”
“We’re not wandering!” Caden protests. “We’repatrolling.” Hilde shoots him a bemused look, but Caden jerks his thumb at me. “They weren’t sure about that one.”
“Oh, yes, Otto is very intimidating.” Hilde’s sarcasm drips.
“Hey!” I say.
But Caden actuallydoeslook intimidated. He jumps at my voice, and I notice that he selected the chair closest to the door, furthest from me.
“He’s a goddess-chosenwarrior,” Caden tells Hilde in a low voice.
“I’m also right here,” I mutter. “Word travels fast.”
“It does when it comes to warriors,” Caden says, for the first time meeting my eyes. He reminds me of Johann and the other younger recruits in the hexenjäger units—desperate to prove his worth, to make something of his name. That sort of passion can drive a boy to become a man, but it can also drive a man to make the wrong choices, throw his loyalty behind the wrong group.
“What does it mean to you,” I ask him, “that Holda called me a warrior? I met an entire cadre of warriors when I arrived.”
“Brigitta and the others areguards, not warriors,” Caden insists.
“A warrior is the stuff of legends,” Hilde answers. “Goddess-chosen fighters that serve beside a witch. They have a ‘destiny.’” She wiggles her fingers at the last word, part respect, part mockery.
“Hilde!” Caden says, eyes widening.
Hilde shoots him an impatient glare I know well. “If he’s been chosen as a warrior, he deserves to know.”
“He’s not a witch.”
“I’m alsostillright here,” I say.
“I’m not a witch,” Hilde argues, ignoring me.
“And my sister shouldn’t have told you as much as she has!” Caden snaps.
A blush stains Hilde’s cheeks, and she glances at me furtively. That’s…unusual for her. “Your sister, Brigitta?” I ask Caden, my eyes on Hilde. Her flush deepens, and she looks away.
Caden nods, unconcerned and unaware that Hilde feels as if her connection with Brigitta is a secret. I stand and cross the room to get another beer as Caden says something to Hilde in a low voice. Little bunches of dried flowers hang in the window—roses, not herbs that would be used for cooking or brewing.
When I sit back down, Caden leans in his chair to look at me. “We haven’t had a goddess-chosen warrior in…ages,” he says. “But if Holda has picked him—”
“It’s what she said,” I interject.
“—then this could be the sign we’ve been looking for.”
“Sign?” I ask.
Hilde takes over the explanation. “Some of the witches don’t want to stay in the Well any longer.”
I blink, confused. Where else would they go? This place is safe.
“We want to fight,” Caden says, hammering his hand on the table. “We don’t want to run and hide!”
Hilde shoots him a fond smile. It must be difficult for the boy, to have a sister so strong and respected in the guard, everything he wants to be.
“So, why do you stay?” I ask. “If you want to leave the Well, why not do so?” He couldn’t just stroll around Trier bedecked as he is andspeckled in pagan tattoos, but it wouldn’t take much to hide those features. Villages such as the one Fritzi came from would certainly welcome him.
