Sweet & Bitter Magic by Adrienne Tooley (best ereader for textbooks .txt) 📕

Wren’s eyes bored into the back of Tamsin. She was such an impossible presence, always saying what she wanted, taking what she needed, never worrying about anyone else or what they might think of her. Wren felt a twinge of envy as she watched the witch walk, head held high, shoulders back, as though she didn’t care whose eyes looked upon her face. As though she wanted to be seen.

Wren had spent so much of her life trying to be smaller, trying to take up less space. She feared the eyes of others, worried someone would see the power she had worked so hard to suppress. Wren kept herself small and unassuming in hopes that if no one ever told her what she wanted to hear, she could tell herself that what she wanted didn’t matter. Even now she walked hunched over, her shoulders sagging, her back bent. Her boots shuffled against the dirt, as though she was too afraid to even lift her feet fully from the ground.

The more she noticed their differences, the harder it became for Wren to pull her eyes from the witch. She straightened her shoulders, shook out her limbs. She wanted some of the witch’s certainty. She wanted to give the witch some of her self-restraint. So focused was Wren on comparing their personality traits that she didn’t notice the witch stop walking. She barreled directly into Tamsin. A jolt of cold, sharp as ice, ran down the back of her neck.

A barn was on fire. The smell was terrible, like the moment after a slaughter, cloyingly rank and tinged with fear. The flames darted and leaped, bright blue and blazing. This was no ordinary fire. Smoke rose from the barn, thick and toxic, mingling with the dark magic that hovered above the roof like a cloud.

Tiny sparks exploded in the morning sky, so bright they burned Wren’s eyes. Embers rained down from the roof, catching on the dry summer grass below. The field began to smoke. Wren looked on in panic as she gauged the length of the farmland, the giant bales of hay they’d passed. Everything would take to the fire in an instant. The whole countryside would burn until it reached the houses with the boarded-up windows and doors. The village would burn. The people inside would burn with it.

Panic rose in Wren’s throat. She reached for Tamsin, who was watching the raging flames with wide eyes.

“We have to do something.”

The road was empty, the field abandoned—the farmer and his family perhaps still sleeping soundly in their beds. There was no one around to help, no one to stop the fire but them.

But Tamsin shook her head. “We can’t just douse it with water. It’s dark magic. It would take nearly a day to quell flames like that, even if I used your power, too.”

“But we can stop it,” Wren said, tugging at the witch’s wrist. She couldn’t believe she had to fight Tamsin about this. She knew the girl was cold, but this was negligence bordering on pure evil. “We can’t just let the country burn.”

“What part of ‘it would take nearly a day’ do you not understand?” Tamsin didn’t snap, but her harsh tone still stung. “If someone sees us here, they’ll think we’re involved. If they find out I’m a witch, they won’t hesitate to throw me into the flames too. If you want to leave this land alive, we have to go. Now.”

The sour, stale taste of dread settled on Wren’s tongue. “You’re saying we do nothing?”

“We can’t save everyone, Wren.” Wren could have sworn Tamsin’s eyes flashed with sorrow. “It’s the fire or your father. Take your pick.”

Horror pooled in Wren’s stomach as she watched the barn blaze, watched the flames race across the summer grass. Her body was slick with sweat. And yet, even as she tried to consider, there was only one answer she was able to give.

“My father,” she whispered hoarsely. Tamsin nodded sharply and carried on walking. The beam of the barn sizzled and snapped. It fell to the ground with a great, thundering crack. To Wren, it sounded like a heart breaking.

Living with the feeling that the world was on fire, Wren now knew, was nothing compared to watching it burn.

NINE

TAMSIN

There was no way around it. They were going to have to climb a mountain.

“You’re sure this is the only way?” Tamsin asked the scrawny man before her, his hair matted with filth, his stench so rank her eyes began to water. She was hungry, and she was exhausted. The mountain loomed above them, casting a shadow so dark that the morning looked like twilight.

“Sorry, lass,” he said, his voice surprisingly soft for a man so grimy, “but the tunnel’s collapsed. If you want to make it to Farn, the only way is up and over. We’re taking the scenic route.”

“I can’t believe this,” Wren moaned as she stared at the entrance to the cavern, which was completely caved in. “That caravan came through here just days ago.”

“Didn’t think you’d be so sorry to miss the giant spiders.” But Tamsin’s taunt fell flat. It really was a horrible mess. Boulders had tumbled down to create an endless wall of stone and sand, decorated with broken branches, withered moss, and decaying greenery. It was a wonder the entire mountain hadn’t cracked right down the middle.

Still there was a flurry of activity. Several men as dirty as the one before her were hauling boulders away from the cavern’s mouth. They called and shouted to one another, their gravelly voices filling the late-morning air. Several cleaner people lingered near the cavern’s mouth as well, uncertain amid the chaos. One of the women looked familiar enough that Tamsin drew up the hood of her cloak to hide her face. She did not need to be recognized here, of all places.

“Any of youse who’s coming with, gather round,” the scrawny, dirty man called. “My