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

felt the witch shift beside her. “Look, you’re the one who followed them in here. You knew just as well as I did that we needed a way onward. They had a way. Now stop asking questions. It’s very irritating.”

They joined the rest of the group, who were huddled around a great steel door. Boor shoved his way forward, a match burning between his fingers.

“I can’t believe we get to see the inside of the palace,” one of the women whispered loudly to her companion.

“Hate to disappoint you lot, but there’s not much left to see,” Boor said, swinging open the steel door and gesturing for the group to step inside. The woman who had whispered hurried forward, but Wren hung back.

“Doesn’t the palace have guards? Do you think there’s a battalion of armed knights on the other side of this door ready to hack us to pieces?” She glanced desperately at Tamsin, who did not seem to share her concern.

“Not a chance. The queen fled to her winter palace before the news of the plague had even reached our town,” Tamsin said, shaking her head lightly. “This palace is abandoned. Anyway, I’d bet you a true coin that these bandits have already gone through the entire place and taken every single thing of value for themselves.”

When Wren had first learned about the plague from that family on the road outside Ladaugh, they had mentioned something similar about the queen and her winter palace. Still, she stayed at the end of the line, ready to flee back down the long, dark corridor at the first hint of danger. But all she heard was Boor’s maniacal cackle.

Tamsin swept forward, squinting into the light of the queen’s chambers. Wren followed begrudgingly after her, glass crunching beneath her boot.

“Told you,” Tamsin said as Wren took in the decimated room with its ripped curtains and torn pillows, its slashed portraits and its ransacked drawers.

“All right, then,” Boor said, nudging the empty spine of a book with the toe of his boot. “I’m off. Keep your health, or whatever lie people are offering these days.” He spat loudly on the dirty carpet.

“This is it?” Tamsin’s voice was flat. “This is as far as you take us?” She sighed darkly, crossing her arms over her chest. Boor nodded his affirmative, then slipped back through the shadows of the passageway, off to take the coins from another group of unsuspecting travelers.

Wren was beginning to feel a bit dizzy. The acrid taste of ash caught in the back of her throat. She coughed, eyes watering with the terrible flavor. As she blinked, trying to regain her focus, her attention caught on a shadow of magic, thick and black, coiled like a rope. It slinked across the marble floor, tugging at Wren’s attention until she could ignore it no longer, her feet moving before her brain had caught up.

“What are you…?” Behind her, Wren heard Tamsin sigh, heard the reluctant swish of her cloak as she strode after her, leaving the bandits and their fellow travelers behind. Wren followed the magic down a maze of hallways hung with gold-framed portraits and littered with piles of tarnished armor. Even the people in the paintings frowned down at the chaos—the puddles of water (or worse) in the corners of the corridors; the stench of rotten cabbage and spoiled eggs that clung to the velvet curtains, which hung in tatters; the torn tapestries; the bent swords. The giant glass windows were shattered. Tangles of deep green vines twisted their way inside, snaking up the marble pillars. Black mold sank into the carpets.

She lost sight of it then, amid the wreckage. Everything was shrouded in shadow. Everything was black and bleak. After standing helpless in the middle of the spongy carpet, she begrudgingly let Tamsin nudge her toward and down a spiral staircase, their feet silent against the stone as they descended.

Wren was having trouble keeping herself quiet. “Oh,” she gasped again and again as they entered room after ruined room. The ghosts of finery were everywhere in the dining hall, from the gnarled candlesticks to the puddles of melted pewter chalices to the long wooden tables now reduced to firewood. In what had likely once been the library, they came across several pyres, now only ashes. The stink of sweat and fear stained the lush carpets, and not a single book could be found on the endless expanse of shelves.

People were huddled in corners, their faces gaunt, their bodies wrapped in the black ribbons of dark magic.

Wren and Tamsin found the first true sign of life in the kitchens. Wren assumed the scuffling was an animal—even when the form emerged from the pantry, she still thought it a stray dog. It wasn’t until the thing righted itself that she realized it was a child.

“Don’t,” she said, grabbing Tamsin’s wrist before she could cast a spell. Wren took a step forward and knelt. The child stared warily at her, his eyes wide, his clothing blackened with soot. He carefully clutched a rotten apple core.

“It smells awful,” the witch said, her voice muffled from behind her sleeve. Wren flashed her a fierce look.

“Hello, there.” She gave the child a careful smile. “Are you hungry?” The child’s eyes flickered over her face with disdain. The answer was so obvious as to be rude. “Here.” Wren dropped her sack and rummaged around for a piece of the now slightly stale bread Tamsin had stolen for supper the night before. Wren held the offering out carefully. The child said nothing. Then he lunged, snatching up the bread with one hand while holding tightly to the apple’s core with the other. “Are you alone?” she asked.

The child shook his head, crumbs flying as he shoved the bread in his mouth with a grubby little fist. “My ma’s here.” His words were garbled through his giant bite. “She’s hurt.”

“Will you show me?” Wren kept her voice soft. Careful. The child eyed her, crumbs spilling from his lips. Then he