Sweet & Bitter Magic by Adrienne Tooley (speed reading book TXT) 📗

what I don’t understand is why. It doesn’t make any sense. Tamsin has more power in her left hand than the rest of our class put together. She doesn’t need dark magic. She would never use dark magic, because that would be breaking a rule, and Tamsin’s such a stickler for rules it makes me want to scream. But this… this is something different altogether.

What is my sister hiding? What did Tamsin do?????

It was the same question her mother had asked her when Arwyn brought her to the Grand Hall, flinging twelve-year-old Tamsin onto the marble floor in front of the five other members of the Coven.

“What did you do?” Vera’s fingers had dug so deeply into Tamsin’s skin as she marched her daughter up the endless staircase to her chambers that Tamsin had been black-and-blue for weeks. Vera had thrown her daughter into a chair and glowered down at her, the cracks already apparent in her usual pristine expression.

“She was going to die.” Tamsin’s voice was small.

“I told you no.” Her mother’s words were sharp enough to slice through skin, but Tamsin didn’t even flinch. “Do you think this was easy for me, knowing my daughter was going to die? Do you think you are the only one who cares for her?”

“But—but—” Tamsin stammered, her voice hoarse. “You didn’t—”

“I couldn’t,” Vera snapped. “I wanted to. But I told you: We do not dabble in death.” Her mother’s face flashed with pain. “You’ve put me in a terrible position, do you know that? Do you have any idea what will happen when this gets out? My daughter, my child, the reason for all this destruction. They’ll vote me out. They’ll kill you. Did you stop to think? Do you ever think?” But her voice had lost its edge. “With one stupid, foolish decision, you have taken both my children from me.”

“What are you talking about? Marlena’s alive.”

Vera pursed her lips. “When we break the bond between you—and we will break it,” she said, stopping Tamsin’s protests before she even opened her mouth, “Marlena will not survive it. Your magic is the only thing keeping her alive. When the bond is broken, we will lose her all over again. And you, well…” Vera busied herself with the papers atop her desk. “I do not think the Coven will allow you to live either.”

Yet here she was, five years later, a flood of memories and guilt and wrongness. Tamsin had survived. Her sister had not. And she carried that with her every single day of her life.

The door opened, and the High Councillor swept back in. She leaned against the corner of her desk, and for a moment she said nothing, simply stared at her daughter.

“What—”

“I—”

They spoke at the same time, then paused, embarrassed. Their words tumbled into each other’s like bodies colliding. The room was off balance. They were not mother and daughter; they were two strangers. They did not know what to say.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Vera finally managed, her nails tapping against the desk.

Tamsin could hardly contain her shock. Her mother had been the one to cast her curse, the one to push her into the Wood, telling her in no uncertain terms to never return. Of course, that had been a kindness, in that she had pardoned her daughter from death. Still, Tamsin had never been able to shake the feeling that death might have been the kinder option. Five years of guilt was enough to drain the will to live from anyone, whether they could feel love or not.

But then she took in her mother’s face, really and truly looked. She caught sight of wrinkles around Vera’s mouth. Her mother had always looked pristine—her glossy black hair, her vivid red lips, long nails, rouged cheeks—due to the numerous spells that kept her effortlessly young and beautiful. But there was a crack in her composure, noticeable only up close. Something was wrong. Something was tearing her mother apart.

“I didn’t do this, if that’s what you’re thinking. The dark magic. I wouldn’t.” Tamsin hated how small she sounded. Sitting there in front of her mother, she felt like a child.

Vera smiled sadly.

“What?” Her mother’s expression was unsettling. Like there was more to the story than what had already come to pass.

“Look at you,” Vera said, holding up a hand to caress Tamsin’s cheek.

Tamsin stared at her blankly, Vera’s hand like wind upon her skin. She felt no desire to greet her mother in a similar way. She could not even muster up a smile.

“I didn’t do this,” she said again, her voice stronger this time. Imploring. She needed Vera to understand. She was different. She was steady. She was careful. “I want to help. Who better to find the dark witch than me?”

Her mother gave her a searching look. “Who indeed?”

“I would be an asset. An aid. I’ve witnessed firsthand the horrors this spell has wrought. I see now. I understand. I know that what I did was wrong. Let me fix it. Let me help.” Her knuckles were white, her fingernails pressed so deeply into the flesh of her palms that the creases would likely linger for hours.

All the while, Vera’s face betrayed nothing.

“I’m glad you feel that way,” she finally said, her eyes fixed on Tamsin’s. “For I do require your help.”

“You do?” Tamsin sat forward in her chair, apprehension forgotten. She had appealed to her mother, and rather than turning her away, as she had feared, her mother was welcoming her forward.

“I have knowledge,” Vera said, “that threatens my position as High Councillor. Were it to be found out, I would lose everything I have spent my life building—the better world where our power is greater than currency, stronger than love, essential in a way that cannot be denied.” She paused, letting her words hang heavy in the stale air. “I know who the dark witch is.”

Tamsin let her breath out slowly as her mother’s words sank in. “Then why haven’t you stopped this?” The plague,