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

“There is nothing more to be said.” The witch coughed delicately. “Do you agree to serve the Coven?”

Now, when she did not want them, Wren could feel every single eye in the room.

Once she no longer loved her father, would she have the right to leave him too? It felt wrong to agree. To give up the possibility of seeing him again. But as she glanced at the stoic faces of the Coven, Wren knew that, once again, the choice she was facing had only one answer. If she wanted to live, if she wanted to find a cure for the plague, the only answer was yes.

“I agree to serve the Coven.” Her voice dripped with resentment, but the Coven didn’t seem to care. She was released from her bindings. Yet before she could rub the raw skin around her wrists, the woman reached out to grab her, squinting down at Wren’s left arm. Wren squirmed beneath the witch’s hot skin, but her grip was like iron.

“Leya, come.”

The girl approached the platform. She still refused to meet Wren’s eye, even as she offered the woman her hand.

The cloud above Leya’s head swirled, extending a vein of violet. The source sent her magic forward, rushing toward the witch until the color had been drained from the cloud hanging above her head. It was an intricate dance, magic swirling through the echoing hall. Wren watched, openmouthed. It was the first time she had ever seen a source at work.

When the violet magic rested entirely in the witch’s hands, she began to speak: guttural, twisting words. As she did, a blinding heat spread across Wren’s inner arm like she was being stabbed by one thousand needles. Ink crept across her skin, arranging itself into a swooping arc topped by a line of four circles, each intersecting the next. The curved line took up nearly half her forearm, the ink black as night. As soon as the witch dropped her arm, Wren scuttled backward, pawing at the ink. It did not smudge.

“You are now a citizen of Within,” the woman said. “There is no place for you in the world beyond the trees.” She nodded curtly. “Here is your hunting license.” She sent a scroll of parchment hurtling through the air. Wren caught it shakily and tucked it into her pocket. “Dismissed.”

There was a flurry of movement, the creaking of bones as the Six removed themselves from the platform, filing out of the great hall with light footsteps. The crowd of witches who had gathered in the back of the hall dispersed slower, their eyes lingering on Wren and her new mark.

“Welcome to the fold.” Leya’s melodic voice sounded like a funeral dirge.

“Thanks. For everything,” Wren said sarcastically, clapping a hand over her tattoo. The skin was still hot where the ink had been seared into her skin.

“The pain won’t last.” Leya pulled back her own sleeve to display the same symbol. The black of the ink had faded. It looked less severe, softer somehow, all curved lines and round shapes. “It will grow to be a part of you. Each circle is for an element: water, wind, fire, earth.” She tapped each circle in time. “To remind us of the source of it all.”

Wren snorted despite herself.

“Oh, good. You have a sense of humor.” Leya glanced darkly toward the retreating backs of the Six.

Wren’s legs had grown tired of supporting her. She sank to the floor, the marble frigid against her skin even through her worn trousers. She couldn’t be bothered to care.

Leya sighed impatiently, but she slipped to the floor as well, and settled her long skirt around her.

“I’ve never met another source.” The words were out of Wren’s mouth before she could pull them back. She was furious with Leya, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t curious about her too.

“We’re very valuable.”

“I’m certain that’s what the Coven wants you to believe.”

Leya frowned so quickly Wren wondered if she had imagined it. “The Coven wants you to believe a lot of things, but this is, in fact, true. There are hundreds of witches, but only a handful of sources. That’s why they did all that intimidating whispering earlier. Your magic is worth a lot to them.”

“They didn’t seem to care very much about me.” Wren fussed with the lace on her boot.

Leya raised her eyebrows so high they nearly disappeared into her hair. “That’s because they’re afraid of you. When witches cast a spell, it drains them physically and mentally. There’s a limit to their power. But with a source, they can push those boundaries, take steps far beyond the scope of their limitations. Witches can do magic, but we are magic.”

It was still strange to hear someone else refer to her as such. “There has never been a bit of magic in my family. Not even so much as an exceptionally talented gardener.”

“No kidding,” Leya purred, her vowels round and long. “There’s… a lot going on up there.” She waved her hand vaguely near Wren’s ear. “It’s really rather loud.”

Wren frowned. She was always so preoccupied with the magic around her that she’d never stopped to consider what her magic was like.

“For years I tried to suppress it. Evangeline’s sickness killed my brother, and so my father hates magic. I didn’t want him to be afraid of me.”

Leya made a soft clicking sound with her tongue. “I can tell. Your power moves in such a stilted way. It’s like you’re fighting too hard against what you are.” Her eyes focused intently on the space above Wren’s head. “You should give in to it. You’ll be much more powerful than you already are.” She gave Wren a significant look.

“Power is overrated.”

“Power is everything.” Leya’s smile did not meet her eyes. “Especially to Tamsin.”

“Power might be everything to Tamsin, but the truth certainly isn’t. She didn’t even tell me she was banished.” Wren attacked the word the way she wished she could attack her travel companion.

Leya chuckled. “Not particularly forthcoming,