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

shifted beneath her. Knew it before she even looked into the tracker’s eyes. There was no warmth there, nor had she expected there to be. Arwyn was precise. Exacting. Detached. She always had been. When Tamsin was a child, she’d been in awe of the woman, the way she carried herself, the authority she radiated. She was the only witch in the world who dared to enter Vera’s chambers without an appointment.

That reverence was gone now. It wasn’t that Tamsin resented Arwyn for turning her in—the Coven existed for the sole purpose of preventing the spread of dark magic, after all. Arwyn had only been doing her job. It was that Tamsin was embarrassed to have been caught by the witch she had respected most in the world. It was the way Arwyn’s face had twisted in disgust as she took in the twelve-year-old’s haggard appearance. As though Tamsin were not just a fool, but a stranger. The disappointment in her voice had hurt worse than any of her harsh words.

There was no trace of that disappointment now as the woman towered over the two of them lying in a crumpled heap on the forest floor. Now there was only anger, white hot like an iron in the fire. Tamsin scrambled to her feet, putting as much distance as possible between herself and Wren.

She focused on Arwyn’s boots, trying to put aside the strange fluttering in her chest. Trying to forget the feeling of her body pressed against Wren’s—a body that was soft and warm and had stirred something guttural and deep and desperate within her. She wanted to know what it meant, and, perhaps more important, how it was possible that she could feel anything at all.

“Hello,” Tamsin finally said, meeting the older witch’s eyes with as much dignity as she could muster.

Arwyn snorted. Apparently, Tamsin hadn’t had much dignity to work with.

“What on earth are you doing here?”

Tamsin was startled to find that Arwyn was actually expecting an answer. Usually, the tracker’s questions were rhetorical. She knew everything that happened Within and wanted everyone to know it. It was off-putting, watching the woman wrestle with her curiosity.

“We’re here to hunt,” Wren piped up, cheeks still burning red.

Tamsin shot her a sharp look. The girl did not know how to read a room.

Arwyn’s mouth split into an empty smile. “Are you, now?” Her eyes silently appraised Wren, her patchwork clothes, her pink cheeks and freckled nose and eager eyes, bright and defiant. Tamsin felt suddenly protective of the source, resented how Arwyn’s gaze lingered on Wren’s too-big boots. As though her appearance somehow made her unworthy of respect.

“Yes,” Wren squeaked, although she didn’t sound particularly certain.

“Interesting.” Arwyn moved her icy eyes back to Tamsin. “And who approved this?” Her fingers twitched as though ready to issue a binding spell, ready to clap iron around Tamsin’s wrists and haul her back to the academy.

“The High Councillor.” Tamsin hated the way her voice shook.

Arwyn’s nearly invisible eyebrows shot up. “Vera knows you’re here?”

Anyone who did not know the tracker could not have detected the hurt in her voice, but Tamsin knew her, had spent so many years studying her mannerisms and her tone. Arwyn felt betrayed. Vera had kept the truth a secret, had turned to her daughter in her time of need. It sparked something within Tamsin, something almost hopeful.

Perhaps she did still have a family after all.

“Yes.” When Tamsin spoke again, her voice was stronger. She pulled the hunting license from her cloak pocket and offered it to the tracker as proof. Her hand did not waver.

Arwyn’s expression soured. Behind her, her bone army clacked menacingly. Somewhere, far away, a bird called.

“I told your mother she was making a mistake when she banished you. I told her to kill you.”

Tamsin had hoped her curse would make her impervious to that sort of hurt. But of course she felt it, every sinking inch of pain. It wasn’t that she thought Arwyn was wrong. It was that she wondered if she was right.

If she had been killed, as precedent required, none of this would be happening. Marlena would not have summoned the plague. Dark magic would not be ravaging the earth. Arwyn would not be looking at her with renewed disdain.

“Well, she’s alive,” Wren piped up, her voice stronger this time, “and she’s probably your best chance of finding this dark witch. So you should really let us get on with it.” She glanced over at Tamsin appreciatively. Tamsin felt a flood of warmth. Wren knew everything, all her twisted, messy pieces, and believed in her anyway. Wren’s voice silenced some of the doubt racing through Tamsin’s head.

If Tamsin had died, Marlena would not have lived. Wren would not be standing here, eyes blazing with a fire Tamsin had never before seen. For better or for worse, Tamsin was here. Alive. She had made her mistakes.

Now she had the opportunity to fix some of them.

“Our best chance?” Arwyn’s eyes pooled with pity. “Where did you find her?” she asked Tamsin with an empty smile. “She seems to be quite the yappy little guard dog.”

“I’m simply stating the truth,” Wren said, her bravado wavering slightly. “Just because you’re too arrogant to see it doesn’t mean it isn’t fact.”

Arwyn’s hands balled into fists. Tamsin took a step toward Wren as though to shield her from the witch’s wrath. But Arwyn merely chuckled.

“You think I’d waste my time on the likes of you two?” Her bone army rustled and settled. “If your mother had killed you when I told her to, we wouldn’t be in this mess. But she betrayed me, betrayed all of us when she let you go. Our authority was tossed right out the window. And now there’s someone else out there, testing our limits. Trying to see how much they can get away with.”

Tamsin swallowed thickly, guilt roiling in her stomach. Arwyn was right, of course. She was always right.

“Rules are in place for a reason,” she continued sharply. “After