Sweet & Bitter Magic, Adrienne Tooley [books suggested by elon musk .TXT] 📗

continued to grow stronger, her stamina longer, her power tangible. Magic was about balance, but the sisters were as imbalanced as it was possible to be.

Tamsin had appealed to the High Councillor, begged her to tend to Marlena, to use a source, use any means necessary to wake her sister up. But the High Councillor had refused. “One must not dabble in death,” she told Tamsin, her lips quirking downward. “There is a rule of returns. It is a rule we witches cannot afford to break. For death is not kind. It does not understand. It only feeds.” The woman had smiled at Tamsin sadly. “Someday you will understand.”

But Tamsin hadn’t.

If she held enough power for two people, she should be able to share it with another. Or so she had reasoned as she spent hours poring through the library stacks, looking for a spell that would allow her to share her strength. When she found none, Tamsin turned her attention elsewhere. She slipped out of her dormitory after dark, seeking out elderly witches in shadowy taverns who whispered stories about Evangeline and dark magic. When she learned that Evangeline and the High Councillor had been best friends, Tamsin snuck into the High Councillor’s study, a place where she was trusted and welcome, and stole pages from her private notes. When she had everything she needed, Tamsin begged Leya to help her plan, to accompany her on the night she attempted the spell, but the source refused. Leya understood the consequences Tamsin had chosen to ignore.

So Tamsin fumbled through the ancient ritual alone. She summoned forbidden dark magic from the cool clay of the soil, dug her fingers into the earth, and spoke the fearful, caustic words that bound her sister’s life to Tamsin’s power.

It had worked, for a time.

And then the rains came.

TEN

WREN

Wren took the stairs two at a time. Even as she stomped upward, she kept an eye on Tamsin nearly ten feet below. Clearly, the witch couldn’t be bothered with her. Tamsin wasn’t even looking where she stepped. Instead her face was buried in that book. Surrounded by her own secrets.

Well.

Wren had only been trying to help. But lately she had started to worry that being willing to offer help—a trait she’d always considered a strength—might actually be a weakness.

When she had agreed to trade away her love for her father, she’d thought she was choosing to do something noble. Something good. But if her help always hurt, well, then what was she really doing?

Her foot caught on the stone stair. She was climbing, that was what, up a mountain in the company of bandits. Bandits. Honestly. And the worst part, Wren knew, was that as far up as they climbed, they had just as far to go back down. In her misery, she barreled into the squat woman before her, who was not nearly as out of breath as she.

“Why are we stopping?”

The woman shrugged. “Ask him. What’s his name? Boomer?”

“Boor,” the man said, wheezing slightly. “And we’re stopping because we’re here.”

Wren looked around blankly. “Where?”

Boor clucked his tongue loudly as though he was disappointed by her. “The palace, lass. We’ve made it to the palace.”

Wren blanched. “The queen’s palace?”

“No, the pig’s palace,” he snapped. “Of course the queen’s palace.”

“But…” Wren could hardly believe she was the only one protesting. “I thought you were taking us to Farn.”

“Well, naturally you can get to the queen’s city from the queen’s palace.” Boor sighed loudly. “Saints, lass, you’re awfully picky for a girl heading north.” His eyes lingered on hers knowingly, almost as if he could see the magic moving within her.

Wren shifted beneath his gaze. “But… we’re halfway up a mountain.”

Boor rolled his eyes, his pinched expression reminiscent of Tamsin’s. “Exactly. Didn’t your mother ever tell you the stories of the palace on the mountain? How the queen rules above her subjects?”

“My mother’s dead,” Wren said without thinking.

Boor looked uncomfortable. He kicked idly at a cracked stair. “Well, the palace isn’t actually on a mountain, is it? It’s in a mountain. Everyone knows that. But what they don’t all know is how to get in through the back entrance. Lucky for you, you’ve got one of the finest tour guides in the West.”

He fumbled around in the greenery until his hand caught on something solid. He gave a hearty yank, and a door the color of moss swung forward, revealing a dark chamber. Wren glanced over her shoulder, but Tamsin was still far behind.

“What is this place?” Wren hesitated at the chamber’s entrance.

“Escape route. In case of a revolt. Or a memory-stealing plague.” Boor’s laugh came out more like a cough. “In you go, lass. Where’s your friend?”

“She’s not my friend,” Wren snapped.

“All right, all right, no harm meant.” Boor shook his head, hands extended out protectively.

Wren rolled her eyes and stepped into the stone corridor. Their footsteps echoed against the low ceiling. The passageway was long and squat, the light behind them dimming with each step. The taller travelers had to walk hunched over.

Something skittered across the floor, and in her terror Wren stumbled, her foot catching on a gap in the stone. A hand as cold as ice closed around her arm. Wren shrieked.

“Calm down, will you? I’m trying to help you.”

“Tamsin?” Wren barely managed to stop herself from shrieking again.

“Who else would it be?”

“Oh, I don’t know, a bandit.” Wren’s tone was scathing.

“Hey,” came Boor’s indignant wheeze.

“I’m sure these men are very nice,” Tamsin said loudly. “Will you please shut up,” she snapped, lowering her voice to a whisper. “They don’t ask me questions; I don’t ask them any.”

Wren scoffed. “Don’t you think we maybe should? How do we know this is even a palace? How did they know about this entrance?” She could not believe she had allowed dangerous men to lead her through dark passageways. She had been on the road only a few days and already she had all but abandoned her usual sense.

Wren