Sweet & Bitter Magic Adrienne Tooley (best novels of all time .txt) 📖

“But I like you,” Tamsin whispered, twisting her cloak between her hands.

“I like me too,” Marlena laughed softly. “But I have to figure out who I am now. Without Amma. Without magic. Without Vera.” She cleared her throat. “Without you.” She looked out at the water.

“I just want you to be happy.” Tamsin turned her gaze to the sea as well. “I hope you find what you’re looking for out there. I hope that one day you write to me about your new life. And I hope that someday there’s a place for me in it.”

Marlena reached for Tamsin’s hand. “I hope so too.”

They stood there, hand in hand, as sailors shouted, waves crashed, birds called, and hope bloomed in the garden of Tamsin’s heart.

She was not yet forgiven. She might never be. But it was a start.

Letting go was the first step.

Perhaps, one day, the two of them would meet again and take the next one together.

TWENTY-SIX

WREN

The world was waking up.

The earth’s stores of magic were still depleted. Wren continued to hear the screaming of stone, the muffled breathing of trees, the uncertainty of water. But she sensed hope, too. Every chance she got, she pressed a hand to a boulder, ran her fingers through the cool water of a reflecting pool. She offered drops of her own magic to the earth as a reminder of what had been. A promise of what was to come. And the world reached up to meet her.

There was much work to do. They were nearly four days on the road, most of their time spent picking paths through the broken branches, piles of rotting leaves, murky brown puddles. The destruction they witnessed was endless. That the sun had returned to the sky only served to illuminate exactly how broken the world had become. Not a single structure in the city of Farn remained standing; the maze of alleyways was filled with the rubble of homes, the abandoned possessions of those fleeing the plague and their potential demise. The stench of death lingered an entire day in all directions.

Bands of frightened people huddled together on the outskirts of the city, setting up camps in fields of dead soil and withered crops, their wagons arranged in tight circles, studying Tamsin and Wren with suspicion even as they gave the groups a wide berth. People were hungry, dirty, defeated. The anger that had served them in the early days of the plague had dwindled to nothing, visible in their hunched shoulders and dull eyes.

Wren wanted to reassure them, to promise their safety, but no one was eager to speak to strangers, and certainly not ones so clean and finely clothed. There was no proof that they had suffered—although, of course, not all scars could be seen.

Now they were in the lowlands, only a day from Ladaugh and the countryside Wren had always called home. But the earth was devoid of color. It was all so stoic and sad.

“What are you thinking about?” Tamsin’s hand brushed lightly against her arm, her eyes studying and serious. She no longer wore her green cloak. Instead her arms were bare, her ghostly pale skin finally exposed to the daylight.

“Nothing.” Wren’s footsteps crunched against the gravel on the road. Tamsin looked at her skeptically. “Everything.” She shot the witch a small smile. “It’s just overwhelming.”

She gestured to their surroundings: the heavy white clouds hanging low in the sky; the detritus—soleless shoes, worn-down knives, broken ropes, torn clothing, empty sacks—littering the path; the field of tall summer grass to their left, dead, dried, and practically begging to catch fire.

“I don’t know how we’re going to fix this.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “Are we going to be able to fix this?”

Tamsin sighed, the sort of weary sigh Wren had come to associate with her. “I don’t know. Vera certainly seems to think so.”

“And what do you think?” She cozied up to the witch.

“That it’s awfully early in our relationship for me to be meeting your father.” Tamsin’s tone was light, but her smile didn’t meet her eyes.

Her father.

Unease blew through Wren like a strong wind. Each step suddenly felt like a struggle, trepidation spreading through her as she fretted over what she might find. There was no certainty that his memories could be replaced. That he would even still have his life. The cottage might have collapsed due to strong winds or the quaking earth. He might have starved.

Still, she was grateful to Tamsin for giving her the chance to find out. She would have been useless, stuck Within, not knowing her father’s fate. It was a kindness she could hardly find the words for. If her father was dead, she would be able to put him to rest. If he still lived, she would have the chance to give him a proper good-bye and finally reveal the truth of who—and what—she was.

Her jaw clenched. Neither was an ideal outcome, but both were honorable. The duties of a daughter.

Tamsin flicked her cheek softly. “Stop that. You’re going to ruin your teeth.”

Wren shot her a sour look. Sleeping so close to another person had put all her bad habits on display. Tamsin was constantly chiding her for grinding her teeth. Wren had started teasing Tamsin for her snoring. Still, she wouldn’t trade the nearness of the witch for anything. Not even for a more restful slumber.

With effort, she relaxed her jaw. She tapped her free hand against her leg, a jarring, jolting rhythm that mirrored the whistling in the wind. Tamsin stopped walking, catching her other hand so that she was facing Wren.

“It’s going to be okay.” She studied Wren carefully with those big brown eyes. There was a softness that made Wren’s breath catch. There was feeling there.

“Is it?” She tried to squirm out of Tamsin’s grip. It was too much, Tamsin was too much good in one place, and it made her feel guilty for