Ever the Hunted (Clash of Kingdoms #1)(64)

Enat adjusts the basket on her hip, trailing her fingers from the berries to the mushrooms. I watch her, remembering the clergyman’s comments about the rarity of a Spiriter. In that moment, details stand out on Enat that I hadn’t noticed much before—?her faded freckled arms, her narrow frame, her sapphire eyes.

My mouth goes dry as dirt. I lick my lips, though the effort produces no moisture. “Enat, are you—?” I clear my throat, fighting to keep panic from my expression. “Are you my mother?”

She lowers the basket, her gaze losing a touch of focus for a beat.

“No, I’m not.” I note a twinge of disappointment in her eyes.

Oddly, the look is mirrored by my own remorse. I accepted my mother’s death years ago, so it’s utterly moronic to feel bereft now. Still, I wish her answer had been different.

“Of course.” I ignore the strange ache and shrug. “How silly of me . . . I saw that we both have blue eyes and light hair and . . .”

“Britta.”

“Yes?”

Her left hand contracts around the handle of the basket as she takes a small step toward me. “I—?I am your grandmother.”

A sputter and a gasp break from my mouth, leaving me gaping at her. “You—?you’re my grandmother?”

She slips her hand through my elbow and tugs me close, which is as good as an embrace when it comes to Enat. “Welcome home, girl.”

A hysterical bubble of laughter bursts from my lips. I’ve never felt so tumultuous inside. So happy and at the same time so wronged. I don’t know what to do with all the angry and frustrated thoughts directed toward my father. If I have a living, breathing grandmother—?someone else who would accept me, love me—?why, then, would Papa keep me from her?

Why would he leave me alone in Brentyn to fend for myself? If he knew her to be a Spiriter, wouldn’t he have known the same of me? Or at least suspected as much? The question leads my mind into a dark and hollow place, where vicious thoughts are hungry preying wolves. Recoiling from them, I dig my toe into the soft dirt and turn my chin to face Enat.

“So, you really, really are my grandmother?” The question begs to be asked once more just to be sure.

Enat lets out a cackle of a laugh, a rusty rumble that she’s let loose a few times now and that sums up her coarse mix of kindness. “Britta, we are so much alike, it amazes me you didn’t see it before. Yes, I am your mother’s mother. You’re my flesh and blood. Now let’s head back and I’ll make you some lunch while we talk, because I’ve no doubt you’re brimming with questions.”



Cohen is chopping wood outside the cottage when we walk out of the forest. He must’ve been at it for a while, since sweat marks his shirt in a dark V. He stops the ax and waves. I might as well be tied to a flock of birds for how his smile eases an invisible weight from my shoulders.

“You were gone for a while, so I chopped wood,” Cohen tells Enat as he tosses another one onto the stack, where it thuds against the others, causing a few to tumble out of the neat pile. “And then some.”

She appraises his split logs while I struggle to stop myself from appraising the woodcutter. “Good. It’ll keep for winter.”

I lift my basket and grin. “She’s a taskmaster.”

“As demanding as Saul?”

“Close.” I glance at Enat and marvel, once again, at our connection. I have to shake my head to stop myself from gawking at her. My grandmother, the thought, one I never imagined having, makes my body fill with joy. However, the rush isn’t enough to drown out the sadness for all the years missed out on knowing her. The dueling emotions are turning me mad.

When Enat takes the basket into the cottage, I start toward Cohen to tell him everything I just learned. He’ll be pleased to hear Enat’s willing to go with us—?something I’m overjoyed about now that I know who she is and that we will have over a week of travel time to spend together. I wonder what Cohen will think when he finds out she is my grandmother.

“It took three hours?” Cohen drops the ax.

His detached, cold manner stops me midstep. “Appears so. Everything all right with you?”

“It’s been a long day and”—?he rubs his shoulder and up his neck, so it’s obvious something’s gotten under his skin—?“I’ve been thinking. We need to discuss our return.”

“All right,” I say quietly, swallowing my confession of how the last few hours rearranged everything about myself and my life. Turning away, I move toward the house when Cohen’s hand, callused and warm, wraps around my wrist.

“Wait. Don’t go in yet. Tell me about your talk with Enat. You seem . . . different.”

I am different. Knowing there’s someone who understands me and is just like me, even related to me, changes everything. It upends my world and, at the same time, grounds me. It mixes me up with so many differing emotions, I can hardly see straight. Still, “Enat can break the bind” is all I say.

“Really? She’s willing to come with us?”

“Yes.”

Cohen follows me into the cottage. “Good. Now we just have to talk with the Archtraitor and then we can leave.”

“Hopefully.” I shrug as I slip through the door.

Enat sits at the table, busily sorting berries, leaves, and mushrooms into separate piles. Her warm gaze finds me and she smiles, a look that’s contagious.