Ever the Hunted (Clash of Kingdoms #1)(74)

“Aye, she was,” Enat continues. “Which is why it was difficult to find a priest of Malam who would marry them. No one wanted to aid a Shaerdanian. No one wanted to be accused of treachery like the Archtraitor.”

She draws a breath and holds it in her lungs, before letting it slowly out. A minor tremble runs through Enat’s hands. Something inside her has grown restless, reminding me of the way Papa’s horse used to pace in the stall before a bad storm.

“Rozen sent letters to me through the one trusted watchman. She was with child. On her small frame, her belly grew large quickly, drawing speculation from townspeople. She was too big too fast. They whispered of Channeler magic. When she delivered, there were . . . complications. Yet Rozen didn’t die in childbirth as others would’ve in the same situation, so the healer claimed Channeler magic.”

“Didn’t my father’s position protect them?” His title has protected me and kept me from the pillory.

“To some extent, but Rozen was afraid. She wrote, asking me to meet her at the border.” Enat’s skin pales to an ashen color.

“Why?” I press.

“She wanted me to take your power away. So you could live without fear in Malam.”

My frown sinks deeper. “Is that possible?”

“It’s nearly impossible, but, on a baby who doesn’t know how to resist, it might’ve worked. Only a Spiriter can give another Spiriter her power. But once it’s done, it is permanent. That is the only way, for if a Spiriter takes another’s power, it changes the Spiriter in dangerous ways.”

I have no words. Having only just learned of Channeler heritage, the loss of power doesn’t sound so different from what I’ve known. And yet the thought of someone taking away my power draws a visceral cry within me that screams, No, no, no!

She must be sensing the hint of dread. “I would’ve never done it,” she says. “Never would try, not that it would’ve worked. But I would never allow you to give it to me either, for fear you would go too far and lose all that you have. What we have is too rare. You must treasure it. Of all Spiriters, our bloodline is the strongest.”

It makes me wonder how much of the gift I possess. But my mother’s story still hangs unfinished.

“That day, your father had you in his arms as they approached the border pass in the hills south of Fennit, where his friend stood post as a watchman. Rozen rode ahead, checking to see if the way was clear.”

Enat abandons her stitching, as a far-off expression masks her face. I shouldn’t press her. I should tell her it’s all right, she doesn’t have to finish. Except the words don’t come out. I want to know, need to know the rest of my mother’s story.

“There wasn’t supposed to be two watchmen.” Her voice is an earthquake. “Your father noticed them and called for Rozen to fall back. But she was too close to the border, too far from Saul, and the new watchman, too eager to do his job, took aim without asking questions. His arrow struck under her shoulder before she saw it coming.”

We sit silently on the bed, both of us leveled by her story.

All these years I’ve harbored ill feelings for my mother. And now all that remains is deep shame. She didn’t leave us. She wasn’t a traitor. My hands fist against the sudden surge of emotion. I am furious with my father. How could he withhold so many truths? He allowed me to believe my mother was nothing more than the terrible names the townspeople have slung at me for years.

I feel bereft, like my mother has just been taken, and sympathy for Enat, who lost her daughter nearly eighteen years ago.

Grief and anger clog my throat, making it difficult to swallow. “What I said yesterday about hating her, I’m sorry about that. I don’t hate her. You were right. I didn’t understand.”

Her hand closes over mine, lending strength and sympathy, when I should be the one offering condolences to her. “No need to be sorry, my girl. You have the truth. Now you know of her sacrifice.”

She resumes stitching, working until the cloak is finished and the seams are strong. Once she folds the garment and places it between us, I struggle with what to say to take this pain away from her. Unable to let go of my own heartache, I stop trying to search for the right words and, instead, wrap my arms around my grandmother and lay my head on her shoulder.





Chapter

33


COHEN SLEEPS BY THE FIREPLACE WHILE I share a room with Enat. His faint airy snores are barely audible over Enat’s rustling. She is sorting blankets to decide which ones to take to Brentyn tomorrow. I watch her, wondering what our travels will bring.

I didn’t come to Shaerdan to find the truth of my heritage. Though I cannot say I’ve forgiven Papa for the secrets he held, his reasoning makes a little sense. Now that the truth is out, I cannot ignore the gift inside me. To survive, to protect myself, knowledge is essential.

“Will you teach me how to use my ability?” I ask Enat while she folds a rainbow-colored quilt. Her hands are still over the brightly pieced fabric as she glances up.

I throw my hands up. “I promise I’m not looking for a way to keep you out of Malam. I need to know what I’m capable of. The only two times I used my gift, I didn’t have a clue what was happening. So, will you help me?”

Seeing her folds aren’t lined up correctly, she shakes out the blanket and starts again. “You’re certain? You want to learn how to channel the spirit, even though you’re headed to a country where it’s illegal?”