“Interesting.” Millner taps a finger to his lips. “Still, the meeting won’t put an end to the war unless Shaerdan submits to King Aodren.”
“It could prolong the start of the war,” I say.
Everyone turns to me. Well, except for Lirra, whose eyes must be broken because they’re stuck on Cohen.
“Maybe once our countries have met,” I continue, and the bind is broken, “the king will see it’s better for both sides to withdraw.”
“Retreat?” Millner’s mouth pulls into a grim pinch. “Malam will never retreat, not until she has control of Shaerdan. Your king’s advisers are greedy bastards. They want our seaports, and they’re ruthless enough to murder a hundred thousand men to get what they want.”
Lirra puts a hand on her father’s arm, and his shoulders drop in acquiescence.
“So you don’t think a meeting between our two countries will matter.” I rub my temples. “Then what should we do?”
“Cut your losses and remain in Shaerdan.” Millner relaxes back into his chair and folds his arms over his belly. “It’d be a fool’s errand to return and try to prove your innocence. You’re up against the captain of the guard, who has witnesses and evidence. Who do you think the high lord will believe?”
Cohen, who’s been mostly silent this entire time, leans forward. “I cannot stay here. My brother will die if I don’t get to him before the war starts. Regardless of Captain Omar, I’ll be returning to Malam.”
“And what do you think will happen when you get to him? Didn’t you used to be the bounty hunter’s apprentice?” Millner’s words are sharp. “You should know if you take the boy away from his company, he’ll be charged with treason. A bounty will be put on his head.”
Cohen pushes out of his seat and strides away from the table. “So you’re suggesting I let him die? Leave my family behind?”
“You’re only outside of the boundaries now because you’ve been on the run.” Millner fixes on him with a hard stare. “But you haven’t been free, have you? You had the king’s guard chasing you clear across Shaerdan. I can assure you that won’t change once you have your brother in tow. I’ve been hiding and running for nearly twenty years. I know what it’s like to have the king out for my blood. Is that what you want?”
“I know the risks.” Cohen glares at Millner. “Doesn’t change my decision.”
Millner shakes his head and sighs. He turns to me. “What about you? Think you’ll be free to return to your grandmother’s house after you accuse the captain of the guard? The closest you’ll come is hanging from a noose at the border. You won’t be coming back here ever again, I can promise you that.”
I hadn’t given much thought to returning.
“I have to try. My father’s death won’t be in vain.” My gaze flicks to Enat, who is watching me carefully. The idea of losing her sends me into a panic. There are risks I hadn’t considered. The day I was brought to the dungeon, a woman was there. The dungeon master called her a Channeler. She was dying. I imagine Enat in that woman’s place, and my body chills as if the ague is coming on.
Millner’s point hits the heart of my fears. What if we return to Malam and the guard catches Enat and accuses her of being a Channeler?
I’ve made a grave mistake. Enat cannot go to Malam.
Chapter
32
ENAT IS BENT OVER THE SMALL WOODEN TRUNK in her room, withdrawing a cloak from the box as I lean against the door frame. Since Millner and his daughter left an hour ago, I’ve done little more than think about Enat and the dangers awaiting us.
“It’s much colder in Malam. Here the temperature stays close to the same all year. But in Malam, where we have to travel through the high plains and mountains to reach Brentyn, it’ll likely be close to first frost. This should be enough to keep warm.” She pats the material, wool that is the same shade as heavy clouds before a rainstorm.
“You won’t need it if you teach me how to break the bind,” I say.
She turns to me with a sideways glance. “Why do you want to know that?”
My response has run through my head a hundred times, and still it catches on my tongue. I clench my fists and push myself to say what needs to be said. “It’s too dangerous for you to go. You could show me what to do, and I’ll do it.” Even though I want her to come, it would be selfish to allow it.
“No. I’ve already given you my word. I’ll go.” She stands and shakes out the cloak so dust particles dance off the material into the slant of fading window light.
“Enat, there are too many dangers. Crossing the border won’t be easy. But if you come, you’ll have to cross it twice. Who knows what awaits us when we get to the palace. You’re risking your life.”
She hmms to herself as she inspects the cloak but gives no further acknowledgment to my comment.
Cohen chooses this moment to duck his head into the room. “I’ve checked over the horses, and they’re ready.”
“Willow hasn’t ridden east before,” says Enat. “Did you make sure to pack an extra blanket for her?”
“Yeah. What about the other horse? Acorn?”
“Aspen,” she corrects. “He’ll be fine, though an extra blanket wouldn’t hurt. Especially if we hit a storm head-on. This time of year, the fall weather in Malam tends to rage before winter.”
It’s been almost a month since I left Malam. It amazes me how easily I’ve overlooked my country’s season change. Being here in the warmth and lush forests has been a nice reprieve. Now it’s time to return to frost and rocky mountains.
“You can remain here and not have to spend weeks traveling to Malam and back.” I try approaching the subject again as soon as Cohen leaves the room. “There’s no danger if you stay.”
“Britta.” Enat’s voice is lower, pensive. “Even if you learn what it takes to break the bind, you don’t have experience. This task is no easy thing. It’ll take a great deal of concentration and know-how. And without experience, well . . .” She doesn’t need to finish the sentence—I already know. Without experience, I wouldn’t be able to do it. I look away, embarrassed for thinking I could learn.
Her wrinkled hand wraps around mine. “Now, listen, girl. I knew the dangers when you first asked me to go. Knew what I was getting myself into.”
I hadn’t given the risk to her a second thought when I asked her to go, a fact that fills me with remorse. Enat tugs me to sit near her on the bed with the cloak between us.
“I’m an old woman. That doesn’t mean I’m not capable; it just means I’ve lived my life and had my adventures. One thing I haven’t had in quite some time is a family. We’ve just met, but I’m not going to let you waltz in here and waltz back out. This is my choice. I’m going with you, my granddaughter.”
Oh, how the sound of that pleases me.
For the first time since we met, Enat’s short frame and weathered skin no longer seem rugged. The hunch of her shoulders and deep lines around her eyes and mouth make me see her years. Frailty beneath strength. When she squeezes my hand, I wish I could quiet my unease about the dangers ahead.
“It’s going to be a tough journey,” I say, hoping she’ll reconsider and hoping she won’t. “Cohen’s convinced we’ll need to travel day and night to reach Brentyn before the captain. Traveling in a pair makes it hard to stay inconspicuous, so traveling in a group of three will be near impossible.”
“Careful, Britta.” She clicks her tongue against her teeth. She presses a threaded needle into the fabric and begins a pattern of stitches. “I might start thinking you enjoy that boy’s company over mine.”
I snort, and the tension between us evaporates.
Clearly, there’ll be no changing her mind.
I pick up the other end of the cloak. Papa may not have taught me how to be the best seamstress, but it doesn’t mean I cannot fix a seam.
“Can you tell me about my mother?” I ask while mending.
Enat’s fingers pause over the fabric. “Talking about Rozen reminds me
of times I’d rather forget.”
The slight tremble in her fingers jitters down through the thread. What happened back then that she’d want to forget?
The door slams, breaking my trance as Cohen enters the house, bustles around, gathering supplies, then leaves. All the while, I sit there struck by Enat’s words.
Her needle moves in and out of the fabric. “Rozen was close to your age when she left home—her first time working at her Elementiary in Padrin.” As her hand moves steadily over the fabric, her story spins a memory to life before me. A chance meeting between a sweet Channeler and an eager young bounty hunter. A summer of courtship whenever Saul could stop in Padrin. A girl who returned home in the fall desperately in love.
“He wrote and asked for her hand in marriage.” Enat’s fingers stray from her handiwork, her usual purposeful touch now a flutter of movement as she swipes a hair from her forehead. “Rozen was elated. She asked him to come here to meet me and to marry under these trees. Only, the day came and he didn’t arrive. She waited for him for a month. When he didn’t come, Rozen was heartbroken.”
If not for the courtship and proposal, her story of friendship and heartbreak could be mine.
“But they must’ve married at some point,” I add, urging her to continue.
Enat’s eyes turn watery. “Rozen needed space to pull herself back together. She packed up and left for Padrin to work at the Elementiary. That’s where Saul found her another month later.”
She stabs the needle into the fabric and pauses. Please don’t stop.
My own heart is clenched in compassion for my mother, my curiosity burning through me. “Where was he? Why’d he make her wait?”
“King Leon died a week before Saul was set to leave. His passing was unexpected. Whole country went into mourning. And a panic. In a matter of days, those fool men in the king’s court sent out a proclamation saying that Channelers caused the king’s death and were to be swept from the country. A bounty was offered to any who would turn someone in for witchcraft.”
The Purge Proclamation. The lasting effects provide nightmare fodder to any woman or child who passes the pillory on market day. Seeing battered women trapped in the wooden planks, feet surrounded by a ring of dirt, was awful enough that I never gave further thought to how bad it must’ve been in the beginning. I sit utterly still, not wanting to shatter the picture her words paint of the hysteria that swept through Malam. Neighbors turned on neighbors. Families were left motherless.
The king’s inner court took over for Aodren, a two-year-old when his father passed, and motherless, for she died giving him birth. No one could enter or lawfully leave Malam for two months of mourning. Two months of hunting Channelers.
“Those were dark times.” She sits with a heavy set to her shoulders. “Women were accused, tortured, and hung, while a few lucky ones managed to flee. But eradicating Channelers from Malam wasn’t enough. The inner court closed the borders.”
Hovering on the edge of my seat, I reach out and touch her hand, and she responds with a watery smile and then begins sewing again.
“Millner never talks of it,” she says. “The pain is too much.”
“I heard he was once the captain of the guard.”
Her head bobs as she pierces the wool with her needle. “He was the king’s right-hand man. Did you know they were close friends? When King Leon died, it was like losing a brother to Millner.” A shock, considering the infamous status of enemy he wears now. “Many people thought Millner would act as a spokesman for young Aodren. Step in as king regent, since Aodren was the last of the royal line.”
Defecting to Shaerdan after holding such an elevated station must’ve been a shock to the entire country. The reason Millner has been called the Archtraitor seems clearer now.
“I know he spoke out against the Purge and the border closure,” I tell her. “And he was imprisoned because people listened and rallied against the new laws.”
She snorts. “Aye, they listened, but he wasn’t imprisoned right off. First, guards were sent to his home. They beat him and tied him so he couldn’t move as his wife was tortured before him. Can you imagine that? Seeing the brutalization of your loved one?” The insides of my mouth turn briny as she continues. “The guards dragged Millner outside and then set his house on fire, with his unconscious wife inside and their sleeping babe.” My sharp intake interrupts her. Gods, the man lost his wife and child? His cheery face pops into my head and baffles me. How can he be happy after he’s suffered so much? The ruthlessness of Malam’s inner court staggers me, and yet I’ve seen traces of their cruelty all my life.
“Only after slaying his family did the guards throw him in the dungeon. The next day they put Millner in the pillory, as a cautionary example to those who would defy the laws.” Enat’s mouth twists into a grim smile. “But he escaped.”
No one simply escapes the pillory. He must’ve had help. “My father?”
She shrugs. “I believe so, but Millner will carry that secret to his grave. Saul was tasked with finding Millner. When he went to Shaerdan to hunt Millner down, it was only by luck that your father bumped into Rozen in Padrin and had a chance to explain why he hadn’t come.”
Enat’s stitches are tight and uniform, not a single one different from another despite the gravity of the conversation. If anything, her speed has increased while we talk. She pushes and pulls through the material in mechanical movements.
“What happened after he explained?” I ask.
Her gaze remains fixed to her fingers. “Young, and desperately in love, they married at a church in Padrin that evening and left for Malam the next day.”
Stunned, I forget about the needle and gouge my pointer finger.
“Ouch!” I hold up my wounded digit. The danger of my father’s trek and the passion of his and my mother’s actions ring so untrue to the pragmatic man who raised me. He taught me to value caution and control.
“Your father bribed a friend who was a watchman to help them past the border. Another friend claimed Rozen was a distant cousin and had no Channeler connections. And one more person testified that Rozen had spent summers on his farm and should be considered a countryman of Malam. Those lies were enough for Saul and Rozen to be allowed a quiet life in Brentyn, but not enough to rid her of the Shaerdanian stamp.”
“So, like me, she was an outcast?”
“I can see you’ve taken it in stride.” Enat winks, and my short chuckle clashes against the dark tone of the conversation.
“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.”
Ever the Hunted Page 22