“Your mother passed on when you were a wee baby, and your country has shunned magic. It’s understandable that you didn’t know.”
Hearing her explanation of what a Spiriter is only makes me wish I’d learned this information years earlier. If it’s passed from mother to daughter, then my mother kept it a secret. She must not have told Papa. When I think of all I never learned because my mother chose to return to Shaerdan instead of raise me, anger ignites inside me.
“I hate her,” I think aloud, my voice full of sharp edges. “My mother left me alone in Malam. And because of her and my father’s lies, I knew nothing.” Part of me wants to say I hate him as well, but those words could never pass my lips. It’s easier to blame the parent I’ve never met.
Enat’s hand strays from her side and rests on my clenched arm. “Hate’s a strong word, girl. It is one thing not to fathom the reason for her choices. You can be upset with her and your father for not telling you the truth. But don’t hate her.”
I glare at the dirt. “I should’ve known something was different about me. What a fool I am.” This conversation started as an exploration and has now turned to bitterness.
“Don’t say that. Girls your age have had training. They’ve been told about their abilities since they could crawl. You didn’t have anyone to tell you.”
“I had my father. He could’ve told me, though I suppose he didn’t . . . he must not have known.” I peer up at her as hope rises inside me, easing my anger toward Papa.
Enat links her arm through mine. “I cannot answer for him. Though I’m sure if he withheld anything, it was to keep you safe. If people knew what you are, you would’ve been in danger. Fear is bred of that which we don’t understand. You would’ve been executed.”
I remember the many times others ignored me at the market. Or when they didn’t overlook me, instead throwing hateful comments in my direction. “Still, I was an outcast,” I say, though it’s leagues better than death.
“Our lives are, like these woods, ever changing. Nothing is static. And so you cannot count on an easy, carefree life to always remain that way. Or a harsh existence to stay the same. Life can get better. Or life can always become worse. And then you die.” Enat smiles ruefully. “Don’t reflect on the negative. Think about all the positives in your life.”
She’s right. And I’m a brat for having pitched a fit at all.
“I wish . . .” I’m not sure how to finish. I want so many things my situation cannot yield. I wish to be more than what I’ve been. To be free of the past. To understand and embrace who I truly am. But mostly, “I wish I could have one more chance to talk to my father.” My whisper is lost in the wind that kicks through the trees, their shuffling leaves the only answer back.
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.