Ever the Hunted (Clash of Kingdoms #1)

“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.

“Britta?” Cohen fixes on my silly grin.

Avoiding his curious gaze, I force myself to act natural. “Need a hand, Enat?”

“I could use some water.” She juts her chin toward the bucket by the door. “Fetch a pail from the well out back, will ya?”

The trip to the well and back is quick. Enat and Cohen are talking when I return; the deep notes of their voices echo through the door. I’m about to go inside when Cohen says something too clear to miss: “You told her. You should’ve let her go without knowing.”

“I had every right. I did what I thought was best.”

There’s a loud thump. Startled, my hold on the bucket loosens and water sloshes down my legs. Cursing, I smack the water droplets away before entering Enat’s home to find Cohen rigid as a board with fists at his sides and Enat standing beside the table, her eyes are slits directed at my travel partner. Then the scene breaks, and both of them resume talking as though things weren’t tense a moment earlier. As if they could hide the argument from me.

“What were you talking about?” I set the pail on the table. “Cohen?”

He shifts his weight. Straightens his tunic. Looks at the ground. A seed of unease lodges between my shoulder blades as I recall the words he spoke.

“What did you mean when you said, ‘You told her’?”

“Britt.” He gives a small, pleading shake of his head.

The emotions he usually excels at taming run with abandon across his features. Apprehension. Remorse. Guilt.

“I didn’t—” he starts. Stops and narrows his eyes on Enat, before shaking his head and looking up to the ceiling.

I’m confused. My scrutiny jumps from him to her. Then—?in the space between two heartbeats—?everything clears.

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