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.”