“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?”
“Yes.”
She smiles and tightly creases the fold of her quilt. “Then on our way to Malam, I’ll teach you.”
Once we’re under way, each of us on a different horse, Cohen says, “We’ll hold out on resting until it’s absolutely necessary. We want to cross this land as quickly as we can.”
We keep to the forest and grasslands that fall north of the main road, careful to stay out of sight. Cohen takes the lead, while Enat and I trade off the rear position as we make the most use of riverbeds. There’s no telling where the captain and his men are. They may have headed back to Malam, but Cohen believes they may also be lying in wait for us.