Page 55 of Echoes of the Raven
Of their own accord, my feet veer in an unintentional direction, and I find I’m heading toward Nana’s bedchamber once more. She’s still in her rocking chair, needles in hand, attempting to knit.
“What are you doing, Nana?” I ask. “You know that isn’t good for your hands.”
She sets her work down on her lap and looks up. “Two visits in one day. I would say I’m glad, if not because I know the circumstances.”
I sit across from her and stare at the gray ball of yarn on the floor. She taught me to knit while Mother passed down her embroidery skills.
“I’m making some mittens for Jago,” she says. I know what she’s doing: using small talk to get me to calm down and open up to her. She knows me so well.
“You shouldn’t be,” I say. “Your hands will hurt tomorrow.”
“They always hurt, niña. But not to worry, I’m taking my time. I started this a month ago, and I’m yet to complete the first one.” She laughs at herself, glancing down at her knobby fingers and flexing them a few times.
In one of my many daydreams involving Tirnanog, I find a powerful healer who uses their espiritu to alleviate Nana’s pain and maybe even cure her—not to mention help her live forever.
“Why can Amira only think negatively?” I find myself asking.
Nana narrows her brown eyes. “Negatively, you say?”
I nod.
“I don’t think that’s exactly what I would call it. Perhaps I would use a different word like… vigilantly.”
A frown cuts across my forehead at this.
“You see,” Nana goes on, “she’s like a parent now, and the citizens of Castella are her children.”
I have no idea where she’s going with this.
“You can’t deny that there are dangers in the realm—many of which can enter our path. The way children travel down the road is often careless, oblivious to strife and injury. Therefore, it’s a parent’s job to foresee these things for them. Hold them back before they fall into a pit. Pull their little hands away if they mean to touch the flame. Keep them from the morsel of food that might choke them. It’s only by anticipating what may happen that parents keep their children safe from harm.”
“I understand your analogy, Nana. I really do. But Amira is Castella’s Queen, not her mother. And its citizens aren’t her children.”
“That may be so, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t feel protective of them, that doesn’t mean she isn’t trying to clear the path for them so they can live safe lives.”
“But what if she’s wrong?”
Nana inclines her head to one side. “I didn’t say she was right, my dear. I was simply trying to explain what might be driving her decisions, her negativity as you call it.”
“So you believe she’s wrong,” I ask hopefully.
“I didn’t say that either.”
My shoulders slump. Sometimes talking to Nana can be exhausting.
“I’m afraid, in this instance, only time will tell.”
“What if…” I don’t know how to ask this question, so I stop and stare at the floor.
Nana waits patiently for my thoughts to take shape. They don’t. I’m afraid to reveal my intentions to anyone. And what if she tells Amira?
Her rocker creeks as she begins to move gently back and forth. She picks up her knitting again, and the needles click together, a sound that I find soothing for some odd reason.
I think of the patter of rain, of sitting quietly waiting for the sun to drive away the gloomy weather—Mother, Nana, Amira, and I sitting by a cozy fire, all of our heads down, working on one project or another, the progress slow but deeply satisfying. I remember wanting for the rain to ebb, so I could go outside and play. Now, I long for nothing more than one of those afternoons with them.
“Do you think there’s such a thing as fate?” The question springs from my mouth fully formed, but uninvited.
“Do you?” she asks back.
