Chapter 269: Shana's Dream

Shana had been sitting on the grass with the sisters for nearly an hour, answering questions about Anna-Maria.

At first, she had chosen her words carefully, conscious that Airam and Hermione were still watching her with suspicion. That caution had gradually given way to enthusiasm. Every answer brought another question, and Shana did her best to respond, though much of what she knew had come from stories rather than anything she had witnessed herself.

She was only in her early twenties. When Anna-Maria had still been active within the Crimson Garden, Shana had been around the sisters’ age, a young witch attending lessons and doing as she was told. She had possessed little freedom to go anywhere beyond the parts of the Coven permitted to students, much less seek out its Matriarch.

There had been no opportunity for her to approach Anna-Maria and speak with her. Most of what she knew had been gathered from older witches, from whispers exchanged after lessons, and from conversations among girls who had admired the same woman without ever expecting to meet her properly.

The sisters soon realised just how deeply Shana shared that admiration.

Whenever she spoke of Anna-Maria, her face brightened. The nervousness with which she had entered the courtyard receded, and her eyes shone as she repeated stories she had evidently remembered for years. Occasionally, she seemed to catch herself becoming too enthusiastic and tried to speak with the restraint expected of their new tutor. It rarely lasted beyond the next question.

She looked younger when she smiled like that. Even Hermione found it difficult to keep regarding her solely as one of the witches who had tried to take them away.

Neither she nor Airam was inclined to object to someone speaking so warmly about their mother. They listened with a pride they made little effort to conceal, exchanging glances whenever Shana described how much Anna-Maria had been respected. The woman they remembered had never needed to tell them how important she was. Hearing it from someone outside their family pleased them more than either sister would have admitted at the beginning of the morning.

Shana’s admiration was also plainly sincere. She was not choosing compliments merely to win their favour; sometimes she became so absorbed in what she was saying that she seemed to forget she had reason to seek it. That did more to soften Airam and Hermione’s opinion of her than a carefully prepared apology could have done.

They were, after all, Anna-Maria’s beloved daughters and very much mommy-girls. Anyone who loved speaking about their mother had found a rather easy way past their defences.

Esther was enjoying herself even more openly. She leaned forward whenever Shana began another story, listened with wide eyes, and interrupted only when a question became too pressing to keep to herself. Her excitement encouraged Shana, who answered her with the same eager smile.

Esther had always known their mother was a powerful witch. Airam and Hermione had told her so, and she had memories of her own. But her sisters’ accounts belonged to the familiar world of their family. Hearing another witch speak of Anna-Maria as someone admired throughout the Crimson Garden made that greatness feel different, something that had existed long before Esther was old enough to understand it.

For Airam and Hermione, the stories were less of a revelation. They already knew how impressive their mother had been. What they wanted was to learn more about the part of her life they had barely seen: the years when she had ruled as Matriarch, before she lost her powers and took them away.

As their questions became more precise, Shana’s answers became less certain. She could repeat what people had said about Anna-Maria, but she could not describe many occasions when she had seen her use her power. More than once, she admitted that she did not know whether a particular story was entirely true.

Eventually, Hermione sighed.

“You don’t know much in the end.”

Shana had been sitting on the grass with the sisters for nearly an hour, answering questions about Anna-Maria.

At first, she had chosen her words carefully, conscious that Airam and Hermione were still watching her with suspicion. That caution had gradually given way to enthusiasm. Every answer brought another question, and Shana did her best to respond, though much of what she knew had come from stories rather than anything she had witnessed herself.

She was only in her early twenties. When Anna-Maria had still been active within the Crimson Garden, Shana had been around the sisters’ age, a young witch attending lessons and doing as she was told. She had possessed little freedom to go anywhere beyond the parts of the Coven permitted to students, much less seek out its Matriarch.

There had been no opportunity for her to approach Anna-Maria and speak with her. Most of what she knew had been gathered from older witches, from whispers exchanged after lessons, and from conversations among girls who had admired the same woman without ever expecting to meet her properly.

The sisters soon realised just how deeply Shana shared that admiration.

Whenever she spoke of Anna-Maria, her face brightened. The nervousness with which she had entered the courtyard receded, and her eyes shone as she repeated stories she had evidently remembered for years. Occasionally, she seemed to catch herself becoming too enthusiastic and tried to speak with the restraint expected of their new tutor. It rarely lasted beyond the next question.

She looked younger when she smiled like that. Even Hermione found it difficult to keep regarding her solely as one of the witches who had tried to take them away.

Neither she nor Airam was inclined to object to someone speaking so warmly about their mother. They listened with a pride they made little effort to conceal, exchanging glances whenever Shana described how much Anna-Maria had been respected. The woman they remembered had never needed to tell them how important she was. Hearing it from someone outside their family pleased them more than either sister would have admitted at the beginning of the morning.

Shana’s admiration was also plainly sincere. She was not choosing compliments merely to win their favour; sometimes she became so absorbed in what she was saying that she seemed to forget she had reason to seek it. That did more to soften Airam and Hermione’s opinion of her than a carefully prepared apology could have done.

They were, after all, Anna-Maria’s beloved daughters and very much mommy-girls. Anyone who loved speaking about their mother had found a rather easy way past their defences.

Esther was enjoying herself even more openly. She leaned forward whenever Shana began another story, listened with wide eyes, and interrupted only when a question became too pressing to keep to herself. Her excitement encouraged Shana, who answered her with the same eager smile.

Esther had always known their mother was a powerful witch. Airam and Hermione had told her so, and she had memories of her own. But her sisters’ accounts belonged to the familiar world of their family. Hearing another witch speak of Anna-Maria as someone admired throughout the Crimson Garden made that greatness feel different, something that had existed long before Esther was old enough to understand it.

For Airam and Hermione, the stories were less of a revelation. They already knew how impressive their mother had been. What they wanted was to learn more about the part of her life they had barely seen: the years when she had ruled as Matriarch, before she lost her powers and took them away.

As their questions became more precise, Shana’s answers became less certain. She could repeat what people had said about Anna-Maria, but she could not describe many occasions when she had seen her use her power. More than once, she admitted that she did not know whether a particular story was entirely true.

Eventually, Hermione sighed.

“You don’t know much in the end.”

Shana had been sitting on the grass with the sisters for nearly an hour, answering questions about Anna-Maria.

At first, she had chosen her words carefully, conscious that Airam and Hermione were still watching her with suspicion. That caution had gradually given way to enthusiasm. Every answer brought another question, and Shana did her best to respond, though much of what she knew had come from stories rather than anything she had witnessed herself.

She was only in her early twenties. When Anna-Maria had still been active within the Crimson Garden, Shana had been around the sisters’ age, a young witch attending lessons and doing as she was told. She had possessed little freedom to go anywhere beyond the parts of the Coven permitted to students, much less seek out its Matriarch.

There had been no opportunity for her to approach Anna-Maria and speak with her. Most of what she knew had been gathered from older witches, from whispers exchanged after lessons, and from conversations among girls who had admired the same woman without ever expecting to meet her properly.

The sisters soon realised just how deeply Shana shared that admiration.

Whenever she spoke of Anna-Maria, her face brightened. The nervousness with which she had entered the courtyard receded, and her eyes shone as she repeated stories she had evidently remembered for years. Occasionally, she seemed to catch herself becoming too enthusiastic and tried to speak with the restraint expected of their new tutor. It rarely lasted beyond the next question.

She looked younger when she smiled like that. Even Hermione found it difficult to keep regarding her solely as one of the witches who had tried to take them away.

Neither she nor Airam was inclined to object to someone speaking so warmly about their mother. They listened with a pride they made little effort to conceal, exchanging glances whenever Shana described how much Anna-Maria had been respected. The woman they remembered had never needed to tell them how important she was. Hearing it from someone outside their family pleased them more than either sister would have admitted at the beginning of the morning.

Shana’s admiration was also plainly sincere. She was not choosing compliments merely to win their favour; sometimes she became so absorbed in what she was saying that she seemed to forget she had reason to seek it. That did more to soften Airam and Hermione’s opinion of her than a carefully prepared apology could have done.

They were, after all, Anna-Maria’s beloved daughters and very much mommy-girls. Anyone who loved speaking about their mother had found a rather easy way past their defences.

Esther was enjoying herself even more openly. She leaned forward whenever Shana began another story, listened with wide eyes, and interrupted only when a question became too pressing to keep to herself. Her excitement encouraged Shana, who answered her with the same eager smile.

Esther had always known their mother was a powerful witch. Airam and Hermione had told her so, and she had memories of her own. But her sisters’ accounts belonged to the familiar world of their family. Hearing another witch speak of Anna-Maria as someone admired throughout the Crimson Garden made that greatness feel different, something that had existed long before Esther was old enough to understand it.

For Airam and Hermione, the stories were less of a revelation. They already knew how impressive their mother had been. What they wanted was to learn more about the part of her life they had barely seen: the years when she had ruled as Matriarch, before she lost her powers and took them away.

As their questions became more precise, Shana’s answers became less certain. She could repeat what people had said about Anna-Maria, but she could not describe many occasions when she had seen her use her power. More than once, she admitted that she did not know whether a particular story was entirely true.

Eventually, Hermione sighed.

“You don’t know much in the end.”