“I find that speaking with her helps me see more clearly when things get too monarchied up,” he added.

“She’s an anchor for you,” she said. “Something away from all the Phokojoe performing and royalty business. I get that.”

Johan wondered if she got that she was becoming the same for him. An anchor.

“She’s not racist, is she?” Nya asked suddenly.

“Hmm. I would say no, though I guess I’ve never asked her. She’s not some sweet grandma type, but she’s never said anything weird and she loves Thabiso.”

“So she likes at least one fellow Thesoloian. Good to know.”

“She hates most royalty, so it’s something.”

“Even Lukas?” Nya asked.

“Well, she’s my papp’s mamm, so she’s not related to him, but she doesn’t hate him.” He glanced at her. “It’s complicated. And my papp is . . . somewhere. Neither of us know. The best thing I can say for him is that he didn’t come crawling back trying to get fame or money.”

The car bounced as they traveled up the long, rutted road toward his grandmother’s small house. Johan had always seen it as a witch’s house, tucked away in the woods, at first because his grandmother was a bit mean, and then because he understood that witches were smart to live alone away from the rest of humanity.

“And before you ask, I’ve tried to get her a new house or at the very least new furniture and appliances, but she refuses. She’s stubborn.”

The wooden door in the small stone house opened and his grandmother stepped out, dusting her hands on the apron that covered her jeans and skimmed the top of her insulated boots. She had always looked like this, except now her flame-red hair had ceded entirely to silver, she was shorter and more wrinkled, and her motions were stiffer.

She didn’t smile or wave, but she didn’t slam the door shut.

Johan got out and walked over to Nya’s side, helping her out just in time for an inquisitive pig to trot over and sniff her boot.

“Grand-mère, have you been giving the pigs free range again?” he asked.

“The pigs live here,” she replied in a clipped tone. “You two are guests. Be respectful.”

“Hallo,” Nya said. “Je bin Nya.”

His grandmother stared and then shifted into her slow, heavily accented English. “Are you my new granddaughter? I am too old to learn new names. I told Johan not to bring any woman here unless he was keeping her forever, so I assume you are wed?”

“Um, not yet?” Nya glanced at Johan, eyes wide.

“Well, you will be soon. I see the way my Jo-Jo is standing there like he just gave me a gift and is scared I won’t like it.” She looked at Johan and gave him something like a smile. “I like her. Relax, okay? Come eat. And Nya, you can call me Grand-mère.”

She turned and went back into the house and Nya looked at him, a question in her eyes that he didn’t know how to answer.

“Let’s go,” he said, ushering her into the warmth. When they were settled inside at the table in the small cozy dining room, his grandmother began bringing out dish after dish, pickles and cabbage and meats piled onto matching plates ringed with tiny painted flowers. Johan nodded toward a framed photo on a wooden side table.

“I was a very cute baby, thank you very much.”

“That’s why you brought me here, isn’t it?” Nya asked, turning to look at the photo of him in a long white gown and surrounded by pillows, his big head crowned in flaming red wisps of hair.

“You besmirched my cuteness in front of everyone.”

“You know I think you’re cute.” She booped his nose as if he were a kitten, and he scowled, pretending he didn’t like it.

“Are you why people were asking me if I was expecting a great-grandchild?” his grandmother asked as she finally took her seat at the table, placing a tray with country bread, ham, and cheese on the table next to a plate of delicate cookies. She seemed to squint in the direction of Nya’s stomach.

“Johan can explain,” Nya said, reaching for a cookie, and then taking a bite. “This is delicious . . . Grand-mère.”

The woman nodded but didn’t smile. She was busy looking expectantly at Johan.

Johan heaved a sigh. “It appears that someone is trying to make people think badly of me, and by extension the royal family. To influence the referendum.”

Grand-mère rolled her eyes. “Referendum. I am too old for this. I’m not fond of the von Brausteins, but what will they replace the monarchy with? It’s all shit, whatever you call it, because I doubt we’re heading for socialism with all these capitalist kotzbrockens funding the referendum.”

Johan sipped his tea and glanced at Nya. “Grand-mère is a bit of an anarchist.”

“Jah. We didn’t have referendums in my day. If you didn’t like a government, you toppled it. But kids these days, what can you expect?” She shook her head. “As long as they leave me and my schweinne in peace, I don’t care.”

“Are you saying you’ve toppled governments?” Nya asked.

“I said no such thing. I am but a humble farm girl.” Her eyes twinkled. “But I have to say, Jo-Jo, I was talking to Herr Wagner before you arrived, and he was impressed with you.”