Free The Girl Who Drank the Moon by Kelly Barnhill Page B

usual, a runny nose, and his hair was much longer than it had been when Antain saw it last—over a year ago now.
    â€œAre you here to take me home?” Rook said, his voice a mixture of hope and shame. “Have I disappointed them, too?”
    â€œIt’s nice to see you, Rook,” Antain said, rubbing his little brother’s head as though he were a mostly-­well-­behaved dog. “But no. You’ve only been here a year. You’ve got plenty of time to disappoint them. Is Sister Ignatia here? I’d like to speak to her.”
    Rook shuddered, and Antain didn’t blame him. Sister Ignatia was a formidable woman. And terrifying. But Antain had always gotten on with her, and she always seemed fond of him. The other Sisters made sure that he knew how rare this was. Rook showed his older brother to the study of the Head Sister, but Antain could have made it there blindfolded. He knew every step, every stony divot in the ancient walls, every creaky floorboard. He still, after all these years, had dreams of being back in the Tower.
    â€œAntain!” Sister Ignatia said from her desk. She was, from the look of it, translating texts having to do with botany. Sister Ignatia’s life’s greatest passion was for botany. Her office was filled with plants of all description—most coming from the more obscure sections of the forest or the swamp, but some coming from all around the world, via specialized dealers in the cities at the other end of the Road.
    â€œWhy, my dear boy,” Sister Ignatia said as she got up from her desk and walked across the heavily perfumed room to take Antain’s face in her wiry, strong hands. She patted him gently on each cheek, but it still stung. “You are many times more handsome today than you were when we sent you home.”
    â€œThank you, Sister,” Antain said, feeling a familiar stab of shame just thinking of that awful day when he left the Tower with a note.
    â€œSit, please.” She looked out toward the door and shouted in a very loud voice. “BOY!” she called to Rook. “BOY, ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?”
    â€œYes, Sister Ignatia,” Rook squeaked, flinging himself through the doorway at a run and tripping on the threshold.
    Sister Ignatia was not amused. “We will require lavender tea and Zirin blossom cookies.” She gave the boy a stormy look, and he ran away as though a tiger was after him.
    Sister Ignatia sighed. “Your brother lacks your skills, I’m afraid,” she said. “It is a pity. We had such high hopes.” She motioned for Antain to sit on one of the chairs—it was covered with a spiky sort of vine, but Antain sat on it anyway, trying to ignore the prickles in his legs. Sister Ignatia sat opposite him and leaned in, searching his face.
    â€œTell me, dear, are you married yet?”
    â€œNo, ma’am,” Antain said, blushing. “I’m a bit young, yet.”
    Sister Ignatia clucked her tongue. “But you are sweet on someone. I can tell. You can hide nothing from me, dear boy. Don’t even try.” Antain tried not to think about the girl from his school. Ethyne. She was somewhere in this tower. But she was lost to him, and there was nothing he could do about it.
    â€œMy duties with the Council don’t leave me much time,” he said evasively. Which was true.
    â€œOf course, of course,” she said with a wave of her hand. “The Council.” It seemed to Antain that she said the word with a little bit of a sneer in her voice. But then she sneezed a little, and he assumed he must have imagined it.
    â€œI have only been an Elder-­in-­Training for five years now, but I am already learning . . .” He paused. “Ever so much,” he finished in a hollow voice.
    The baby on the ground.
    The woman screaming from the rafters.
    No matter how hard he tried, he still couldn’t get those images out of his mind. Or the