The Girl Who Drank the Moon(61)

“Lillienz!” she said, smiling at the soldier on his left. “And my dear, dear Mae,” she said, blowing a kiss to the soldier on his right.

This was not the entrance that the Grand Elder had hoped for. He cleared his throat. The women in the room seemed not to have noticed that he was there. It was infuriating.

“Welcome, Uncle Gherland,” Ethyne said with a gentle bow. “I was just heating some water in the kettle, and I have fresh mint from the garden. Can I make you some tea?”

Grand Elder Gherland wrinkled his nose. “Most housewives, madam,” he said acidly, “would not bother with herbal trifles in their garden when there are mouths to feed and neighbors to look after. Why not grow something more substantial?”

Ethyne was unruffled as she moved about the kitchen. The baby was strapped to her body with a pretty cloth, which she had embroidered herself, no doubt. Everything in the house was clever and beautified. Industrious, creative, and canny. Gherland had seen that combination before, and he did not like it. She poured hot water into two handmade cups stuffed with mint, and sweetened it with honey from her hive outside. Bees and flowers and even singing birds surrounded the house. Gherland shifted uncomfortably. He took his cup of tea and thanked his hostess, though he was certain that he would despise it. He took a sip. The tea, he realized peevishly, was the most delicious thing he had ever drunk.

“Oh, Uncle Gherland,” Ethyne sighed happily, leaning into her sling to kiss the head of her baby. “Surely you know that a productive garden is a well-balanced garden. There are plants that eat the soil and plants that feed the soil. We grow more than we could ever eat, of course, and much of it is given away. As you know, your nephew is always willing to give of himself to help others.”

If the mention of her husband hurt her at all, she did not show it. The girl seemed incapable of sorrow, foolish thing. Indeed, she seemed to glow with pride. Gherland was baffled. He did his best to contain himself.

“As you know, child, the Day of Sacrifice is rapidly approaching.” He expected her to grow pale at this pronouncement. He was mistaken.

“I am aware, Uncle,” she said, kissing her baby again. She looked up and met his gaze, her expression so assured of her own equality with the Grand Elder that he found himself speechless in the face of such blind insolence.

“Dear Uncle,” Ethyne continued gently, “why are you here? Of course you are welcome in my home whenever you choose to stop by, and of course my husband and I are always pleased to see you. Usually it is the Head Sister who comes to intimidate the families of the doomed children. I have been expecting her all day.”

“Well,” Gherland said. “The Head Sister is not available. I have come instead.”

Ethyne gave the old man a piercing look. “What do you mean ‘not available’? Where is Sister Ignatia?”

The Grand Elder cleared his throat. People did not question him. Indeed, people did not question much in the Protectorate—they were a people who accepted their lot in life, as they should. This young woman—this child . . . Well, Gherland thought. One can only hope she will go mad like the other one did so long ago. Locked in the Tower was far preferable to insolent questioning at family dinners, that much was certain. He cleared his throat again. “Sister Ignatia is away,” he said slowly. “On business.”

“What kind of business?” the girl asked with a narrowed eye.

“Her own, I suspect,” Gherland replied.

Ethyne stood and approached the two soldiers. They had been trained, of course, to not make eye contact with the citizenry, and to instead gaze past them impassively. They were supposed to look as a stone looks and feel as a stone feels. This was the mark of a good soldier, and all of the Sisters were good soldiers. But these soldiers began to flush as the girl approached them. They tilted their gaze to the ground.

“Ethyne,” one of them whispered. “No.”

“Mae,” Ethyne said. “Look at my face. You, too, Lillienz.” Gherland’s jaw fell open. He’d never seen anything like it in all his life. Ethyne was smaller than both of the soldiers. And yet. She seemed to tower before them both.

“Well,” he sputtered. “I must object—”

Ethyne ignored him. “Does the tiger prowl?”

The soldiers were silent.

“I feel we are moving away from the subject of the conversation—” Gherland began.

Ethyne held up her hand, silencing her uncle-in-law. And he was, remarkably, silent. He couldn’t believe it. “At night, Mae,” the young woman continued. “Answer me. Does the tiger prowl?”

The soldier pressed her lips together, as though trying to force her words inside. She winced.

“What on earth could you possibly mean?” Gherland sputtered. “Tigers? You are too old for girlish games!”

“Silence,” Ethyne ordered. And once again, incomprehensibly, Gherland fell silent. He was astonished.

The soldier bit her lip and hesitated for a moment. She leaned in toward Ethyne. “Well, I never thought about it as you did, but yes. No padded paws stalk the hallways of the Tower. Nothing growls. Not for days. We all”—the soldier closed her eyes—“sleep easy. For the first time in years.”

Ethyne wrapped her arms around the infant in his sling. The boy sighed in his dreaming. “So. Sister Ignatia is not in the Tower. She is in not in the Protectorate, or I would have heard of it. She must be in the forest. And she no doubt means to kill him,” Ethyne murmured.