The Girl Who Drank the Moon(69)

It was then that Ethyne realized that she had learned all that she needed from the Sisters of the Star, and that it was time to go. Best go before she lost her soul.

And so it was, with her soul intact, that Ethyne now returned to the Tower, still linking arms with Mae.



Antain’s youngest brother, Wyn, met them at the door. Of all of Antain’s brothers, Wyn was Ethyne’s favorite. Ethyne threw her arms around him and held him tight—and as she did so, she pressed a piece of paper into his hand.

“Can I trust you?” she whispered almost silently into his ear. “Will you help me save my family?”

Wyn said nothing. He closed his eyes and felt the voice of his sister-in-law wind around his heart like a ribbon. There was little kindness in the Tower. Ethyne was the kindest person he knew. He gave her one extra hug, just to make sure she was real.

“I believe my former Sisters are meditating, dear Wyn,” Ethyne said with a smile. Wyn trembled when she said his name. No one ever called him by his name in the Tower—he was simply boy. He resolved right then to help Ethyne in whatever she wished. “Will you please take me to them? And while you’re at it, there is something else I would ask you to do.”



The Sisters were assembled for their morning meditation—an hour of silence, followed by singing, followed by a quick sparring session. Ethyne and Mae entered the room just as the first notes of song began to drift down the stone hallways. The Sisters’ voices stopped as Ethyne stepped into their midst. The baby gurgled and cooed. The Sisters stared with open mouths. Finally one Sister spoke.

“You,” she said.

“You left us,” said another.

“No one ever leaves,” said a third.

“I know,” Ethyne said. “Knowledge is a terrible power indeed.” It was the unofficial motto of the Sisterhood. No one knew more than the Sisters. No one had more access to knowledge. And yet here they were. Without an inkling. She pressed her lips together. Well, she thought. That changes today.

“I left. And it wasn’t easy. And I am sorry. But my dear Sisters, there is something I must tell you before I leave again.” She leaned in and kissed the forehead of her son. “I must tell you a story.”



Wyn pressed his back against the wall next to the doorway leading into the Meditation Room.

In his hand he had a length of chain. And a padlock. The key he would press into Ethyne’s hand. His heart pounded at just the thought of it. He had never broken a rule before. But Ethyne was so kind. And the Tower was so . . . not.

He pressed his ear against the door. Ethyne’s voice rang like a bell.

“The Witch is not in the woods,” she said. “The Witch is here. She formed this Sisterhood long ago. She concocted stories about another Witch, a baby-eating Witch. The Witch in this Sisterhood fed on the sorrows of the Protectorate. Our families. Our friends. Our sorrows were great, and they have made her strong. I feel that I have known this for a long time, but a cloud had settled over my heart and mind—the same cloud that has settled over every house and building and living soul in the Protectorate. That cloud of sorrow has, for years, blocked my own knowledge. But now the clouds have burned away and the sun is shining. And I can see clearly. And I think you can, too.”

Wyn had a key ring on his belt. The next step in the plan.

“I don’t want to take up any more of your time, so I will leave now with those who are willing. To the rest of you, I say, thank you. I treasured my time as Sister to you all.”

Ethyne came striding out of the room with nine Sisters following behind. She gave Wyn a brief nod. He quickly closed the door and wound the chain around the handles in a tight knot, securing it with the lock. He pressed the key into Ethyne’s hand. She wrapped her fingers around his own and gave a tender squeeze.

“The novitiate?”

“In the manuscript room. They’ll be doing their copywork until suppertime. I locked the door and they have no idea they are locked in.”

Ethyne nodded. “Good,” she said. “I don’t want to frighten them. I’ll speak to them in a bit. First, let’s release the prisoners. The Tower is meant to be a center for learning, not a tool of tyranny. Today the doors are opening.”

“Even to the library?” Wyn said hopefully.

“Especially the library. Knowledge is powerful, but it is a terrible power when it is hoarded and hidden. Today, knowledge is for everyone.” She hooked her arm in Wyn’s, and they hurried through the Tower, unlocking doors.



The mothers of the lost children of the Protectorate found themselves beset by visions. This had been happening for days—ever since the Head Sister had slid into the forest, though no one knew she had done so. All they knew was that the fog was lifting. And suddenly their minds saw things. Impossible things.

Here is the baby in the arms of an old woman.

Here is the baby with a belly full of stars.

Here is the baby in the arms of a woman who is not me. A woman who calls herself Mama.

“It’s just a dream,” the mothers told themselves over and over and over again. People in the Protectorate were accustomed to dreams. The fog made people sleepy, after all. They sorrowed in their dreaming and they sorrowed in their waking up. This was nothing new.

But now the fog was lifting. And these weren’t just dreams. They were visions.