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day on the wild hope that she would change her mind and come back.
    It had been a year. No one ever left the Sisters of the Star. It wasn’t
done
. Yet, Antain continued to wait. And hope.
    He followed his uncle at a run.
    The other Elders still had not arrived at the Council Hall, and likely would not until noon or later. Gherland told Antain to sit.
    The Grand Elder stared at Antain for a long time. Antain couldn’t get the Tower out of his mind. Or the madwoman. Or the baby left in the forest, whimpering piteously as they walked away.
And oh, how that mother screamed. And oh, how she fought. And oh, what have we become?
    It pierced Antain every day, a great needle in his soul.
    â€œNephew,” the Grand Elder said at last. He folded his hands and brought them to his mouth. He sighed deeply. Antain realized that his uncle’s face was pale. “The Day of Sacrifice approaches.”
    â€œI know, Uncle,” Antain said. His voice was thin. “Five days. It —” He sighed. “It waits for no one.”
    â€œYou were not there last year. You were not standing with the other Elders. An infection in your foot, as I recall?”
    Antain tilted his gaze to the ground. “Yes, Uncle. I had a fever, too.”
    â€œAnd it resolved itself the next day?”
    â€œBog be praised,” he said weakly. “It was a miracle.”
    â€œAnd the year before,” Gherland said. “It was pneumonia, was it?”
    Antain nodded. He knew where this was going.
    â€œAnd before that. A fire in the shed? Is that right? Good thing no one was injured. And there you were. All by yourself. Fighting the fire.”
    â€œEveryone else was along the route,” Antain said. “No shirkers. So I was alone.”
    â€œIndeed.” Grand Elder Gherland gave Antain a narrowed look. “Young man,” he said. “Who on earth do you think you’re fooling?”
    A silence fell between them.
    Antain remembered the little black curls, framing those wide black eyes. He remembered the sounds the baby made when they left her in the forest. He remembered the thud of the Tower doors when they locked the madwoman inside. He shivered.
    â€œUncle—” Antain began, but Gherland waved him off.
    â€œListen, Nephew. It was against my better judgment to offer you this position. I did so not because of the incessant needling of my sister, but because of the great love I had, and have, for your dear father, may he rest easily. He wanted to make sure your path was assured before he passed away, and I could not deny him. And having you here”—the hard lines of Gherland’s face softened a bit—“has been an antidote to my own sadness. And I appreciate it. You are a good boy, Antain. Your father would be proud.”
    Antain found himself relaxing. But only for a moment. With a broad sweep of robes, the Grand Elder rose to his feet.
    â€œBut,” he said, his voice reverberating strangely in the small room. “My affection for you only goes so far.”
    There was, in his voice, a brittle edge. His eyes were wide. Strained. Even a bit wet.
Is my uncle worried about me?
Antain wondered.
Surely not,
he thought.
    â€œYoung man,” his uncle continued. “This cannot go on. The other Elders are muttering. They . . .” He paused. His voice caught in his throat. His cheeks were flushed. “They aren’t happy. My protection over you extends far, my dear, dear boy. But it is not infinite.”
    Why would I need to be protected?
Antain wondered as he stared at his uncle’s strained face.
    The Grand Elder closed his eyes and calmed his ragged breathing. He motioned for the boy to stand. His face resumed its imperious expression. “Come, Nephew. It’s time for you to return to school. We shall expect you, as usual, at mid-­afternoon. I do hope you are able to make at least one person grovel today. It would put to rest so many misgivings