Iron Hearted Violet by Kelly Barnhill Read Free Book Online

take over the world?
she found herself wondering. The story itself—like many of her stories—spun out of her mouth unbidden and unplanned. She was sure that parts of it were from the stories she had heard or read and that other parts were built of her own invention. But how
much
she had gathered from elsewhere, she couldn’t say.
    And in any case, she was sure of this much: She had no idea how the story ended.
    A painting that took over the world? Or wanted to. Was it possible?
    Once again her mind drifted to that hidden library, andits strange painting, and the book that she had dropped so many years ago. It haunted her dreams still—all flipping pages and dusty pictures and open eyes. Every morning, she woke with the uncanny belief that she was
meant
to be able to decipher the strange lettering in the book, that it would rewrite itself, just as the letters at the bottom of the painting had rewritten themselves, if she just had the chance to see it again.
    The sleeping Queen shifted and murmured. She threw her arm across the side of her face, and the lines around her mouth tightened. Violet slid off the slick coverlet, her feet slapping softly on the stone floor. “I’ll be back, Mother,” Violet said, picking up her mother’s hand and kissing the knuckles. And very quietly, she hurried out of the room.
    What Violet did not know was that she was being watched. In the opposite corner, standing in the shadows, were two figures, one young (more boy than man) and one very, very old. And they were
small
. So small that if Violet had been standing there, they would have only reached the knob of her knee. Once Violet closed the door behind her, the older one crossed his arms and gave a low, glowering grunt.
    “Something you ate?” the younger one said.
    “Don’t be an idiot, Nod,” the older one said absently. It was a phrase he said a lot. “The real question is
why
. Why does that girl know about the painting?”
    The younger one—the one called Nod—leaned back on his heels. “P’raps she doesn’t. It’s a common enough story.”
    “It’s not common at all, you dolt. We haven’t heard a soul breathe a word of it for the last five hundred years. And did you hear her? She described that wretched painting to a T. I thought we hid that room well and good, that’s what I thought. A lot of work for nothing, wasn’t it?”
    “
I
didn’t help hide the room,” Nod said. “I wasn’t born yet.” He gave the old man what he hoped would be a significant look. He paused. “So I am not at fault,” he added, driving the point home.
    “And we can all thank the gods for that. If you’d been a part of it, we would’ve been cooked long ago. Oh, come now! Don’t hang your head like that. We all have our own gifts.” Though his tone suggested that he had deep doubts as to the existence of any gift possessed by the boy. Nod shoved his hands into his pockets and let out a low, sad whistle.
    The older man rubbed his stubbled chin and curled his lips around his toothless gums, grunting all the while.Finally: “Well, it doesn’t do to sit around all day.” He clapped a hand on Nod’s shoulder. “Go fetch Auntie. Tell ’er the Queen’s right poorly again, and she’d better do something before she makes a turn for the worser.”
    “Auntie,” Nod said, screwing up his forehead to force the words to stick in his memory. “Worser. I’ll do my best to remember.” He hesitated. “You’re not coming with me?” A note of pleading in his voice.
    “I’m following that girl. Everything’s…
wobbly
. Wobblier than I seen it before. And that thing’s been bump, bump, bumping around and slithering and mucking about, no matter
what
Auntie says. And getting worser all the time. I
seen
it. With my own eyes. Just yesterday in the mirror, there it was, looking as self-satisfied as a full-bellied snake is what. If it thinks it can pull one over old Moth here, it’s got another thing coming.” Sighing deeply, he