Page 169 of A Grave Not Made For Mourning
Black blood—the liquid staining her neck—means she has rewritten the very laws of nature. Revoked the goddess of balance herself. Bleeding black is a myth—folklore. Yet, here she is, bleeding…
I had died. I had died with my mind screaming at me, telling me to live. I chose against it.
How am I here?
“What did you do?”
“Saved your life,” Desdemona snaps, wiping the blood from her neck. Her tone is whiplash. “I’m gonna find Lucian, you can come or you can mope. Your choice.”
I watch her, curiously. I’ve never experienced this before: confusion at one’s words. I always understand where they’re coming from, but I can’t seem to understand her.
At least, not entirely. There’s a small glimmer, a slight tether. A feeling in her soul.
It feels like the black blood.
Then Desdemona stands, leaving me with two options: sit on the ground or follow.
I follow.
It feels like I’m picking up a corpse as I rise from the floor. Every step is deadweight, every movement mechanical, like it shouldn’t be.
Like I am not real.
Desdemona does something to my surprise. She wraps her arm around my torso, allowing me to put my weight on hers.
“Thank you,” I mumble, stumbling through the academy halls.
My body is difficult to carry.
When we arrive at Azaire’s suite, I swallow the ache. It burns going down, stirring in my stomach like acid.
Desdemona knocks and I stand at the doorway, forgetting why we’re here. But Desdemona might not know Azaire is gone. She certainly doesn’t know what he was to me. Meaning there is a reason we’re here other than my loss.
Kai answers the door.
“Where is Lucian?” Desdemona demands.
Kai’s eyes go wide, and as I watch, I notice I cannot feel his fear—or confusion or shock. I onlythinkit’s there.
“You’re one of them,” he whispers.
I turn to Desdemona, who’s glaring at Kai. I see her eyes for the first time. Theyarered, like the Arcanes.
Arcane, Arcane, Arcane. Like the one in my body.
The one thatkilledme.
But if I’m dead…
It cannot be.
Desdemona huffs something. Then she slams the door.
She’s an Arcane. An Arcane that Ma knew, aided, and cared for. Ma didn’t want information from Isa because she wanted to protect themboth.
She’s an Arcane I remember—fleeting as it might be—from my childhood. The little girl I would play with when Ma visited Isa.
That washer.
