Page 53 of A Grave Not Made For Mourning
“Tell me why you want this,”he says.“What is it that’s changed?”
I meet his gaze at last, his dark green eyes piercing through me as if he’s searching for something I haven’t said yet. It’s a charade; he already knows.
“You know what happened.”The words are thick in my throat.
“Yet I ache to hear it, spoken from your lips.”
“Being close to people… it only reminds me of what I can’t have. And for the first time ever, there’s a way to have it.”
“To haveme?” His voice is barely a breath, teasing, but there’s something more beneath it. Something raw, something vulnerable.
“Yes.”
“You can always have me, my love,”the boy murmurs.“Morning, noon, or night. In life or in death… I am yours for the taking.”
“Yes, well”—I pull my hands away from his—“I need power to do that.”
The boy’s plump lips turn up at the corners, as if he knew it would come to this and was simply waiting for me to say the words.
“Go to the garden, and I’ll be there waiting.”
I open my eyes, the boy disappearing from my room, the ground now steady beneath my feet. Real—exactly as the boy will be, if I succeed.
It seems insane, but the more I think about it, the less wrong it feels. I’m different from the others—my power is stronger, deadlier, more self-destructive. The best path for me might be him.
I rise, walking to the academy garden with a silent determination. When I stand by the bushes and beneath the sparse trees, I close my eyes once more.
At first, I don’t see the boy. Then, my back meets his chest, and I gasp. Deftly, his fingers settle under my wrist, drawing my arm upward. His fingers glide up my arm, stopping at my shoulder where he wraps my hair behind my ear.
His lips brush my skin as he whispers,“All the power you need… is already within you.Find it.”
I shiver, followed by a deep breath as his fingers brush against my shoulder.
I can do this—for him.
“No,”he mutters.“Not for me. All I do is for you.”
“Then for me.”I revise my thoughts.
“For you,”he agrees, guiding my arm out before me, my hand reaching for a tree just to my left.
I can feel the tree, the budding life within it. It’s steady, solid.
“Life,”the boy murmurs,“is everywhere, in everything. It is in abundance all around you, and it is your power. You can never run out.”
A single finger glides down my bare neck, over my spine, and rests at the small of my back. He holds me roughly, propping me up.
“Once you tap into it, nothing can stop you.”His lips graze the shell of my ear.“You could saveanyone.”
I take the tree’s steady, unwavering strength, and I shape it. I bend it, and as I do, I feel the tree gives way to my will. Its branches stretch downward, pressing into the world like outstretched arms, until the roots break through the soil.
It is mine.
But I might also be its.
A single thorn emerges from my wrist—from the inside out—and blood drips to the floor. I inhale sharply. It’s a pain I should be used to. My magic has always ricocheted, hurting me in the most unexpected ways: tearing my skin apart, killing my friends.
I turn to the boy, and he holds the back of my head.“It’s all right, my love.”He turns my gaze back to the tree.“Your magic will soothe with time and power. Continue.”
