Page 88 of A Grave Not Made For Mourning
I blink, brow furrowing. We’ve never spoken before; hearing my name in her voice stops me cold.
“How do you know my name?”
“I took notice of you,” Eudora says, her voice flamboyant. “And I remember your mother. One of the first kind faces I knew when I first got this job.”
A stone scrapes down my throat and crashes into my chest, making it hard to breathe.
Ma. As a teenager. It doesn’t seem possible. It feels like she should have been a graceful adult her entire life.
But then again, her journals say otherwise.
I guess I can’t tie her past self to the woman I knew. I guess that’s what I’m struggling to understand.
“Can you…” I clear my throat. “Can you tell me about her?”
“Quiet,” Eudora answers instantly, the single word lingering. Until she says with a shrug, “Like you. But beneath it she had big dreams, ambition. You’re her spitting image these days—that’s how I remembered your name. I looked at you and thoughtWillow.And every time, I corrected myself,Wendy.” She says our names like we’re glorious—something to be revered. Not a fallen mother and a failing daughter.
Shaking my head, I try to take the compliment, wishing I saw Ma when I looked in the mirror. But beyond that, I’m focused on her dreams. Her ambition.
Did others see what she hid in paper?
“Wh-what—” I clear my throat. “What kind of dreams did she have?”
Is there more than what she left in her journals?
Eudora’s voice is gentle. “I remember she fought to get into Combat Training. She was the only Eunoia in the history of the academy to do so. The old headmaster thought she had spirit.”
“What else?” I ask quickly, urgently. Pleading for someone to tell me what I should already know—the details I’ve forgotten, the moments I never knew I missed. Buried deeper than any journal, scattered like dust in the wind.
Praying that some of it clings beneath Eudora’s nails.
“I don’t know much, honey,” she sighs. “Last I heard, she got in a lot of trouble with the kingdoms, was forced out of the academy and punished. But that isn’t happy talk. What else can I do for ya?”
I open my mouth. No words come out.
Ma’s relationship with Folkara—with King Easton and Queen Melody, every document signed by them—it was apunishment.
Is that why Pa is scared for me to push further? Does he fear the sins of the mother will fall to the daughter?
“I—” My words catch in my throat. I shake my head, loosening my tongue and warming my vocal chords. “I wanted to know if you could get me something from Nepthara?”
“What do ya need, hon?”
“Cured cattle, dried rosemary, and powdered pumpkin seed.”
Eudora leans to the side, placing a hand on her hip as she assesses me. “It’ll take some time.”
For once, I feel like it’s in my favor.
With a smile, I say, “Take all the time you need.”
?
Without any warning, Lucian’s completely disappeared. It’s been weeks, and I’m scared he’s forgetting about the Weapon altogether.
Azaire has brought up the boy a few times, in moments of deep conversation, and despite the boy’s disappearance, I can almost feel him recoil inside of me. As if the boy believes it to be a betrayal that I’ve told another of his existence.
The view from Azaire’s window has become familiar. The willow tree always blows in the wind. Its branches are nearlyempty of leaves, nature shedding its skin for another revival after the winter season.
