Page 90 of A Grave Not Made For Mourning
It was always the contingency plan we hoped we wouldn’t need.
Azaire nods—misunderstands. “Whenever you want.”
“Not you.” My eyes widen, but I hold his gaze, feeling every ounce of his shock. “I’m going to do it. Alone.”
He loosens his grip on my hand slightly—subconsciously—and shakes his head. “It doesn’t make sense,” he says. “I can scale and morph through the walls, get in and out.”
“And if you’re caught?” I ask. It’ll be worse than what’s already happening to him at the academy—all the volunteer groups, all the pointless pain. The government of Folkara, theRoyals, will have no problem killing a Nepenthe. We both know it.
“Wendy that’s…” he trails off. “It’s kind of exactly what I was made to do.”
“You were made to bring yourself to the brink of death every time your friends need something?” My mouth flips upside down, inside out.
Azaire shakes his head a bit. “That wasn’t—that was once.”
“And this could be twice,” I say firmly. He frowns, matching my expression. “I’ll do it,” I add decisively.
“Wendy—”
My chest tightens. “I’ll be fine. At least they won’t kill me.” I shrug. “It’s not like it’s Ilyria.”
I’m not actually sure one kingdom is any better than the other. Not anymore.
“Wendy,” he says again. But he doesn’t continue.
His unspoken words choke me.
“Say it,” I demand, recoiling at the strength in my voice. I begin to shake my head, to mutter my apologies.
But Azaire picks up my hands, rubbing circles into them, softening my edges. His frown is heavy, his emotions dreary. But his voice is soft. “Who says they won’t kill you?”
I have to look away, unable to meet his gaze. There’s only one thing left to say—one undeniable truth. I could lie, but I’m learning there’s no point in lying to Azaire.
I push it out, ripping a petal from a rose. Pricking my finger on the thorn.
“I don’t care if they do.”
Aziare takes a—disapproving—breath and I can’t help but pull my hands from his. His mouth opens, and I cut him off.
“At least I’ll die doing something important.”
“Yourlifeis important!” Azaire shouts.
“And you’d be willing to risk it if it was yours!” I retaliate.
It’s been so long since I’ve screamed. My vocal chords rub together like sandpaper.
A fight rises in me—half his, and half mine.
But it only makes me stronger.
I slowly reach my hand to his shoulder, planning to hold him down. Make sure he can’t look away from me, should he try. “I have Calista’s favor,” I tell him. It’s not the truth, but he doesn’t know. “I’ll be fine.”
My hand is inches away from him.
“If Queen Melody or King Easton caught you, she couldn’t stop it,” Azaire argues.
I know he’s right. Calista couldn’t stop her parents.
