Page 135 of A Grave Not Made For Mourning
I let go of her wrist. “Yes.”
Her eyebrows rise in surprise. “All right then.” She turns away, the moonlight illuminating each step. “Let’s go.”
I stay close behind her, and when I snap a twig beneath my foot, Calista uses her air magic to suppress the sound.
As we step beyond the protective barrier, I hold my breath. I’m really doing this, searching for the danger instead of waiting for it to come to me. The monsters weren’t the first thing to ruinmy life; they were only one in a long line of catastrophes. Though after the pernipe killed Ma, I never thought I could face them—nor that I’dhaveto.
The monsters aren’t supposed to attack.
But just in the distance, I see the subtle glow of blue. Barely, I make out the moonaro, feasting on an animal carcass. Blood coats its bright gray fur, shining in the blue light.
The ache in my stomach sharpens, and I take a deep breath against the pain.
I signal to Calista, pointing to the moonaro, and she raises a hand. In her palm, a yellow ball forms, quickly turning translucent. Something she struggled with dearly a year ago. The barely visible ball grows, closing around us—trapping our voices.
“What’s the plan?” I ask.
Calista looks puzzled—she doesn’t have one. Instead, she reaches behind her back and unsheathes her long sword. “I cut its head off.”
“How?”
She sneers. “With my combat training.”
It sounds like an awful idea.
“Calista…” I say gently. “You’re a princess.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
I sigh, my tone soft. “How… do you know they truly train you and aren’t simply letting you win. A queen won’t fight—”
“Howdareyou?” Calista demands, her voice laced with disdain. “And I presume you possess the expertise to kill a beast despiteyourutter lack of combat training?”
I stay silent. There are many things I could say. None would be welcome. The princess before me would be yet another person who’s shocked at what I can do and have done.
What I’ve become.
My body brushes against the edge of her magical ball as I step back, extending an arm toward the moonaro. “Lead the way.”
Calista smirks, thinking she’s won the fight—though I’m only conceding to protect her. I could be wrong, but I can’t imagine they train the queen of Folkara to fight. I assume they’d focus on strategy, not brute force.
I know how Folkara is—a patriarchy. Calista has often complained how the queen is a ceremonial role, not one with real authority. Why would the academy teach her power?
Why give her the ammunition to topple the government she was born to serve?
With every step toward the moonaro, the pit in my stomach grows until it is all encompassing. It beckons me in the opposite direction. Perhaps the feeling is trying to protectme. Savemylife.
But that’s not what the boy said.
Calista and I continue to approach the moonaro in perfect silence. Yet, as if it has a sixth sense like one of our own, its head rises and swivels toward us.
But the moonaro’s natural inclination is not to attack. For only a moment, it wishes to ignore us. It lulls me into a false sense of safety.
I do not wish to fight.
I become as passive as the creature.
Then something takes over.
