Page 160 of A Grave Not Made For Mourning
He failed.
I feel his panicking pain, the hunger for air, the collapse of breath. Aralia is strangling them, her power pulling the oxygen from their lungs.
They’re choking—and through them, so am I.
But Aralia struggles. Her arms begin to falter. The strength of the wind slows. People move forward.
I steal it.
The best part—Aralia isn’t focused on me.
I push ahead.
If anyone can feel me, they’ll know I’m no different from Lucian. But while I may be guilty, there is no remorse. Not now, not when revenge is right in front of me. Not when I have such an easy way to protect my psyche.
Desdemona’s life might be the key to ending the prophecy.
Despite what Ms. Ferner or Lucian say, if Desdemona dies, maybe—just maybe—the prophecy will die with her.
I grab Calista’s shoulder, using it to push myself forward, heading for Aralia. I don’t know what I mean to do.
I know exactly what I mean to do. I plan to control Aralia, to tell her tostand down.
To release the magic keeping Desdemona safe.
Even if I didn’t, Aralia would get tired soon. She couldn’t hold the shield forever. I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m speeding up the inevitable.
The kids on their knees—the ones Aralia was suffocating—begin to rise. Their breaths are ragged, and my lungs are sore for them. But they’re not going to let Aralia protect Desdemona any longer.
I’ll have a legion with me.
I move forward with them, prepared to do what I came for.
Then, Calista steps in front of me, grabbing my wrist. I try to shove her off. She doesn’t budge.
“Protect Aralia,” she begs, shaking my arm and searching for my gaze. “Please.”
The kids around me retain their breath. They reach Aralia—one of her hands now holding her stomach, struggling to breathe.
They’re doing exactly whatIwant to do.
Aralia is in my way.
“Why?” I ask.
Calista agreed with me—Desdemona has to die.
It seems Calista has changed her mind.
“Please.” Her voice is barely audible.
I could try. It’d be as simple as telling these students they don’t want to fight. But I want Desdemona dead, and I’m willing to let her take her chances. She’s the reason Azaire is gone. The reason a prophecy claims she will tear the universe apart.
Her death wouldn’t be wrong. It would be balance.
Instead of helping Aralia, I tell Calista, “Run.”
She glares at me, torn between fighting and fleeing. “You have to help her!”
