Page 33 of A Grave Not Made For Mourning
Something is hidden beneath this book. Potentially something dangerous. Whatever is beneath these fake pages could be horrific.
Unlike Lucian, I don’t want to draw people in with false pretenses.
“Whatever this is, I think it came from Folkara,” I tell them.
The air in the room goes still. I glance between the boys, waiting for their reply. But when Azaire and Lucian look at one another, I know immediately:there’s something they’re not telling me.
Aboutmymother.
Mydeadmother.
How dare they hide that from me?
“You hide, too,”the boy says.
I rub my knuckles into the sockets of my eyes.“That’s not what this is about.”
“You’re free to hide, my love. I like you better to myself.”
“May I see the book?” Lucian asks.
I rip my hand from my face, begrudgingly handing it over.
“Why do you think it came from Folkara?” Azaire’s voice is gentle.
I don’t feel gentle when I look at him. I feel like I’m being lied to.
“You are,”the boy reminds me.
“I can force the truth if I have to,”I remindhim.
“But would it feel truly earned, then?”
“I found papers,” I mutter to the room. The boy is right, but not entirely. I won’t find out anything about Ma if I can’t compromise. “All stamped with Folkara’s crest and signed by King Easton and Queen Melody.”
Azaire and Lucian glance at one anotheragain. If it wasn’t clear before, it’s clear now.
They know something more.
“Tell me,” I demand.
Azaire’s gaze meets mine, and he doesn’t hesitate. “Folkara is making a Weapon.”
A Weapon? They must be wrong—they must have misunderstood. OrI’vemisunderstood. Ma would never… she wouldnever.
Weapons have been outlawed for centuries. And for good reason. They’re powered bypeople—our life force. They steal our magic and potentially our lives if taken too far. In a similar vein, if the life force is strong enough, there’s no telling what a Weapon could do. Destroy every world. Possibly the entire universe. One nearly did in the Arcanian War. That’swhythey’re outlawed.
But I feel the dread coming from Azaire, and that doesn’t manifest without truth. Withoutknowing.
There really is a Weapon, isn’t there?
“You’ve seen it?” I ask, and guilt curdles in my gut like month old milk. I could nearly puke.Luciancould nearly puke—and it puts together the pieces for me. “That’s where you came from? When Azaire was half-dead.”
Lucian avoids my gaze. “Yes.”
“You lied to me.” Anger floods through me like lava ripping through cracked stone. This is aboutmymother.
“You would’ve known if I’d lied,” Lucian says, so smugly I’d like to shake him. To curse him.So very funny, asshole.As if my being able to pinpoint lies is a parlor trick. As if my power is a pleasantry and not a plague.
