Page 34 of A Grave Not Made For Mourning
“At what point does omitting the truth become a lie?” I ask him, trying my very best not to sneer. Wondering if I’m failing.
Sure that I am.
Words from a past life haunt me.You’re so expressive, Little Thorn.Because feeling others’ emotions is not nearly enough to torment someone. The gods had to make sure I couldn’t hide my own, either.
“When you’re intentionally hiding something,” Azaire says.
My heart flutters. I look at him momentarily. Give him a small smile.
Grow angry with myself for feeling gentleness in his gaze.
I don’t want to look away, but when tears prickle at my eyes, I look forward and bite my lip.
That’s exactly what Ma would say.
Ma the philosopher—not the weapon builder.
“Yes,” Lucian sighs. “I lied.”
“I told you not to be vague about my mother,” I scold while trying not to scold. Trying not to lose my head. But there’s no adverse reaction. Lucian understands the outburst. Azaire does, too.
Does he know?
Did Lucian tell him about Ma?
“Did he tell you?” I snap, accidentally, at Azaire.
“Tell me what?”
“I didn’t tell him.” Lucian’s words almost make his intentions seem sincere. But I can feel the deceit beneath. It wasn’t sympathy or respect that convinced him to hold my secret.
“Tell me what?” Azaire asks again.
My heart aches for him. He’s being roped into this, I know it. Lucian’s will is strong, cold and sharp like edged steel. Azaire’s is a caterpillar in a cocoon, waiting for his wings to grow.
I shove the book in my bag. “My mom’s dead,” I answer without looking at Azaire. I’m not prepared for his sympathy.
I think it would break me.
I think gentleness is the one thing I don’t know how to handle.
I think it would be my undoing.
Everyone else walks around with armor on their hearts and knuckles. Always so ready to punch, hoping the blow will land twice as hard as the ones they’ve received. But not Azaire. A part of me thinks he should. A part of me thinks ferocity is strength.
Another part doesn’t know either side of that coin.
“Whoever gave you her name likely didn’t even know that this was in her study,” I continue. “And if they did, they didn’t think you’d find it.” I look at Azaire. Someone has to tell him. “They sent you on a fool’s errand.” I twist toward the exit, my hand on the knob as I say, “I’m going to get the glamour stripped.”
“Allow me,” Lucian interrupts. “I’ll take it to Calista.”
I pull my bag closer in case Lucian reaches for it—I wouldn’t put it past him.
“I can do it.”
Chapter 7
An Open Book with
