Page 48 of A Grave Not Made For Mourning
I stare at Desdemona, reaching for the peace of her unconsciousness. All I can feel is Lucian.
“Apologies,” I mutter. “Just—can we talk about something else? I need you to get your mind off her.”
“My mind off of her?”
“Yes.” I sigh. “Your emotion for her—it’s too much stress for me to take at once.”
Lucian quiets, his confusion palpable. He might not know exactly what he feels for her. Yet, whatever they are, he can’t ignore them. Not now. Even as he tries. It helps, for a moment. But soon that bottle will crack.
“The glamour,” he says softly, tapping his foot in a steady rhythm. “How’s it going?”
When I pop Desdemona’s bone back into place, she jolts up, about to scream. I cover her mouth before the sound can escape.
My mouth opens involuntarily, desperate to let out the cry for her.
“Calista’s working on it,” I answer before turning to Desdemona. “It’s all right.” I hold her cheek gently with my gloved hand. “You can rest.”
Lucian doesn’t continue to ask questions. His focus goes back to Desdemona, aching in my chest. That plus the death within him is unbearable. I feel it manifest physically in my back, making it hard to stand upright without pain.
After several moments, I ask, “What’s that about?”
“What’s what about?”
He knows what I’m asking. His feelings around Desdemona linger, but the ones around the death inside of him increase.
“That feeling.”
“Is she out?” Lucian tilts his head toward Desdemona.
She isn’t, not entirely. But slowly, she loses consciousness. Her lethargy could pull me down with her.
“Yes,” I answer. “Now, are you going to tell me what happened to you?”
Lucian shakes his head, looking away from Desdemona. To the ground. He doesn’t want to answer.
It’s bad.
It’s worse than bad. The sorrow—it makes me wonder if I’ve misjudged him.
“You don’t feel the same,” I add.
When Lucian says, “I’m not the same,” I know that there has been a misjudgment on my end. Though I’m not sure where. “But what matters now is Desdemona. Then the book.”
“She’ll be fine.” I nod.
Lucian’s gaze slowly makes its way back to Desdemona. It lingers there lazily, as if he is looking but not seeing. As though he is in a trance and cannot shift out of it.
As though he wishes he never looked in the first place.
“Yeah,” he says at last. “She will.”
He means it with full sincerity.
He will make sure of it.
Chapter 11
Losing by Your Side
