Page 83 of A Grave Not Made For Mourning
Everything I Want
C
alista ignores her impulses, fighting to keep her eyes locked anywhere but on me.
We sit at the top of the tiered classroom, with a direct view of the board. But that isn’t what I focus on. Across the room, Azaire is looking at me—I can feel him.
“Calista?” I whisper again, intending to apologize—for the Weapon, the blueprint—all the ways she believes I’ve deceived her. But she keeps staring ahead.
So, I stare ahead as well, though my mind drifts.
Azaire’s been stealing glances momentarily. I’d been focused on Calista, but now that it’s been confirmed she is content to ignore me, I meet his gaze, searching for solace. He smiles. That’s enough for me to get through the rest of class.
By the end, Azaire is waiting for me at the door, his silhouette framed by the afternoon light. Without a word, his fingers curl around mine, warm and steady beneath the barrier of my glove. How I wish this fabric didn’t separate us—that I could feel the pulse of his skin against mine.
How I wish to have what I can never have.
It’s only human to want it.
We step away from the crowded hallway, drifting in the opposite direction of my next class. The world feels quieter here, the noise of school fading behind us.
I glance up at him, voice tentative, “Where are we going?”
He looks at me, smiling. “It’s a beautiful day today.”
“Okay,” I say with a soft laugh, falling beside him as we slip out of the academy halls and into the garden.
The sun presses warmly against my face, bright and high in the sky—an uncommon gift during the school day. Usually, I’m trapped behind classroom windows, watching the world move without me.
I close my eyes against the light, savoring the warmth, trusting Azaire to lead me wherever we’re going.
He moves with ease; I don’t stumble over rocks or trees. The path is smooth, and for a moment, there’s nothing but him.
When his movements stop, I peek my eyes open. Ahead, the lunar lake stretches out, its surface rippling softly in the breeze, silver flecks dancing across the water.
At our feet lies a carefully placed blanket. My heart skips as I take in the spread before me. Native berries, slow-roasted meats, sauces infused with Eunoian herbs—the flavors of my homeworld, brought here by him, for me.
Azaire leans close, his breath warm against my ear. “In case you’re homesick.”
I stare in shock, shaking my head. “How did you—”
“Eudora has a soft spot for me,” he says—the head chef of the school, who is also a Eunoia. That’s how he got all this food.
I sink onto the picnic blanket, the soft fabric folding beneath me. With careful hands, I start assembling a wrap—stacking tender slices of slow-roasted meat with sweet, bursting berries. The scents mingle—smoky, woodsy, and just a hint of something wild.
When I pass the wrap to Azaire, he smiles softly and says, “It’s for you.”
“I’ll make another one.” I pick up his hand, dropping the food in his palm. “I want you to try it.”
He looks down at the wrap in his hand, then back to me. As I nod, he lifts the food to his mouth. I follow just after him.
It isn’t long until most of the food is gone. I’ve missed it. I hardly ate when I visited home last. I didn’t have the stomach for it.
“Next time, I’ll have to get you Neptharian foods,” I offer—food from his homeworld. He’s probably homesick, too.
Azaire chuckles, but it’s devoid of humor. “This is far better than anything I grew up with.”
I glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t have a favorite dish?”
