Page 89 of A Grave Not Made For Mourning
Like the bare tree, we’ve lost all leads on the Weapon.
Azaire’s next move is to break into the kingdom of Folkara.
Would it be so wrong to strip away his emotion? Toforcehim to let go of the Weapon?
It would be, I know it. It would take something from him I love—his selflessness. More than that, his unwavering belief in something better.
But wouldn’t it be for his own good? If he goes to Folkara—if he touches the Weapon at all—he’ll likely die. He’s a Nepenthe, and as much as I wish I could ignore what that means, as much as I wish I didn’t burn with anger every time I remember, it marks him as scum in the eyes of our universe.
And I always burn for it.
“What is it?” Azaire asks.
Sitting on the edge of his bed and catching my breath, I turn to face him. “What?”
“You’ve been staring out the window, at the willow tree.” He presses his lips together. “You do that when you’re avoiding something.”
I pull my bottom lip between my teeth. I thought I was on track to find the Weapon and do something. For Ma. For the universe.
Today the goal has never felt so far.
It feels worse than far. It feels like it’s falling into Azaire’s lap—the last thing I ever wanted.
Other than my family, I’ve never had someone sense my emotions. And, to a lesser extent, that’s exactly what Azaire’s done—he’s gotten to know me well enough to know when something is wrong.
I’m avoiding the conversation I’m desperate to have. That I think we might have to break into Folkara, no matter how bad the plan is.
That I don’t thinkheshould be the one to do it.
I should be, if Lucian isn’t around. He and I have the most riding on this. Not Azaire. He’s an innocent bystander, pulled in because he cares about us.
And by Zola, does he care. I feel it every day. It settles deep in my bones, down to the marrow. I’ve been running from it since the night of the party.
Now I’m forcing myself to sink.
Everytime I try to run, I tie boulders to my feet.
“We can’t keep waiting around for him,” I say, stepping closer to Azaire, toward his desk.
I’m right.
We can’t.
It leaves our options limited.
“He’ll come back to himself,” Azaire says.
His worry and slight disbelief shakes me. Maybe Lucian is too far gone.
“I know.” I say it for his sake. “What we don’t know is when.”
He reaches for my hand, and instinct has me ready to pull away.
I don’t.
“What do you want to do?” he asks, pulling me toward his chair.
I stand between his legs and squeeze his hand. “Go to Folkara.”
