Page 37 of Antiletum

At the end of the hall, guarding the massive doors carved with barn owls, talons out as if they might just come alive and snatch you up, are a group of pompous little pricks. Decked out in their decorative feathered hats and tiny fucking swords.

What a farce.

You would think that a group such as Parliament, where appearances are paramount for their success, would choose more muted and official attire for their guards. Not this laughable group of court jesters. Even if they have profound and deadly magic, why dress them in a way that makes it entirely impossible to take them seriously?

The buffoons bow to me, why? I’m not really sure. There is no royalty withinNoctua. OnlyPanthera. Their queens—really the faction as a whole—are historically reclusive, keeping to small groups ever since theNocturnedisappeared from the earth.

Fingers curl into a fist, thinking too much onPanthera. The location of their Heartstone is still unknown: a source of great frustration and veritable self-flagellation on my end.

Steps continue to echo, not slowing as the doors are opened for me and I waltz head first into this verbal reaming. I’m ready for it.

My father and brother taught me well.

“Valledyn ven’Sol, newly appointed Lord ofNoctua.” The voice announcing my name and title is monotonous. Like Parliament doesn’t already know they’re expecting me. The whole cabinet sits on their dark cherry wood benches, circled high over the chamber floor. Perched above. Showcasing their power and how all exist beneath them.

For now.

It’s difficult to stifle a sneer, gazing at the empty chair reserved for the Prime Minister. Looks like this offense wasn’t worthy of his presence after all. A notion thatis mildly concerning.

Pulled away from the vacant spot, I scan the crowd of hooded bodies, skulls of owls fitted over fabric in some kind of macabre masquerade mask.

“It’s an honor to serve. My wife and I thank you for your confidence in being the voice and face ofNoctua.” My voice is deep, confident, sure. I tuck my hands behind my straight back, gazing up at my “betters” and waiting for my reprimand.

“Valledyn. There’s a very serious infraction to discuss.”

I nearly laugh. There is no explicit law against resurrecting Heartstones. A positive thing about people who have been in power too long is they get arrogant. Complacent. They begin disregarding possibilities, even as they are smeared in their faces.

Or maybe they’re just bored. Either way.

“It’s come to our attention that the night of your wedding, theNoctuaHeartstone within theStrigiForest began beating again for the first time in hundreds of years,” a raspy voice says. Enraged.

“Yes.”

“And how did that come to be?”

Straight to the point. Good. Though I think, deep down, we all know the answer.

“It seems there were some liberties taken on the recorded gifts of my wife from her showing.” No need to inform them that our wedding ritual may or may not have taken place on top of the Heartstone for maximum probability of success.

Silence.

“Are you saying the Thornridge family falsified their daughter’s showing?” The quiet menace in that voice tells me that they haven’t wanted to believe that Delaney truly is a necromancer—not a grower—despite the whispers circulating throughoutNoctuaand all the clear evidence at hand. But they are starting to.

“Yes.”

Anxiousness in the room grows palpable. A flurry of glorious panic.

Papers shuffle between several hands, looking over records provided by the Thornnridge family upon Delaney’s showing. Several low voices bicker back and forth, mostly indiscernible, but I catch a few words here and there.

Despicable.

Lying traitors.

How?

Treasonous.

How?!