Page 19 of Antiletum (The Nocturne #1)

You should meet my husband

Delaney

E verything is still warm and fuzzy by the time Val sees me back to my room, leaving me with a chaste kiss on my cheek and an unending stream of internal incoherent questions.

Thanks to the alcohol, my feet have been transformed into useless feathers who want nothing more than to see me fall on my face. I’m shuffling all around, tripping over my own toes and failing spectacularly to walk a normal distance without nudging my hip into everything in my chamber.

I think my furniture is moving, throwing itself into my path.

Finally, I make it to my open window. Useless, that paneless hole in the wall. It’s a thick summer evening—air is the abhorrent consistency of a nice bisque. But at least the thing swings wide at all, unlike the sanctuary.

It’s hotter in the city than it was at the manor.

The architecture throughout Omnitas is similar to Greystone.

But old. Ancient. Porous stone has been smoothed and blanketed in moss outside.

Statues have lost their detail to the unforgiving weather of time.

The Citadel is large but holds a more muted grandeur to the country estate.

Window and door trimmings lack the expensive ebony wood finishing found at Greystone.

Heat aside, this is still nice, nothing between me and night air outside.

A flying buttress is visible from my window, attached to another portion of The Citadel.

I wonder if I could traipse across it. What I might find on the otherside.

The bay window with a comfortable bench reminds me of my tower at Greystone.

But my room at The Citadel is decorated in hues of dove gray and white, rather than the rich reds at the estate.

The most obvious difference, I’m now lording over a city rather than a forest.

Or Ladying, I suppose.

What a strange notion. Especially for someone who, until recently, essentially didn’t exist. The bubbly wine that kept me afloat during the party is attempting to turn on me, becoming nefarious as a foe now that I’m alone.

What only just blanketed all of my nerves and swirling misgivings is now amplifying them.

Sheets of black silk cling to my sticky legs, damp with sweat and the humid air as I plop onto the cushioned seat at my window, undignified.

“Misery. Suffocating misery,” I muse to myself.

I should probably free myself from the dress. Fumbling fingers reach behind me, to the spidersilk ribbon holding the corset together.

After a laughable struggle with my own garments, I huff, flopping back in defeat. Cheek pressed against the stone wall, it’s gloriously cool, giving some relief to my fevered skin, hot and red from all the spirits and sauna like evening.

I could fall asleep right here. With my face anchored to this building, holding up this city like a puppeteer. Holding me up as well .

Only once in my life have I ventured into Omnitas, many years ago.

And only for a single, perfect day. There hasn’t been a chance to walk the streets since we arrived yet.

But I remember, far more vividly than I wish I did, the poverty and sickness and filth that runs rampant in the streets. Dangerous.

From here, the dirtiness, the starvation, the depravity that reigns is hidden beneath the veneer of ancient stone structures; statues and gargoyles fuzzed in lichen and moss; under the pops of green and color from the flora, tossed about like a flower girl sharing her petals at a wedding.

A normal wedding.

Not my wedding. The only thing decorating the ground then was the blood of self-sacrificing priestesses.

For a worthy cause. A greater good. Such a villainous sounding notion.

The few for the many. Like it or not, I may just be one of the few.

Like those priestesses. Like my husband who told me himself he believes we’ve been plunked down right in the middle of destiny.

Val’s openness tonight rolls through my muddy mind, making my head hurt. The choices he laid out for me, bringing awareness but not demanding that I make a decision now.

An embarrassing snort crackles from my throat, absorbing the irony of Val’s feelings towards Parliament. An insurgent risen right up to the tip top of the highest stations. Did those priestesses know what they were giving their lives for? Did they believe all the things he’s telling me?

Do I?

Deos . I think I might cry. Alcohol does tend to make me weepy.

Even when I’m not weighed by grief, change, the stares of strangers in an open, packed room.

Or a painfully desirable, mysterious husband upending everything I know about history, his simple appearance trying to pick the lock to my coping mechanisms. The indulgence in alcohol was necessary to keep me grounded, to help me lay a new anchor in a new life.

Even making an effort to converse with others when Val was pulled away.

I did always want to be free.

A tiny speck soaring through the air in the distance has my breath catching in my throat, my tears sucking back into my eyes, fleeting thoughts melting away.

Bleary eyes narrow on the familiar dot, convinced I’m making it up in my mind. Terrible habit I’ve been forming of late. And there isn’t always alcohol to blame.

“It can’t be…” I muse to myself.

The same black and brown barn owl from Greystone sweeps into my open window as my words get lost. He came just in time to snatch them out of the thick night air, swallow and digest them just to prove me wrong.

It, indeed, can be.

There’s no doubt that the barn owl staring me straight in the eye, ruffling his feathers proudly and giving me a familiar screech, is the same one who previously haunted the Strigi Forest. How many melanistic barn owls are there in existence?

Besides that….

I recognize him. Some base, deep rooted thing inside me knows him.

Beyond being able to cartograph the array of speckles over his feathers like I’m connecting the stars.

So rich. Like different chocolates layered and pressed together.

Without a thought, I reach out and stroke the softness of him, a grin eating away all melancholy.

He nuzzles into my hand.

“What in deos name are you doing here?” I ask, breathless, still giddy with shock and happiness that my owl friend is here. In Omnitas. Visiting my room just like he did at Greystone. Though, he is missing his offering of fruit he always brought me.

The dark owl clicks his beak, affectionately nipping at the palm of my hand petting his feathers. I can’t make myself stop. And it doesn’t seem he wants me to.

I must be more drunk than I had thought. Not even a startle comes about when he lightly pinches my flesh between his beak, not scared at all. Up until our last visit together, the only physical contact we had was me tentatively stroking his head or smoothing an errant feather.

The owl flutters to my knee—so gently. Mindfully . As if he knows how delicate my skin is under the gossamer layers of my dress. Nothing but a spread of tissue paper that he would leave shredded and exposed by those fearsome talons.

He nuzzles against my face then starts using his beak to pull away sticky hair clinging to my cheeks. Preening me thoroughly, tenderly.

“You are trying to court me!” I laugh.

I pull back to look at the owl, his head doing a slow turn to the side. Those soulful, deep black eyes bore straight into me. As if he’s trying to communicate But of course I am.

And a thought occurs to me, yet again, that he has imprinted on me. Becoming territorial around Tabitha. Protective. As if he believed me to be his mate.

But that’s not right. Owls only imprint on humans as fledglings.

His weight on my thigh settles over me. “Well, I don’t have a snack for you tonight,” I tell him sadly. What’s the point in arguing with the situation? If he has imprinted on me, then there isn’t really much I can do.

Besides, I do love his company .

He fluffs his feathers, as if apologizing for also coming empty handed. I’ve never had the heart to tell him I don’t actually eat the wild fruit he always brought me. Deos knows where they’ve been.

“I’m still thrilled to see you,” I tell him. “Shamefully so. I think you might just be my favorite living thing. Don’t tell my husband,” I add in a semi-conspiratorial whisper, like I’m telling him some important, secretive bit of information.

I snicker to myself, remembering Val’s superstitious warning to not say things you wouldn’t wish others to hear in front of an animal. The bird looks at me curiously, head turned in that quizzical manner, black orbs sparkling with something disturbingly human—amused.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have told you that. My dear husband seems to think it’s ill advised to bare one’s secrets to an animal, lest the ability to shift has returned. Very unlikely if you ask me.”

Humor increases in those large black eyes. Entirely too knowing. He’s an insightful fellow, I can tell.

“You should meet my husband,” I slur. “Valledyn. You remind me of him. Kind of serious. A little pushy.” The owl nips at me lightly with his beak again.

Making a point. “Fine. A lot pushy, apparently. Both of you. Maybe I should march across the hall, introduce you two. Tell Val that I’m keeping you.

And I hope his superstitions aren’t true. Otherwise, I’d be downright mortified.”

He leans forward, down to my left hand resting on the windowsill and nuzzles at my silver vinculum band. Affectionate, but far less intense than the last time.

I laugh, messy half-do ruined and damp in the summer humidity, sticking to my neck. “That seems like encouragement. And here I thought you were trying to keep me for yourself.”

Something constricts my lungs, thieving my humor from the moment .

Maybe I should go to Val. It would be so easy. To creep across the hall silently, anticipation bubbling in my stomach and lightening my steps—hastening them.

Instinctively, my hand comes out to trace the edge of feathers against the black and brown owl’s wing.

He allows it happily, making soft chittering noises of contentment in his throat, bobbing happily.

Allows me to stroke his plumage for comfort while my mind races far faster than I would like for it to. More than I can keep up with.

What would it be like? What would Valledyn do if I cracked open his door and peeked inside; if I asked to enter? Is he even awake?

I can practically hear him say “Come in, ocellus ,” in that soft, soothing rumble of his.

I could ask him again what the name means.

I could tell him how fiercely every part of me aches in my grief, longing for my sister.

For my parents. Imperfect though they were, I never had anyone else.

Maybe Val would tell me about mourning his own family, lost around the same time as mine.

I could tell him about the eyes like his that make me look to the past.

A wave of fury crests over my lungs. Maybe if we lived in a different world, neither of us would have had to hide our necromancy for any amount of time.

We might have been able to find each other in a way that wasn’t warped with pain.

We might have been able to choose different paths for ourselves entirely.

I’m on the verge of rising, of going to learn the answer to all these questions. Just enough alcohol is still soaking my blood to make this seem like an impossibly wonderful idea.

Until I remember Val telling me he has to leave in the morning and why. How he doesn’t often sleep. If he’s sleeping right now, I wouldn’t want to disturb him before departing for such an important meeting .

Instead of seeking solace in the arms of my husband, I chat with the owl. With my silent companion, I ruminate on all that could be with my husband while I allow said husband to rest.

Loneliness has been a constant companion for me, one that I’ve grown accustomed to, one that I’ve dwelled demurely with for so long.

The consequences for trying to stretch those confinements ran too deep, caused too much heartache.

But there have been a handful of souls whose company was so kindred, so pleasant, so craved, it’s made me feel less alone.

And this owl—inexplicably—is one of them. My heart can’t handle admitting to the others.

“You followed me here. From the manor,” I finally say, dropping the subject of Val when it becomes too heartrending to continue.

The bird dips his head, as if in agreement. A loud, whooshing breath flows past my lips. “As happy as I am, I think I should make an effort to find more friends.” Laughing with Selise tonight was far more enjoyable than I ever would have expected.

He scoots further up my thigh, wings unfurling slightly—eagerly. Like he might just think that’s one of the best ideas I’ve ever had. Maybe he can sense my loneliness. The way melanistic animals are rejected in the wild, maybe he knows solitude as intimately as I do.

I was always drawn to different, dejected things.

Another aching lurch launches through me. One that’s becoming more frequent, more painful, refusing to be locked in its tight little box anymore, despite a decade of practice.

It must be being back in Omnitas. Being so close to everything that could have been.

My stare locks into the distance, yet again, my longing owning me.

Some part of me feels as if I could reach out my hand, extend it across the vast open space, and clasp that place, that memory and the beauty of it, within my palm.

The small spirlinary sitting in the sprawl of the city.

Cradle it close to my heart. Bring its memories back to life.

But I can’t. Deos know that I’ve tried.

This evening, I began opening up to Val while searching the rooftops for the sanctuary I want to see now.

Odd, how easy it was. How it was like all of my repressed thoughts and feelings just wanted to spew out of me like a fountain and wrap around my husband before I clamped the lid closed again.

But what was most terrifying was when Val almost kissed me.

How I almost wanted him to. And knowing that I was projecting onto the moment between us, trying to make it into something it wasn’t.

The warning from Rainah isn’t the only thing that has me questioning whether I’m mad these days.

My owl leans forward, nudging a piece of hair off my face and carefully tucks it behind my ear. Comforting. Letting me know that I’m not alone. With a smile, I tell him, “I’m glad you’re here.”

He must hear the truth in my words, because for the first time, he stays with me all night, perched on my windowsill like he’s standing guard while I sleep.