Page 20 of Antiletum (The Nocturne #1)

Decorative feathered hats and tiny fucking swords

Val

M y steps are light—downright bouncy—echoing down the halls of the most imposing building in the world: the house of Parliament.

Couldn’t have asked for a better evening to precede this dreaded audience.

The cabinet and Prime Minister live in their solitude, sustaining themselves on power, greed, and their self righteous opinions of themselves.

Keeping anonymity with the masses so they may mingle among the rabble at leisure before returning to pull everyone’s strings from the same stretch of land the entombed Nocturne they forced into rest reside.

Those threads are beginning to snap.

I wonder if this situation will be dire enough for the Prime Minister himself to make an appearance.

A very hungry part of myself hopes so. As fantastic as things are shaping up, I may just get my wish.

The only other time the Minister has been present when I met with the cabinet was to legitimize me himself, no longer being named a bastard.

So wonderfully ironic .

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 within Noctua . Only Panthera . Their queens—really the faction as a whole—are historically reclusive, keeping to small groups ever since the Nocturne disappeared from the earth.

Fingers curl into a fist, thinking too much on Panthera . 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 of Noctua .

” 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 that is 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 of Noctua. ” 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, the Noctua Heartstone within the Strigi Forest 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 throughout Noctua and 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?!

“Who was present for the Thornridge girl’s showing?” someone demands.

“She does have a name, as I’m sure your records show,” I correct calmly. “And it is Delaney. Beyond that, her full name is Delaney ven’Sol. She is a Thornridge no more.”

Everyone stills, watching me curiously.

Silence. More beautiful, glorious, heavy fucking silence.

Good.

“You are devoted to your Lady.” It’s practically an accusation. Though not explicitly discouraged, Parliament doesn’t exactly encourage tender feelings between the marriages they sanction either.

Caring makes us weak. Unpredictable. Being forced into a marriage is often a good way to breed resentment. But call it a status symbol and people learn not to outwardly complain.

“She is my wife.”

A soft voice cuts in. Female. Slow and calculated. “And would you have been so devoted to your previous betrothed? Who did not have the same rare gift as yourself?” There’s too much suspicion in that question .

A pause, letting ash-like words settle on my tongue and forcing them to come across as true. “I would have been equally devoted to any wife Parliament privileged me with. Rainah Thornridge included.”

“The Thornridges kept their younger daughter—Delaney—very secretive and cut off. Especially considering the spotlight her sister lived in. Groomed to be Lady of Noctua when it was believed she would marry the late Astaroth heir, rest all their souls . Her seclusion was so thorough, until your wedding and her arrival in the city just days ago, no one had seen her in ten years,” the masked woman muses.

“Was this not suspicious to anyone?” Someone barks, like a fucking dog.

The same woman who brought up Delaney’s sheltered life speaks again.

“It was certainly suspicious. Even more vexing that the girl’s governess died a questionable death right before she was completely cut off from the world.

And if you recall, I suggested exploring the odd situation.

More than once. Including after the untimely end of Rainah Thornridge and her parents, under different circumstances.

But instead of being investigated, it was suggested that our Lord marry this younger sister instead. ”

This one is troublesome. I have no doubts that she inquired into Delaney quietly, when her counterparts weren’t interested in one young woman. Suspicion takes me that she sent the lemming.

“Need I remind you, I was unaware that Rainah was to be my wife until after her and Astoroth were assassinated. The same time I was informed that I had already been chosen for a higher rank in the Lord’s line of succession even before they died, and Delaney would take her place as my paired wife. ” I say it more firmly than I intended.

I can practically hear the upturn of her lips in a sinister smile.

Like I gave exactly the response she expected.

“How fortunate, my Lord, that you were able to capture those assassins after they eliminated young Mister Astoroth and Rainah Thornridge. Even more fortunate that it hadn’t yet been announced that it had been quietly decided that Mister Astoroth wasn’t a fitting Lord for Noctua , and the position would go to you after both of your fathers tragically passed. ”

“Indeed.”

She gives a sad shake of her head. “If only they had been caught sooner. You’d now be married to the rightful Lady of Noctua . And this whole messy business with the Heartstone wouldn’t have happened.”

Focus pinpoints, my ears easily blocking out all noise to hone in on only her heartbeat.

Learning its unique cadence. Her eyes are shadowed beneath her cowl and bone mask, the color indiscernible.

Good thing I’m able to recognize someone beyond the way they look. And I will be watching for this one.

Soft, hurried murmurs explode. Everyone is simultaneously trying to make excuses for themselves, talking over each other, trying to pass off blame.

An accusing finger points at me. “You’ve been Noctua ’s Master of Whispers for years, Lord Valledyn. How did you not learn of the secret gifts of a girl from a prominent family? How did you not know anything about her before you wed?”

Calmly, I reply, “I only go where I am commanded.” For good measure, I incline my head in a show of respect.

Makes me want to flay my own fucking skin.

“Sheltered young women were not exactly on my radar, now were they? And what time would there have been for me to learn about Delaney? We were wed within weeks of the union being sanctioned— by you —after Rainah died. My hands were a bit full, preparing for a role that I believed was never meant to be mine.”

Quiet words of agreement are spoken.

“From my perspective, the only people to blame are Mister and Missus Thornridge. ”

“A grievous shame that they are no longer living to answer for their crimes.” That female voice is easily the most vile thing in this room. “Treason of this magnitude shouldn’t go unpunished.”

I offer a ruthless smile. “I’d say the way they met their end was punishment enough.”