Page 21 of Antiletum (The Nocturne #1)
Slaughtered for their riches, providing fields of antiletum to Parliament. Burned with their crops. Or at least, that’s how the story goes.
Delaney was at her cousin’s estate for the weekend, helping Tabitha prepare for her upcoming wedding.
The wavering control of Parliament in recent years is abundantly clear in this meeting. I can taste their panic in the back of my throat. Deos , it is difficult to contain my smile. This is all going too well.
The lack of blame being put on Delaney for not turning herself in shows they are well aware that forsaking her would be a grave mistake in public opinion.
If her own parents—the paramount people who should have protected her—had her believe that her gift needed to be hidden so thoroughly, how would it have occurred to her to come clean about who she is?
Someone so sheltered, would they even be aware that showing results are turned in to Parliament?
That there would be a need for correction?
With no effort at all, my wife has already made herself adored. Suppressed by people who should have loved her. A relatable Lady, now liberated. Inspiring hope that change is to come for the whole faction.
The cabinet is at a loss for how to move forward. That’s apparent through the arguments, increasing in vigor and volume. I haven’t even had to do much here at all.
A gavel crashes against wood, smacking insistently with a hard clap! clap! clap! “That’s enough! ”
Patiently, I wait. The gavel wielder is the one to speak. “Lord Valledyn, surely you can see why it is so concerning to have had a single Heartstone come back to life, the circumstances of events behind its resurrection aside.”
More than you know, you fucking useless sack of skin. At least a brilliant idea came to me last night. For the foreseeable future, I won’t have to go running to Greystone myself every time the Ellden clock is thrown off kilter.
I put on a believably sincere face of utmost understanding and seriousness.
“I do. The Ellden clocks have been… precarious. I have enacted measures to keep balance in place.” I do lie well.
It’s the only way I’ve been able to rise to this particular rank, setting off all the dominoes placed by better men than me for generations.
Still, I’m more than happy to be the boot that tips that first block.
Oh, how I can’t wait to see them all crash into place.
From my coat pocket, I produce a thick stack of papers, detailing how there’s now a nice full caravan of criminals on death row being transferred to Greystone with Alaric and Mallin. Ready to feed the Heartstone.
A steward delivers the packet to the gavel wielder. Silent, he absorbs its contents, giving a satisfied nod and passing it down the line.
They’re pleased.
“Balance is crucial. Magic is fickle. It would be easy for it all to break.”
Because you have made it so. “I am aware.”
“The Nocturne rested their heartbeats for a reason.” Right. “The implications of resurrected deos is catastrophic.” For you.
Collective silence is brittle. I can taste the apprehension growing like mold around the room. A nice, contagious infection.
“What do you propose is the solution? Should my wife and I abstain from using our necromancy, lest we accidentally bring another Heartstone back?” Parliament may be able to see when the Ellden clocks go haywire, but they have no idea how it comes to be.
It could be anyone, using too much magic or using outside of their bond.
The cabinet doesn’t need to know that we mostly have abstained.
Or that bringing the others back to life is exactly what I intend to do.
As soon as I can find the elusive Panthera location. Not even Blair’s insider knowledge has led us any closer.
A petulant huff breaks the silence. Such bratty little children. “It is not up to Parliament for individuals to practice their deos given gifts.”
Holding back a full belly laugh is difficult, but thanks to years of practice, I’m able to patiently hold my face neutral. Still, my thumb brushes over my vinculum band.
“Why the girl’s parents—your father—felt the need to hide either of your gifts is an insult to the institution and our tolerance of our good people.
” Because your institution has purposely bred necromancy out of populations.
Made it feared and hated. “Two noble families, keeping such unnecessary secrets after all we’ve done,” the man spits with disdain.
His statement is too much for me to bear, and I cut in, voice clipped, but to the point. “It should be recognized that my father eventually saw the error of his ways and presented me to you himself. We have since proven our devotion to Noctua. To Parliament.”
He shakes a finger at me. “Yes! And the Thornridges should have followed suit! They shouldn’t have falsified their girl’s showing to begin with. At least you, a bastard, didn’t have such testing and records.”
Molars grind in the back of my mouth at the word.
The same woman who spoke up earlier pipes in, facing her colleague.
“Our Lord may have been born out of wedlock, but he earned his legitimization. Given by the Prime Minister himself! Let us not use such crude terms.” Her attention turns to me.
“Your family’s service to our faction is noted and appreciated, Lord Valledyn.
May Llewellyn and Heath rest in peace.” That simpering tone is malicious.
In all my meetings with the cabinet, I have never heard this woman speak until today.
I don’t like it.
Hand pressed against my heart and with a healthy dose of nausea, I say, “My humble thanks for your appreciation. I aim to serve.”