Page 3 of Antiletum (The Nocturne #1)
Those hideous clocks are everywhere
Val
“ Y our darling wife is wreaking havoc in the spirlinary again.”
My jaw tightens, back teeth grinding together. What an announcement to instantly sour a quiet day. Previously bright and cheery while I work in silence at my desk at this lovely country estate, nothing to bother me.
Other than the constant, nagging plight that is my marriage.
With a sigh, I pinch the bridge of my nose, wood and leather chair creaking as I sit up.
“What’s the issue this time?” I ask Mallin, releasing my hand to visually take in his humor that was blatantly audible in his interruption of my peace.
Lounging against the door jamb without a care in the world.
Or so it would seem.
“I’m sure you can imagine. Only I was a little late this time.” He tosses his apple into the air; it plunks down in his dark palm. “Sorry.” As he finishes speaking, the Ellden clock on the mantle strains, a vinculum hand rolling backwards.
Wonderful .
Wincing, he tugs at the neck of his dark green tunic, embroidered with the grey spread wings of a screech owl, signifying his place in our faction of the Nocturne dedicated to the owl: Noctua . Strange now, seeing Mallin wear the color and symbol that not long ago belonged to my own family.
Mallin is my dearest friend, my Alter . Essentially, my second. The one that takes over for the role of Lord in the event that there are no heirs worthy of the position.
Hidden beneath his thinly veiled humor is a much deeper concern. He takes a bite of his fruit, his own vinculum wedding band glinting on his finger, making me glance at mine. Made from the same piece of metal as my wife’s. Binding us for life.
More irritation flares at his easy cadence, the continued bounce in his step that has lasted for months.
Must be nice to have your paired wife want to share your bed and your company after your wedding.
Then again, Selise didn’t get tongue and cock fucked by her new husband surrounded by self-sacrificing priestesses bleeding to death during her wedding.
Instead, they had a nice private, daytime union, sans suicide as an offering to the heart of a dead deo .
Afterwards, they celebrated in the company of friends and family at The Citadel back home in Omnitas.
Not in the clearing of a lifeless Heartstone in a sacred forest for witness to none but the moon and expiring priestesses.
Only the Heartstone isn’t quite so lifeless now.
Shoving aside my jealousy for my friend, I chide myself internally. Mallin and Selise deserve their happiness (that I personally fought for), and neither of them are at fault for my current predicament .
With a clatter, I toss my pen to the dark desk, a splash of ink spurting from its tip and staining a piece of painted silk in a naked frame. I cringe inwardly. I liked that painting.
Mess abandoned, I stride past Mallin leaned against the elaborate ebony door frame, black wood matching the desk and bookshelves in my office.
Still smiling openly. Such a juxtaposition to the shot of panic racing down my spine.
He doesn’t follow, aware that his presence would only further exacerbate what is sure to be a foul mood in my wife.
Mallin was the one that betrayed her previous attempt at indiscretion after all.
Though he may be amused by my marriage woes, I know he came to me because he cares.
I pause, turning to my friend. “Go to my rooms. The mahogany box on my bookshelf; you know the code to open it. Take some to Nelda.”
A brow arches, gold septum ring standing out against his rich complexion. “It may stop Delaney’s price, but that won’t restore what she’s upset. Not after awakening the Heartstone.”
Walking down the hall, I call back to him, “No. I will handle that part.” My shoulders shake out involuntarily, the muscles jerking of their own accord.
Mallin delivers words at my retreating form, voice raised. “How long has it been?”
A dismissive hand waves over my shoulder, shutting him up. The question was cryptic enough; it could have meant any number of things. But still.
The corridors of Greystone Manor are quiet, most everyone enjoying the sunlight and grass in the warm summer afternoon, basking in the final days at the country estate before we all make the trip back to Omnitas.
The dark stone walls and gothic arches are reminiscent to the architecture of the ancient sprawling city, only newer. More shine and less wear.
The walk to the spirlinary is scenic, both within the manor and without.
Sunlight flows through floor to ceiling crystal windows, topped with stained glass pictographing our deos —the Nocturne .
The panes depict an array of birds, foxes, and big cat, painting a watercolor of vibrancy on the colorless stone floors.
Each tells a different story for the factions of people: Noctua , headed by the knowing barn owl; Vulpes with its sly black fox; Panthera and their fierce, prowling caracal.
Wisdom. Cunning. Strength. All owned by the night.
Front doors are already open like a friendly embrace, sweeping in the honeyed breeze. Willows laze against the green pond where a small rowboat cuts through the water, all barely a smudge in my periphery.
My ire ratchets higher with each step, despite how I try to compose my breathing and slow my heart rate on the trek.
The small stone building of the spirlinary , a sanctuary of worship and magic, comes into view, as picturesque as the manor itself.
Equally as grand in a miniature version.
Just beyond is the line of trees beginning the Strigi Forest where I only just had my cursed wedding two infinite, painful, dragging moons ago, still in the throes of spring.
This woman is a tempest.
Blood runs hotter, thickening in my disappointment of all I thought my marriage would be as the sounds within the spirlinary become clear: laughter and merriment. The loudest chime sends a shiver through my body.
I suppose I should be happy that she’s finding any joy at all. But at what cost ?
At the alcove of the entrance, the quaint wooden door lurches open, nearly slamming me in the face. I lean backwards out of the way just in time to see the menace herself.
My wife: Delaney.
She’s waltzing outside, grinning, still emitting that same joyfulness that taunted me upon my approach. Her glee dies instantly as she sees me.
Apparently I don’t deserve her joy.
Besides that, my presence must be a shock.
No doubt she thought I had no idea what she’s been up to.
I didn’t confront her about her last bout of damning willfulness in the spirlinary , instead letting Mallin handle the situation when he guiltily came to me, telling me he barely caught her in time to stop her using magic without me—outside of our vinculum bond—even after promising Delaney he wouldn’t.
A poor decision on my end, as the situation was clearly not handled at all.
Arms crossed over my chest, the seams of my black tunic, embroidered with silver spread wings of a barn owl, creak as my muscles flex. My own brand new colors and symbol announcing my unexpected station in the hierarchy of Noctua.
My stare bounces behind my frozen wife’s head into the sanctuary, ebbing wafts of magic drifting towards me: a familiar scent. Delaney watches my nostrils flare, scenting her magic and blood and flesh. She barely flicks her head over her shoulder, towards the evidence within.
Tabitha, Delaney’s horrible cousin, scurries as she catches my eye. My wife swings back to me with momentary guilt, pupils blossoming with a hint of fear that brings a sudden ache to my ribs, wanting to soothe it away, knowing exactly who instilled that fear and why.
She dissolves the expression quickly .
“Delaney,” I address her, my tone noting both question and accusation.
Hazel eyes narrow at me, suspicious pupils drawing back in to reveal more of that captivating blue speckled within brown.
It’s as if someone took a sample of azure straight from the ocean and used a dropper to perfectly place it within her irises.
“What are you doing here?” she demands.
I swallow. “I could ask you the same thing, ocellus .” Using the nickname with that seductive tone seems to amp up her panic before it morphs into rage. Worse than when I use her name. I suppose she thinks I shouldn’t refer to her at all.
How terribly tragic for her.
Whether she likes it or not, she can’t escape me. The vinculum wedding rings adorning both of our left hands are proof of that. Mine forever. And I’m hers just the same.
Invading her space, I swiftly back her into the wall of the alcove, pinning her with my arms.
Delaney’s small fists bunch into the cream fabric of her skirts.
Most would expect her to wear the same black and silver I boast, balancing each other, as most noble married couples assigned by Parliament do. The official governing body of Noctua . Though one could argue that their reach extends far beyond our borders.
There’s always someone to answer to. Deos. Government.
Pairings are symbolized with clothing as much as the silver vinculum bands placed upon each other’s fingers, never to be removed, not even when our bodies rot in the ground.
My own flashes from my tensed knuckles against stone.
Delaney’s ring is lost in her skirts, bringing attention to her attire again.
The garb of wedded pairs is more out of tradition than requirement. Most are happy to adhere, as not only do we honor tradition deeply within the Noctua faction, but most fucking people love their spouse and are proud to so boldly and loudly claim each other.
Or at least that’s what I like to tell myself in moments such as this, when I’m vexingly enraged by a color.
Delaney’s outfits are further infuriating in how soft and innocent looking they are, trying to tell me from afar that she may be simpering and sweet. And she is. With everyone but me.
The little liar.