Page 37 of Antiletum (The Nocturne #1)

A crescendo of clattering skeletons

Val

N othing makes me want to collect my wife back in my arms more than the horror rippling over her face anew, all because she caved to what fizzles between us.

“Delaney.” A straining itch pulls at my legs, both with the instinct to go to her and to shift back into my owl form where she was so open with her affections. Sadly, it isn’t likely that she’ll offer such again. At least, not any time soon. Not with the way she’s looking at me right now.

“I can’t do this,” she whispers weakly.

The hardness of my cock falls flat instantaneously. Probably for the best right now.

Though I knew it was coming, the cold, dreadful weightlessness of panic invades my sternum.

“You can.” My jaw tenses and arms wind their way across my bare chest to keep from grabbing hold of my wife, beautiful in black beneath the sliver of moonlight.

Carry her upstairs. Make her stay with me. “You should .”

“You murdered my sister!” Delaney warbles, tears billowing in her ducts to form a glassy veil, keeping her out of my reach. She’s too comfortable there, I know that now. She likes it. It’s easier than the alternatives.

“It was a dire mistake. One that I intend to spend every day for the rest of our lives earning your forgiveness for, making it right.” I bite my lip, holding back a misplaced and irrational outburst gathering on my tongue.

The gesture only works for the briefest moment of self control before it falls from my mouth anyways.

“And besides, we’re going to bring her back! ”

At least Delaney didn’t mention how I also ended her awful parents. Maybe she’s starting to see that all of my actions were only ever to keep her safe. That I am the one who has always truly cared for her well being.

At that moment, a croaky, rattling voice within the mausoleum says, “Hello? Is anyone there? Would you be so kind as to let me out? I’m not quite sure where I am or how I’ve gotten here.”

A gentle, clacking knock sounds on the door, bare bones against metal.

Ever the gentleman, unlike myself. Had I been the one to wake after centuries, judging by the date and name on the tomb, I dare say I’d be splintering the bones of my own feet trying to kick the door open, rather than politely inquiring for a bystander to assist.

My eyes widen, absorbing the fact that my wife and I just expended a massive burst of necromancy together. I’m weightless, my skin crackling with energy and contentment, ready to do more with this perfect woman. If only I can get her to stop looking at me with such horror.

I can still fix this.

Delaney registers the same shock at the voice in the tomb, our discussion momentarily forgotten. A body with such advanced desiccation shouldn’t have the necessary hardware to speak .

Our magic is still connected, clinging onto each other with desperate fingertips, like doomed lovers reaching across stars, trying to steal just one more precious moment together.

The voice, mixed with my insinuation, snaps another thread in my wife, stealing her away from me completely.

I open my mouth to stop her, but before I can speak, Delaney gives a final, conscious yank on the tether of life we give to the dead, actively deciding to cut it off.

To let it all die again. Our magic falls away like rain.

The rattle of bones and quiet creaks of plants inching back towards life dies in a single crescendo of clattering skeletons. Roses wilt, shriveling away to their deadened state. The graveyard transforms from its promise of new beginnings back to a garden of waste.

“You know it’s not possible to bring her back, Val,” Delaney says with obvious anguish.

“It’s possible. Look at what we’ve already done.

” I don’t say it aloud, but she knows I mean the Heartstone.

I gesture at the cemetery. Yet another glaring indicator of the greatness we’re meant for.

“Look at what we just did, without even trying! When have you ever been able to raise something without your hand upon it before me? Everything only died again because you told it to.”

Delaney chews her lip, that willfulness of hers refusing to admit to the truth.

“Our connection wasn’t lost when our bodies broke apart. Delaney, we can do much more than I have ever anticipated. We can do anything.”

“Even if what you say is true, what mercy is there in raising a rotted corpse?” My wife furiously wipes at her eyes, angry for letting herself weep in front of me (among a few other things). But I want her to. I want her to offer me every last one of her tears so I may be the one to dry them .

“She’s not rotted.” I shake my head, barely whispering.

A wince distorts my features at the terrible realization that I probably should have already made Delaney aware that Rainah is not in this cemetery. That perhaps I should have long since brought my wife to the true resting place, so she may find peace within her sister’s presence.

Unfortunately, my thoughts have been slightly scattered of late.

Delaney studies me with confusion right before knowing dawns in those blue-speckled eyes, stare trailing to her sister’s grave marker.

The knot of unease in my stomach loosens when Delaney marches towards me.

Purposeful. Heated. I huff a sigh of relief, expecting her to jump back into my embrace and bring her mouth to mine again.

Those stubborn splinters of hope quiver in my chest—such a nuisance, really—and I take their urgings to open my arms wide to pull my wife in for a hug.

Unburdened in the fact that I was right, she can forgive me.

That she’s racing towards me in the knowledge that I took steps to ensure we can do precisely what I keep promising.

I can fix this.

But Delaney doesn’t fall into my arms. Doesn’t offer her words of understanding and forgiveness.

No. Not at all. Instead of the brief flash of delusion I lived in my own fucking head, my wife pushes at my bare chest that she was only just clinging to like it was all she longed to do in the world.

“Where is she?” Delaney snarls.

Out of nowhere, it’s dreadfully cold on this summer night. Or perhaps that’s just the ice of Delaney’s anger, churning my blood into a likeness of hers. “You’re angry?” I ask, unable to hide my disbelief.

“Obviously, I am angry! I deserve to know where she rests! ”

She pushes my chest again. Harder. I stumble backward, trying to catch up with my own incorrect perceptions of how this conversation may end.

“Where is she?” Delaney’s stare goes wide, horrified. “ Deos ! Did you dispose of her like a common criminal? Did you dump her in the sewers? Chop her up and scatter her about?”

“What? No! Of course not. How could you think—”

Delaney laughs, high and cold and entirely unamused.

I must say, that pretty little chime says all Delaney would ever need to without a single word at all. And the mocking noise isn’t exactly off the mark.

I close my eyes tight. Take a deep breath.

Open them again. “She’s not here,” I say quietly, placing my hands on Delaney’s hot, soft shoulders.

Stroke my thumbs over her skin. “She is somewhere secure. With dignity. Being preserved. So we may bring her back .” I don’t mean to hiss the way I do, but alas. Here we are.

The thrill of my wife’s affections are melting away, scorching into ugly remnants of the moment we had. In its empty wake is the disbelief that she still doesn’t see . At first it made sense. I understood. Much was brought to light in the days before our marriage was sanctioned.

But now, months later…

Delaney’s excuses are running dry. Each of her blatant refusals to acknowledge what’s right in front of her is becoming downright agonizing. Offensive at this point. I’ve been waiting for it. Since the moment she laid eyes on me on our wedding night.

“I thought you were accepting me,” I admit with unmasked hurt, buried beneath tones of impatience. “You kissed me. You moved for it just as much as I did. You asked me for more .”

“I will never accept you, Valledyn.” Delaney’s voice wavers. But still, she hasn’t tried to escape my hold. She doesn’t stop me as I step just a little closer, craving the warmth of her skin against mine. Trying to get another sample. Anything that she will give.

“Are you really so fucking blind?” I ask quietly through my teeth, my jaw so tense it hurts.

My vision is becoming hazy, this steady ache in my chest that’s been ever present since I woke alone after our wedding night prying itself farther across my being, opening me wide so all my remaining substance might fall at her feet.

“Not anymore,” Delaney says, nice and close to my face. Nearly close enough for us to share another kiss before she finally pulls away from my grasp. “You continuously show me not to care for anything. You’ll only take it away.”

“You care for me.”

“No, I don’t.”

I step forward, finger pointed towards her accusingly.

“Yes, you fucking do. You showed me time and again, Delaney. You care for me just as deeply as I do you. Before I left to meet with Parliament, you were starting to let me in. And you wanted to. You loved it when I took care of you. You loved it when I demanded we spend time together and when I told you what to wear. You loved giving me your attention and receiving mine in turn. You love me . You said it yourself tonight. You gave me those words, and I’m keeping them.

You can’t have them back. They are mine .

Just like you. It doesn’t matter what form I’m in or whatever else you want to see.

This is real. And you can’t hide from it. ”

“You tricked me!” she screams, the bounce of her lovely voice swallowed by leaves clinging to the trees.

“And I could argue that you are tricking me, Delaney. You know exactly how I feel. And you keep dangling little bits of hope in my face just to snatch it away and watch me burn a little more for you.” I hold my empty fingers pinched above her forehead, motioning how it feels to me when she teases me with these tiny morsels of herself to then only tell me I cannot have it all.

“Why do you care?” she yells, exasperated, throwing her hands up in the air.

I want to grab her shoulders, shake them until the veil of denial falls from her eyes. Scream in her face. Run to my chambers and grab that little gold fucking clasp, dahlias smooth and worn away from years of being used as a crutch. Shove it in her own hand.

But even if I did, I’m certain she would just ignore that too.

“You want to know why I care?” My eyes narrow, watching her reaction intently.

The coldness of my tone has Delaney’s pupils dilating, blossoming out into a pool of ink that I could swim in. Drown in.

“Beyond the fact that you are my wife , I know you, Delaney. I know that you’re afraid.

You’re tired. Lonely. You long to be seen and accepted.

To have your place. But you’ve spent so many years being told by the people who should have loved and uplifted you that you don’t deserve those things.

Now that you have exactly what you need in your grasp, you don’t know what to do with it.

So you take just enough of what I offer to sustain yourself, to feel good, then go hide back behind your pretty glass walls that you think will keep you from getting hurt.

Leaving me to drain myself dry in the hope that eventually you’re going to get exactly what you think you want.

Keep going, ocellus . It’s okay. I can take it. For you , I will take it.”

Delaney’s mouth has dropped wide. Face gone pale.

Sickly. Like I’ve just flayed her alive.

Laid her bare in front of a mirror, forced her to take a long, hard look, and she doesn’t at all like what she sees.

The other gift I left her tonight that I’m certain she hasn’t found yet was the beginning of this reckoning, but I think she needs the words too.

Maybe they will help drive my point home when she finds the painting in her room.

I know these things about her because they exist within myself. We are alike. Kindred in every way. Meant to fucking be.

Wetness glosses over her gaze, but her tears don’t fall and more than anything I just want to cradle my wife in my arms. Carry her to our bed. Hold her. Stroke her hair, her back. Let her rest. Stop this fighting.

“And what do I want, Val? Since you know me so fucking well.”

“You want to keep pecking away at my heart until there’s nothing left. Because then maybe you’d never have to be vulnerable and let me in without ever having to really blame yourself. You can blame me for giving up.”

“You have no heart.”

Gathering her hands in mine, I place them against my racing organ, against the bare skin of my chest. “I do. And it lives outside of my body. Right within your cruel little hands. Do with it what you please, Delaney. But no matter your lies to yourself, they will never, ever change what is .”

The night is too loud, crickets and frogs humming an off tempo tune, assaulting my senses.

Plucking at them like a maddening little harp.

A breeze brushes at my fevered skin—too hot and cold with my yearning, my desire, my mounting outrage at my wife’s chosen ignorance.

By the way she wants to continue with her self-destructive habits, instilled by her parents despite the fact that she is finally free of them.

She is free of everyone who would have held her down.

Expectation is for Delaney to leave. To storm off like I did in the middle of our last argument, unable to handle anymore of her barbs.

Not a single one, lest I bleed out on the floor as she witnessed.

But she seems as unwilling to leave my presence as I am hers, despite our discussion. Despite her countenance.

“We should go somewhere more private,” I say quietly, though I hear no other living thing’s heartbeat, breaths, or movement around us at all. “Please, Delaney. Speak to me.”

“I have nothing left to say to you,” Delaney seethes, finally giving into my presumption and turning on her heel to leave.