Page 47 of Antiletum
Really—I have every single intention of going to my own chambers. But walking through our apartments, cavernous ceilings echoing my steps back to me, the door of Valledyn’s room across the hall from mine has me halting abruptly.
What is Val’s living space like, when not dominated with his presence? Is his energy permeating the walls? Has he left space for me?
Such an intrusive thought!I scold myself.
I don’t miss him. I don’t even know him enoughtomiss him. I haven’t been obsessively counting down the seconds, waiting for his return, as if I know when that might be.
Willful little feet—mind of their own, I swear it—turn to the ajar door. I push it wide and walk right through the pointed arch opening. It’s like Val left it unlocked on purpose. Inviting me to come in. Technically, it isourspace. I’m doing nothing wrong. If Val came hometo find me and all of my belongings set up in the marriage room, he would be utterly delighted.
A charmed smile overtakes my mouth. A quick scan of the place has me already planning out where my items will go.
It truly is lovely inside. Beyond the breakfast table and small living area with a large settee is a sunken floor where a massive cathedral canopy bed sits, draped in black curtains trimmed with silver. Some might liken it to being in a fishbowl, settled in a crevice with those crystal windows towering high above. The domed glass ceiling. But it’s surprisingly open. Airy. Large exterior transom windows allow in a welcome breeze. Colorful flowers and living plants scattered throughout the room break up the dark hues of black, gray, and silver decorating the space in different textures of silk and velvet.
The whole room screams of luxury. Only the best for the Lord and Lady ofNoctua.
A spiral metal staircase winds up to a patio. The teasing image of a terrace garden with magenta-red blooms stains the edges of the open door. Smiling, I go to inspect, fiercely missing gardening myself.
Greenery in hanging planters on long chains decorate the ceiling. I’m able to trail my hand against the leaves leisurely on my way up the stairs.
Orange light washes across my face when I reach the terrace, the sun dropping below the horizon as it sinks off to sleep, washing the city in slanting shadows and lengthening the spires piercing towards the sky. Despite the golden glow, a crackle of static clings in the back of my throat. Earthy freshness of rain accompanies it like a jealous lover, entwined in its essence. Before long, a wall of clouds blot out those final rays.
A storm-promised breeze sends a trace of floral notes to me. Beneath it is something richer, something musky and mouth watering. Tantalizing. Lassoing me like livestock.
Knees hit the ground at the edge of the raised bed. Just at face level, red and purple dahlias greet me, their blossoms heavy and fat. A deep inhale sucks through my nose, pulling those notes within myself, as well as the tones buried beneath the dirt.
Val’s blood.
A shamefully sensual moan leaves me.Deos. That’s positively spellbinding. It’s subtle—almost faded away. But just enough lingers that I can still grasp it, hold it on the back of my tongue. Taste it like a treat meant only for me. A hint of what he fed me with his own mouth at our wedding.
It solidifies my decision to embrace my husband fully, this achingwantthat I can no longer ignore. Reservations be damned. Even if, on some level, it’s a fantasy. A fantasy can be a foundation to build from.
Clearly Val used his own blood to nurture the garden at one point. But now, the flowers droop, ever so slightly. The edges of their petals have brittle brown spots. Still beautiful and well maintained, but not the perfect blossoms that would thrive if Val was still using his necromancy to cultivate the flowers. Feeding it his blood to keep at bay any signs of decay, even when his touch disappears.
A way of gardening that I am intimately familiar with.
So much for quelling my want to necromance. No bother. Urges can be rectified as soon as my husband returns home. A notion that makes my lips curve with a smile. Bothmy husbandandhome. Allowing myself the possibility for happiness for the first time in a decade.
Giddiness races up my spine, imagining Val’s reaction when I surprise him by having taken up residence in our room. Finally ready to let him in.
Unable to help myself, I dig beneath satiny petals, past thin stems, and sink into the dirt. I can see it in my mind: Val tending to the garden. Focused, careful, and caring. Those long fingers and large hands working diligently. I wonder what other ways he’s built those calluses across his palms?
Legs growing numb, I push myself to stand, to retreat back and explore my soon-to-be bedroom a little closer.
One last glance is given to the flowers, thinking that maybe the garden will be mine and Val’s first place to use our magic together. Suddenly, it occurs to me: These are the exact same flowers used on my headdress—on Val’s wreath—for our wedding. The same shade and size. Almost as if they were plucked from this particular garden.
How odd.
My face falls from a serene smile, morphing into a furrowed brow.
Swallowing is difficult, a strange tingling sensation blurring through my gut and erasing my previous excitement. My neck is cold. Uncomfortable. Before I know it, I’ve found myself back inside, thundering down the metal staircase, turning a slow circle in the sunken room. Looking for… What?
Anything to explain away this trepidation brought about by the dahlias.
A low grumble of thunder shakes the ceiling. An omen.
For the first time since our breakfast in this room, I let the implications of Rainah’s warning wash over me again. Something about the garden is rearing an uglier, stronger version of the wariness I took to heart. The one I was finally letting go.
Maybe Rainah wanted to inform me of somethingbeyondVal’s obvious double agency when it comes to his position in the faction.
