Page 77 of Antiletum
Maybe it was petty, but it did feel good.
At least, up until it didn’t.
Nausea bubbles in my stomach every time I hear Val’s words echoing in my head:You don’t want to know what they had planned for you. Alaric’s reaction to that statement was more telling than I’d like for it to be. Denial has been a close companion. One that I’m starting to let drift away. And I think I can imagine what my detached parents had in mind.
Selise cuts through my thoughts like the welcome ray of sun that she is. “Have you talked to Blair?”
“No. But we didn’t exactly get to the point of closeness that warranted a confrontation, did we? I suppose she never really owed me that truth.”
Watching me absentmindedly trace a line of condensation on a glass of lemonade, she frowns. “I disagree,” Selise says quietly. “We are meant to be your confidants. And none of us have inspired trust in you.”
“You have,” I point out. And I mean it, no matter how tentatively.
Our shading canopy is spread across the park lawn near the lake, leaving no shrubbery for one to lurk in and eavesdrop. The gaggle of women we brought along is lost to competition while me and Selise lounge and indulge in finger sandwiches and cold drinks. I’m learning quickly that as Lady andAlterLady ofNoctua, people generally only come into our orbit when called upon.
In my familiarity with solitude, it’s a very welcome perk. I had expected to be hounded by social interactions constantly, and the prospect was, simply put, horrifying.
“Besides,” I say. “My first meeting with her was strange.”
Selise grins. “Expect them all to be like that. She’ll either be stern and scolding or infinitely wise and understanding. In short: maternal. She pretends to be old and seasoned—and I suppose she is in some ways. But in reality, Blair is only a handful of years older than us. Mid thirties.” Selise laughs merrily, shaking her head. “Something Alaric often likes to remind her of when she refers to us as children. Though between me and you, I don’t think Alaric has quite shaken his boyhood crush.”
Involuntarily, I recall Val’s recounting of how Selise and Alaric were nearly wed. And how they have no idea, thanks to the lengths he took to ensure his friends’ happiness. I cannot reconcile the tenderness hecan carry with his ability to murder people close to him in cold blood, just to get what he wants.
It’s such a confounding dichotomy. I have no idea what to do with it.
From what Selise has told me, Val and Rainah were close before he killed her. Something Rainah had never mentioned to me at all. Rarely ever speaking about Valledyn ven’Sol when she would come home to visit. Pretending she only knew him in passing when I would ask questions about a fellow necromancer before swiftly changing the subject.
It doesn’t make sense.
“This isexactlywhat we needed.” Selise lets loose a contented sigh. “You should have told me earlier that you were fond of croquet. I would have put together a game right after we arrived back at The Citadel.”
With a shrug, I explain, “I learned to not talk about myself or my interests often. No one ever listened. I often played by myself at my parents estate, unless Tabitha was around. Or Rainah for a rare visit home.”My parents were often too busy to be bothered.
No sense in adding that last part aloud.
With a frown, I gesture at the luxury surrounding us. Our canopy and picnic. The game of croquet being played by noblewomen in expensive, colorful dresses and wide brimmed hats. Most adorned with spidersilk. “Is this not a bit entitled? Poverty is rampant. People are starving and sick in the streets just feet away.”
Selise smiles, a hint of sadness pulling at her features. “I know it can feel that way. And I suppose maybe it is. Were we a different era of nobles in The Citadel, perhaps it would be chafing. But the tides of public opinion change, and they matter greatly. Our families—Val and Mallin personally—have gone to great lengths to help the peoplein whatever ways they can. As we’ve already spoken about, there’s a lot to be said for symbols of hope.”
I nod softly.
“Are you sleeping better?” Selise asks, popping open a green fan painted with a screech owl, and fluttering it in her face. Barely a bead of sweat shimmers across her rich brown complexion. So smooth and beautiful it nearly doesn’t look real. A comical contrast to my red face, glazed from the heat.
“Not really,” I murmur, my aching, tired joints screeching their agreement. This level of tiredness is excruciating.
It radiates from the deepest recesses of my soul, turning my body into a mess of bone deep weariness. But even so, my eyes are wide. Manic. Sleep eludes me, haunts me like a ghost. Hinting at its presence, but refusing to surface.
Shaking away the melancholy that accompanies such acknowledgments, I address Selise more playfully. “Only the copious amounts of black kohl liner I allowed you to draw on my face is keeping me from looking like a phantom.”
“Yes,” Selise agrees, graciously picking up on my cues. “Now I’d liken you more to a tired raccoon.”
I give an indignant laugh, snapping my own fan closed and popping her on the head with it.
Selise gapes at me before falling into a fit of laughter. As our peals die, we regard each other seriously. With an impressive amount of subtlety, she scans our surroundings, ensuring that we’re still truly alone.
“I am sorry, Delaney.”
“Whatever for?”
