Page 78 of Antiletum
“That the forging of our friendship was born from such horrific circumstances. And that so much is expected of you without you ever being consulted. It’s not fair.”
I shake my head with a smile, removing my black hat. “It’s not your fault. And I should apologize. I purposely kept myself distanced from everyone. This”—I gesture wide—“being around so many people, has all been very… new.” My cheeks flare in embarrassment. “And how could I not be willing to readily accept this responsibility? After the life I was subjected to. Stripped of choice.”
She takes my hand in her soft fingers, squeezing gently. “No one blames you for being distant. Not after your upbringing and all that was thrust on you in your grief.” Bitterly, she adds, “Especially considering what they knew the whole time.”
“All the same. I’m grateful for your friendship now.”
It’s nice being in the thick of Omnitas with Selise, to escape the oppressive walls of The Citadel. Resentment is steadily increasing for the capitol building ofNoctua. The scapegoat source of all my heartache, new and old, no matter how unfounded the sentiment. I have a hard time finding it within myself to blame Omnitas itself, not when there was once something lovely tied to its streets for me.
Despite taking great lengths to shield myself from those bittersweet memories in the last ten years, I find myself gravitating towards them now, being back in the city.
I thought seeing that oldspirlinaryfirst hand during my solo (guards not included) exploration of the city would alleviate some of my heartache. Smooth down the jagged edges that have been cutting through my self preservation ever since my wedding night—when I first saw my husband.
And it did, but only for the briefest, most wonderful moment, even though I couldn’t force myself to go inside. Too fearful to relivethe memories from the walls within. Fleeting like the smoothness of youth. That pristine relief was never going to last. Much the same as the mist of the past that I can’t quite grasp, no matter how badly I wish that I could. It’s not tangible.
“Thisspirlinaryis said to be haunted,” one of the guards supplied. The story the servant told me of the Lord’s son’s spirit flitting throughout the sanctuaries, waiting for his love to find him, clenched my heart then. It does the same now.
As always, bridging the gap between that oldspirlinary, between then and now, is my husband. The visual of him, his odd black eyes. Val invades those thoughts every single time they surface. Refusing to be shaken away.
Deos, it hurts.
Guilt still overtakes me at the sight, the thought, of Val in these moments, where past and present merge. For taking Rainah’s warning into account, and then, equally, for disregarding her caution. For projecting onto Val something that could never be. No amount of longing could ever make it true.
And now—most vexing of all—guilt has taken root for how gutted Val was when I suggested his father used him like a pawn. Just another way we’re alike, beyond our necromancy. Both jerked around by the hidden faces of some much bigger conspiracy. But at least Val knew what was expected of him. Why everything was happening. Regardless, he showed me that hurt and I exploited it.
Am I any better than the man I accused of doing the same to my husband?
Val doesn’t deserve my remorse. Not any of it. Not in the slightest. And still…
A fierce pang in my chest roars every time I recall our fight and the ugly words I said, just wanting him to hurt as much as I do. It doesn’t feel good now that it’s over.
But his manic devotion isn’t enough. Not nearly enough to justify his actions. The list of things that could ever make me considerattemptingto forgive my husband is incredibly short, and everything on it an impossibility. That doesn’t stop me from wishing they were true in the lonely hours of night, though.
As if thoughts of Val have summoned him, my attention is pulled across the lawn of the park to find him cresting a hill, dressed impeccably in a black suit, trimmed with silver, and a black silk top hat with a barn owl embroidered above its brim. More polished and formal than the day we shopped together. Making a statement.
There truly is no escape from Val.
A tall figure walks at his side.
Selise stands, anxiously waiting for the party to join us. I gravitate towards her side, the tension around my husband’s eyes becoming evident as he draws closer, stare pinned on me with pure fire. Possessive. A flare of heat pulses through me. I have a mind to march across the croquet game and meet him halfway, to tell him he has no right to be angry for not being invited.
But Selise’s strained voice whispering, “Oh dear,” catches me off guard, easing away the tingles racing up my back.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Do you remember Roarke—from the party?”
“The rakish blond?”
“The very one.”
“Isn’t that him with Val?”
“Yes,” Selise sighs; worry pulls at her mouth. “They hate each other and generally try to keep their distance.”
Ah. Perhaps my assumption regarding the tightness evident in Val’s body is incorrect.
I laugh. “I gathered as much at the party.”
