Page 113 of Antiletum
But as the sun begins to dip behind the jutting shards of mountain stabbing into the sky, I find it. A burbling brook sighs nearby, fed by the water source I told Delaney about when we were young. Amidst a bunch of autumn flowers, springing up as the season creeps closer, I see it: a small hole, haloed in brambles, disappearing into the ground.
Undisturbed.
A sliver of relief warms my bones.
I shift again, swatting the flora away to get a closer look. The hole is just large enough for me to climb through. Delaney won’t have an issue at all. Darkness invites me into its chasm, brambles tearing at my naked skin as I crawl into the hole, disappearing in the ground.
Good thing I’m born to see in the dark.
My eyes take no time to adjust, making out the shapes around me. The den is a small cavern, barely tall enough for me to stand. Head stooped, I take a slow step deeper. Even though the opening was untouched, the air down here doesn’t feel right. Strange magic coats the den, layered against the damp scent of loam. Stale. Like it’s been floating around in this thin air for some time.
If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say around the same amount of time Xavien’s home has been empty.
All the relief I experienced only seconds ago evaporates as I go further into the den, my bare feet scraping against uneven ground.
An ominous Ellden clock hangs from the wall. One of the three original. Smaller than the one tied to theNoctuaHeartstone, but vicious and hateful all the same.
Dark spots stain the outer edge of a bowl in the den floor. Much like what had appeared on theNoctuaHeartstone’s perimeter. I touch one, hot and gnarled like burned flesh, ancient, astute magic clinging to my fingers. It’s like a surgeon had cut out a heart and cauterized arteries, keeping host and organ both from completely expiring.
It occurs to me that the stains on the stone in theStrigiForest are attributed to whatever happened here more than the upset of balance. Dread settles in my stomach as I rush back to the mouth of the den. Giving myself enough of a vantage point to more intently take in the scene.
A large crater sits in the center of the den, completely void of theVulpesHeartstone that once resided here.
27
Here it comes
Delaney
The Citadelspirlinarypeers down at the black carriage packed with my trunks in the drive. Such a lovely setting to nurse my heartache. Grand and exorbitant. Plenty of room to waste hours away in here completely alone, my only company the sound of my own footsteps calling back to me and the non-living animals decorating the room.
The yawning, cavernous silence only makes my thoughts that much louder.
Rooted to my designated spot that gives view to the flower lined drive below, instinctively, my hand comes up to rest on my chest, fingers touching my throat. Attempting to ease its racing and ever present ache. To my right, an arched stained window depicts a parliament of barn owls flying against a black sky, crowds of foxes and big cats on the ground witnessing their flight.
I’ve taken to old comforts in the days since Val revealed himself to me, seeking solace in the quiet sanctuary. Praying to theNocturne. For what? I’m not entirely sure. For acceptance, I suppose. Reconciliation. Within myself and my marriage.
A marriage I would have chosen. With the person I have longed for.
Everything I’ve ever wanted since I was only a girl.
As always, when the thought barrels unwanted through my mind, my heart folds on itself a little more. Visualizing big, strong, powerful Val, Lord ofNoctuaand leader of a resistance, in absolute submission—to me—on the floor of a differentspirlinarythan the one that anchors me now. Followed by his smiles, his laughs. His commanding tones and dark stares. Gazes equally as soft. Our ease together.
The different versions of him flit back and forth.
Such a multi-faceted man, my husband. The harbinger of my anguish. The love of my life.
It hurts, picturing the suicidal Lord’s son in the story told to me by the servant. Him standing where I am, absorbing a similar view in the drive. Heartsick to the point of not wanting to live. The biggest difference being the windows open for him to the insubstantial, vast air just beyond these walls. Stepping outside to smack across the roof of a tiny, wheeled box. Carrying him away, but not in the carriage’s intended manner.
Refusing to be with anyone other than who his heart chose.
Like Val. Like myself, in a way. Though I had lovers, I never craved to find a long term partner. Found no emotional connection with my trysts. I didn’t want to. There was only one I would ever love. I would picture him, Sebastian, while I was with others. Willing him to be alive. To be with me. The only exception being Val, wholly in the moment during all of our intimacy. Focused only on him.
But I left him.
I left him pleading on the ground for me to love him, exactly as I already do, underneath it all. And he’s been absent ever since. I can’t wash the image of him on his knees in front of me out of my mind. Crying and begging into my stomach for me to not leave him only to do just that. Unable to fathom my reality, I fled. Had to seek a space hedidn’t occupy to digest hard truths and pick them all apart. Assemble them back together.
Heat dwindling, summer days twirl into the cooler tones of autumn. The green leaves across the lawn appear more muted, color slipping away with the warmth of the season. It’s pleasant in thespirlinaryas dusk descends, gas lamps flickering to life, controlled by a servant from beyond this room.Not so painfully hot as it was the night of our party, when my husband brought me in here and we had an evening reminiscent of our day in Omnitas, lost in young love. Calm and easy. Letting myself enjoy him and lower my walls without being bogged down by my guilt because I was drunk.
