Page 3 of Antiletum
Other than the constant, nagging plight that is my marriage.
With a sigh, I pinch the bridge of my nose, wood and leather chair creaking as I sit up. “What’s the issue this time?” I ask Mallin, releasing my hand to visually take in his humor that was blatantly audible in his interruption of my peace. Lounging against the door jamb without a care in the world.
Or so it would seem.
“I’m sure you can imagine. Only I was a little late this time.” He tosses his apple into the air; it plunks down in his dark palm. “Sorry.” As he finishes speaking, the Ellden clock on the mantle strains, avinculumhand rolling backwards.
Wonderful.
Wincing, he tugs at the neck of his dark green tunic, embroidered with the grey spread wings of a screech owl, signifying his place in our faction of theNocturnededicated to the owl:Noctua. Strange now, seeing Mallin wear the color and symbol that not long ago belonged to my own family.
Mallin is my dearest friend, myAlter. Essentially, my second. The one that takes over for the role of Lord in the event that there are no heirs worthy of the position.
Hidden beneath his thinly veiled humor is a much deeper concern. He takes a bite of his fruit, his ownvinculumwedding band glinting on his finger, making me glance at mine. Made from the same piece of metal as my wife’s. Binding us for life.
More irritation flares at his easy cadence, the continued bounce in his step that has lasted for months.
Must be nice to have your paired wife want to share your bed and your company after your wedding.
Then again, Selise didn’t get tongue and cock fucked by her new husband surrounded by self-sacrificing priestesses bleeding to death during her wedding. Instead, they had a nice private, daytime union, sans suicide as an offering to the heart of a deaddeo. Afterwards, they celebrated in the company of friends and family at The Citadel back home in Omnitas. Not in the clearing of a lifeless Heartstone in a sacred forest for witness to none but the moon and expiring priestesses.
Only the Heartstone isn’t quite so lifeless now.
Shoving aside my jealousy for my friend, I chide myself internally. Mallin and Selise deserve their happiness (that I personally fought for), and neither of them are at fault for my current predicament.
With a clatter, I toss my pen to the dark desk, a splash of ink spurting from its tip and staining a piece of painted silk in a naked frame. I cringe inwardly. I liked that painting.
Mess abandoned, I stride past Mallin leaned against the elaborate ebony door frame, black wood matching the desk and bookshelves in my office. Still smiling openly. Such a juxtaposition to the shot of panic racing down my spine. He doesn’t follow, aware that his presence would only further exacerbate what is sure to be a foul mood in my wife. Mallin was the one that betrayed her previous attempt at indiscretion after all.
Though he may be amused by my marriage woes, I know he came to me because he cares.
I pause, turning to my friend. “Go to my rooms. The mahogany box on my bookshelf; you know the code to open it. Take some to Nelda.”
A brow arches, gold septum ring standing out against his rich complexion. “It may stop Delaney’s price, but that won’t restore what she’s upset. Not after awakening the Heartstone.”
Walking down the hall, I call back to him, “No. I will handle that part.” My shoulders shake out involuntarily, the muscles jerking of their own accord.
Mallin delivers words at my retreating form, voice raised. “How long has it been?”
A dismissive hand waves over my shoulder, shutting him up. The question was cryptic enough; it could have meant any number of things. But still.
The corridors of Greystone Manor are quiet, most everyone enjoying the sunlight and grass in the warm summer afternoon, basking in the final days at the country estate before we all make the trip back to Omnitas. The dark stone walls and gothic arches are reminiscent tothe architecture of the ancient sprawling city, only newer. More shine and less wear.
The walk to thespirlinaryis scenic, both within the manor and without. Sunlight flows through floor to ceiling crystal windows, topped with stained glass pictographing ourdeos—theNocturne. The panes depict an array of birds, foxes, and big cat, painting a watercolor of vibrancy on the colorless stone floors. Each tells a different story for the factions of people:Noctua, headed by the knowing barn owl;Vulpeswith its sly black fox;Pantheraand their fierce, prowling caracal.
Wisdom. Cunning. Strength. All owned by the night.
Front doors are already open like a friendly embrace, sweeping in the honeyed breeze. Willows laze against the green pond where a small rowboat cuts through the water, all barely a smudge in my periphery.
My ire ratchets higher with each step, despite how I try to compose my breathing and slow my heart rate on the trek.
The small stone building of thespirlinary, a sanctuary of worship and magic, comes into view, as picturesque as the manor itself. Equally as grand in a miniature version. Just beyond is the line of trees beginning theStrigiForest where I only just had my cursed wedding two infinite, painful, dragging moons ago, still in the throes of spring.
This woman is a tempest.
Blood runs hotter, thickening in my disappointment of all I thought my marriage would be as the sounds within thespirlinarybecome clear: laughter and merriment. The loudest chime sends a shiver through my body.
I suppose I should be happy that she’s finding any joy at all. But at what cost?
