Page 19 of Noble Charms

Aria spun to face Noble and was greeted with a large bag of coin. He said, “I don’t⁠—"

“Just take it,” Noble said, sounding exhausted. He already looked away, over Aria’s head. “I’ve got to catch the tram.”

Aria took the tightly closed velvet bag—heavy enough to require both of his hands. He did his best to keep his face straight and said, “My thanks, My Lord.”

Noble nodded once, and backed away. They caught eyes. One final time. The cold and wet set into Aria’s hair and skin. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but Noble spoke first. “I hope you have a good life, Aria.”

And then he spun on his heel—the heel of the same boot he’d used to save a spider days ago—and marched off. Aria watched his retreating back until Pinto whinnied, uncomfortable in the damp.

“Sorry,” Aria said, to her, and to Noble, and maybe even to himself. He gathered her and Lima’s reins and started down the block. “Let’s get you to your new home.”

3

A WARM SEASON

NOBLE

Memory was a funny thing. Noble believed the journey to New Hieroph scarred his mind, leaving him raw and wounded, but when spring showers warmed into summer sun, the hurt disappeared. And the venom in Aria's words faded away from his dreams, lost beneath the onslaught of Noble's new life. There were plenty of other people who spat fresh venom instead. Enemies to his status, to his family, to his friends. Noble faced real problems in the city, and soon the beautiful ghost of Aria didn't exist inside Noble's thoughts.

The threats in the city mounted over the years, and a castellan horn-bearer, Morgan DeLoude, grew to become Noble’s best friend and most staunch defender. He wasn’t nobility, but worked with nobles as a hired guard, and fit into Noble’s life with ease. Like many horn-bearers, Morgan had a limited amount of magic, too. When necessary, Morgan could scale himself to the size of a giant, or down to the size of a fairykin, or even pose as Noble himself during times of greater threat.

And Morgan changed everything for Noble. He was forced to face what he hadn’t all the years before now: Noble could no longer deny his title, his place within his family's court, and this change? Well, it had perks.

Noble swept through high society over the next many seasons and found a great many people who loved him. He'd all but forgotten his earlier mission, when he was only twenty-two, when he’d wanted to embody a common man. He was no common man. He was descended from the Sun God, twelfth to the throne, and Future-Earl Yves. He had friends in high places, women of fine culture, access to good food, and great fun.

Everyone still called him Noble, of course. Including his future wife.

Lady Virginia Espot took his gloved hand into hers and tugged him towards the ballroom floor. Her grin flashed impish and promising. Noble fell into step with her, surrounded by their many well-dressed friends, and they waltzed like they had many times before. She smelled like the roses he'd bought for her. Her lips tasted like the wine he'd bought for her. Her rich reddish-brown hair shined with the oil he bought for her. Noble dipped her at a lull in the song and appreciated the long, pale expanse of her neck. The gift she had given him in return.

He kissed her gently upon the shoulder and said, “How many times have we danced to this song?”

Virginia’s brown eyes twinkled beneath the suspended candelabra above. There were murmurs around them—friends, family, gossipers—speaking of the upcoming nuptials. He wasn’t a prince, but he was cousin to several, and the wedding would no doubt be the event of the year. Virginia has such good fortune, said someone in a distant whisper. “Are you complaining?” she asked.

“Never,” said Noble, appreciating her throat with a gentle kiss, yet again. “I feel fortunate to get to dance to it again, and again, and again, with you.”

Noble had forgotten that he had, at one time, gazed at Aria's neck like this. In this moment, as he pulled Virginia tightly into his arms—her milky complexion was the palest he'd ever seen.

Memory was a funny thing.

Because Aria Charms was fairer, and Noble had forgotten.

ARIA

“C’mon,” Timin Grey said, voice pleading and drunk. “Give us a kiss.”

For the second time that night, Aria thought about the future of his career. He had been trying for years to get accepted into any of the city’s many bardic guilds, where he’d get access to better-paying gigs. Aria struggled to afford his little studio in the Villa Green neighborhood he'd come to call home. But on nights like this one⁠—

Aria knew how much easier his life would be as an adame. His magic was so powerful and effortless that living in a wealthy home casting spells would be a luxurious life. One stable job, working with one stable family, offering his magic. He would no longer be accosted by the likes of Timin Grey, but instead have a patron with a vested interest in keeping Aria happy, fed, and off the streets.

But Elys be, Aria had never wanted to use his magic in such a way. Humans had used elves in this manner for centuries. He hoped to be different. He hoped his music would be different. It allowed him to cast magic under a guise; kept attention off his abilities.

His looks, however. Those would attract men of all types, at all times, and they weren’t looking for a spell. No, Timin wanted Aria to use him for something a little more simple.

Amata Pub, the pub he had contracted to work at independently as a singer, not only had a single bouncer, but the rules were more guidelines than proper instruction. Five years in, and Aria was fed up with drunkards behaving drunkenly. He'd gotten a proper magical education, and it was wasted on these nights. He sighed, loudly, as he was grabbed.

Timin Grey’s hands were warm and slippery with grease from his meal and sweat from the fire, and still Aria had a devil of a time extracting his wrist from Timin’s grasp. “Don’t be like that,” said Timin, words falling from him in a drunken rush. “I’ll keep that belly of yours full if you’d let me.” His eyes fell to Aria’s mouth, and he said, “In more ways than one.”

Aria said, “No,” and punctuated it with a simple, mild, bardic spell: lightning. The zap of it spasmed Timin’s hand, loosening his fingers, and Aria stepped back with a performative spin and a bow. “There. See? You got a spell from me for free. That should be consolation enough.”