Page 35 of Noble Charms

Even Ellor never learned the truth about Aria’s magic. He’d spent five years at Aria’s side and had never aged a day, because Aria’s love was so suffused with magic that it allowed him an unbelievable vigor. All adame provided their patron with longer life, but very few were so strong that their patron would never show as much as a single wrinkle in their time together. Aria, himself, seemed to age slowly—even as an elf expected to live to a thousand years old.

Would Ellor have acted differently if he’d known how deeply powerful Aria was? Perhaps. But Aria didn’t want to be loved for this gift-curse. He wanted to be loved for himself.

What a childish idea.

“Hey.” Romy placed a hand on his arm. “Beautiful boy, you needn’t worry. I’m not afraid of you, or what you can do. I already knew you’re one of the most powerful elves I’ve ever met. I suppose I didn’t know how powerful.”

“I’m normal in every other way,” said Aria, words whispered, skin buzzing. “I swear it.”

Romy’s hand tightened on him, gentle and grounding. “I know you are. There’s nothing wrong with being adept with magic. By Elys, we’re in peace times. Your gifts are for you to use as you see fit. And they’re amazing.”

“They’re terrifying to those who don’t know any better,” said Aria. “And they’re coveted by those who would want to use me for their own gain.”

“Like Ellor did. Like a king might, if he needed a warrior.”

Aria felt his face flush. “Like Ellor did, yes. Like all that want an adame would. This is why—” his voice caught. His fear changed within him to something closer to shame. “I never wanted to be an adame. My gifts are mine. And this is why I’m fine about the loss of Ellor. I can’t be exploited now.” Aria sniffed primly. “But I’ve also lost my position at the guild. What does it mean that losing my job has made me more upset than losing my love?” Without his role as Ellor’s adame, Aria was going to be destitute. And without the bardic guild, he had truly come professionally unmoored.

“It means we have to get you some new gigs, and soon.”

“I’ve no idea how.” He had been blacklisted as a bard, at least temporarily, from every high-end establishment in all of New Hieroph. The line moved up again. Aria watched someone exit the store, grinning, their newly signed book raised high. A new read would offer a distraction from his predicament. Though it would also add to it: he really didn’t have funds to waste on a novel. “I should probably think seriously about moving back to Argosin.” No, cried his soul. Here. So close.

Romy wagged a finger in his face. “Absolutely not. You will not let that prick win.” Her small face went dark, pinched in her determination.

“You’re cute when you’re mad,” said Aria. “I appreciate your support, but I’ve got to consider it seriously. What options are there for me?”

“Start small. There’s a festival in the Lantern District this weekend. Go busk.”

Aria hated busking—it was how he made ends meet when he first moved to New Hieroph, and he knew firsthand the fickle nature of the weather and pedestrians. “I suppose that’s my only choice. I need to move quickly.” He’d moved into temporary housing—a hotel-type establishment, owned by a kindly orcish woman. He owed her rent in two days.

“I’ll give you the money to stay afloat for now. While you build up your regular gigs.”

“I have money to stay afloat,” said Aria. And it was true. It was not a lot, but he’d built a small savings that would last him a few weeks yet. And he still had his things—because, despite everything, Ellor had let Aria into the townhome to retrieve all that belonged to him. He'd even vanished deep into the house so that he and Aria wouldn't have to speak while two human movers hauled everything out. “Your money is yours. You earned it fair and square.”

“Which means it’s mine to spend as I like. At least let me buy you this book.”

Aria chuckled and said, “I can afford a book, Romy.” Sort of.

The Arbor Bookshop had opened a few weeks earlier, in a space that used to make candied fruits, which meant it smelled like books and sugar. It was the city’s new favorite shop, and the city’s favorite author—V. Rose—had written a thrilling tale, The Bard Bride. The critics called it soulful and a must-read. She’d signed copies for Arbor, and the shop put together this afternoon soiree to celebrate.

The line moved up, and Aria and Romy approached the doorman, who gave them a once-over. At Aria, he raised a brow, and consulted a bound document he had in hand.

Aria’s heart turned to ice. Obviously he was uninvited as a bard from most establishments, but surely he could patronize a book store⁠—

The doorman, a half-orc with soulful brown eyes, shook his head once. No.

Romy gasped in offense. “I beg your pardon⁠—"

“Sorry. You’re him, right? The elf that attacked that duke. The Abantes are sponsors of the shop. I was given your portrait here.” The doorman tilted his document to display an illustration of Aria—like he’d appear on a Rosint-damned wanted poster. “Look, if you go, I won’t say a thing to anyone.”

“I just wanted a book,” said Aria, voice trembling.

The doorman winced. Looked at Romy. “You can head in, if you want. Though it’s one book per customer, so…"

Romy's hand tightened on Aria’s arm, and she hissed, “Forget it.”

Aria placed his hand upon hers. “Go. I’ll wait at the corner.”

“I’m not going in there without you,” she said. “We’ll go to a different shop. A better one.”