12. A Countdown
A COUNTDOWN
NOBLE
The party was especially pointless while he had other, more important matters on his mind.
Noble barely registered his annoyance at meeting Duchess Eve Whitehead, his mother’s chosen pick for his next wife.
She was but a single leaf in the windstorm that was Aria within Noble’s heart.
She put up a concerted effort to win his favor, laughing uproariously as he said almost nothing, and placing her hand upon his arm to keep his attention.
But if asked, at swordpoint, to name the color of her dress, he would have no reply.
Instead, he wondered: what would he say to Aria? What exactly? Maybe if he found the exact correct combination of words, Aria would see him, and understand, and allow Noble to love him the way he wished.
And then Noble thought his mind had been lost, and he’d gone truly mad, because he saw Viscount Hampenstead across the room. He was seeing delusions now? He should probably retire for the night. He blinked a few times in shock, trying to clear the visage.
But then Hampenstead spoke to some people who returned his conversation, and Noble realized, no: he was here. Truly here.
Where was Aria?
Noble didn’t even bother saying goodbye to Eve as he pushed through the crowd to Hampenstead. He interrupted him mid-sentence as he said, “Hello. Is Aria with you?”
Hampenstead was startled enough to spill some champagne from the flute he carried. His green skin flushed some as he said, “No. I came alone. He needed to work on this night.”
Right—of course. Winterend would be a big night for bards. “I see.”
“It’s nice to see you again, Lord Yves,” said Hampenstead. The men he had been speaking with began to slink off, confused, but not willing to question one of the royal family hosting the event. “Are you well?”
Noble didn’t know how to answer. The correct reply—I’m quite fine, how are you?—slipped through him, lost in that Aria-focused storm. “I…"
Hampenstead hissed sympathetically and said, “He really did a number on you, didn’t he?”
Noble didn’t register the words and asked, out of instinct more than anything else, “Who?”
“Aria, of course. You look as if you’ve not slept a wink in your time apart. Did he say something terribly foul to you?” Hampenstead gestured towards a set of double doors that led to a balcony. A private space to talk. Noble followed him out.
“No. He did nothing wrong,” said Noble, once they were alone. “It’s not him. It’s me.”
Hampenstead drank his champagne, staring across the elaborate, snow-dusted grounds kept by King Agolde. A maze of thorns sparkled beneath the moonlight, leading the eye to a fountain long frozen over. “I know he made you feel that way, but you needn’t believe it, my lord.”
“What do you mean?”
Hampenstead turned his brown eyes back to Noble and he smiled sympathetically. “His feelings on working as an adame, for us titled men. He’s so hesitant over the craft. I’m sure he made you feel like a monster for not sharing in his sore feelings.”
Noble squinted at Hampenstead. They stood nearly eye to eye, with Noble perhaps an inch taller. He barely felt the cold wind that cut across the balcony—Hampenstead’s words were more like ice than the weather outside. “You…think he’s suited to be an adame.” He paused. “Your adame?”
“Well, if he’ll have me. I mean—I certainly don’t mean to step on your toes.
If you’d prefer to employ him, you may try.
He’s so reluctant over this, though.” Hampenstead said, infuriatingly sincere, “I set him straight. Or, well, I tried. I explained his role among our ilk. He’s no title, after all. ”
Noble could recognize the anger deep in his gut, but it was muffled by a sense of awe. He’d the wrong impression of Hampenstead. He didn’t care for Aria the way Aria deserved. “You said this to him?”
Hampenstead chuckled, “I did. I gave him a contract. It expires tonight—I’m hoping he’ll sign before midnight. My aunt had an adame when I was growing up. It’s such an admirable role. One he’s worthy to take.”
“I’m terribly sorry, Viscount Hampenstead,” said Noble. His heart thundered between his ears, an anger building that he recognized from the time Virginia and Kip invaded his home. “Aria didn’t tell you no?”
“He’s considering the option.” Hampenstead peered at Noble, recognizing Noble’s tension for the first time. “Are you alright? My apologies. This is rather an uncomfortable conversation, isn’t it? Have I misunderstood? I’ll step back if you want to hire him yourself.”
“I don’t want him as an adame,” Noble choked out, trying to control the rage that pushed through him, building like a fire upon kindling.
“I imagine not. Not after he used you like he did for sex.”
“He did not use me,” said Noble, voice taking on the edge that he felt.
He snatched Hampenstead by the lapels, suddenly and with enough force for him to lose his grasp on the champagne flute.
It tumbled off the edge of the balcony and shattered on the gravel one story below.
“You told him he was only good enough to be an adame?”
Hampenstead’s skin grew pale. “Unhand me.”
“Noble?” A voice came from the balcony doors. His mother. Noble turned to see her peering out, her black eyes narrowed, her blonde hair coiffed high atop her head. “For Elys’ sake, release the viscount.”
Noble did so, shoving himself away from Hampenstead by an entire meter. The windstorm within his heart picked up speed, roaring now. “I have to get back to New Hieroph.”
“I beg your pardon?” He stormed past his mother. She gasped at his lack of grace, and followed his stride across the ballroom floor. “Noble. Noble Yves, what are you doing?”
“If I leave now, I can get there before midnight,” said Noble. “I’m taking a horse.”
“You are doing no such thing.”
He stopped at the exit, surrounded by the security hired by his family, his mother hovering at his back. “I have to.”
“You’re expected here,” she hissed. “I told everyone.”
It was time to practice, for the second time, disappointing his mom. He turned to face her, gave her a grin, and said, “Then you can tell everyone that I’ve left to be with the man I love.”
Hampenstead and his mother gasped in unison, and a murmur filtered over the crowd at the party, but Noble didn’t stay to hear anything they said. He had to go make sure Aria did not sign that contract.
Riding across the countryside in the dark was not the safest choice.
Noble didn’t have Morgan as an aid like when he’d chased Virginia months ago.
He’d only himself, and the speckled mare, and a drive to find Aria.
But he meant what he said: he’d fight the gods, or anyone, that tried to stop him now.
He’d left Aria for two weeks. It may as well have been a lifetime. He couldn’t wait a minute longer than necessary to say what he had to say. After Hampenstead’s lies, Aria needed to know the truth.
His heart raced as he spurred the horse on, faster, cutting through the snowy road, racing towards the lights of New Hieroph City.
What if he was too late?
ARIA
Magic came innately to elves, and especially to Aria.
It flowed through him at all times—brimming within, like a tangible thing.
It’s what made him a great adame. The first time he made love to Ellor, Ellor said it was like he was fucking the source of all magic itself, because the natural buzz of the arcane pulsed permanently beneath Aria’s skin.
And for the first time in his life, at Winterend, Aria couldn’t feel it within.
He’d suffocated the voice in his soul, silencing it beneath the weight of his choice, and somehow—for some reason—it’d suffocated his magic, too.
He stared at himself in a gilded mirror, behind the thick red curtain on the stage of the Cordelia Ballroom.
His hair and skin seemed less vibrant than he was used to, but perhaps that was the light.
Even his eyes, typically sky-blue, seemed closer to gray.
And though the enormous wood-paneled ballroom had sparkling white marble floors and dozens of gold accents along the windows, doors, and ceilings, and had an awe-inspiring number of candles that floated midair for the celebration, the light couldn’t quite reach Aria the way he was used to.
Hampenstead had cracked his will, and he teetered closer to an end. The contract sat upon the vanity where Aria got ready for his performance.
He decided: if this performance went poorly, he’d sign it. He’d attach himself to Hampenstead. He’d start a new life and leave New Hieroph behind.
He’d ruined his friendship with Noble with his stupid desire for love, too. Everything in his life was beyond repair.
It was no surprise his magic had gone.
“Beautiful boy?” whispered Romy from the other side of the backstage space.
Her eyes landed on him, and she trotted over, smiling.
Her long, low-cut gown was dripping in purple stones, making her dewy gold skin sparkle with each step.
“Are you ready for the big night? Your first time performing in an age, it feels like. Are you excited?”
Aria stared at her through the mirror, masking the emptiness within through a well-trained grin. “This is what I’ve been trained to do.”
“You heard the Bella Bard Guildmaster’s in attendance, right?”
He nodded. “I was told by the Director of Affairs, yes.”
She grinned, excited in a way he couldn’t replicate.
“See. This is the sign you were looking for—a sign that you’re doing what you meant to do.
You’re the best bard I know.” She came up to squeeze his shoulders in a hug.
“You’ll impress everyone, I’ve no doubt.
” She kissed his temple. “I’ll see you when you’re done, alright?
Come find me on the dance floor. Morg and I are going to keep at it ‘til the sun comes up.”
Aria chuckled without joy. “Alright.”
Romy left, and Aria pulled his simple wooden lute from its black case, and gazed at it beneath his fingers. He’d fooled Romy. He could fool the strangers outside, too.