2. A Bardic Gift
A BARDIC GIFT
ARIA
Aria jumped back as Noble manifested right in front of him in the hallway of their inn. “Elys. You scared me.”
“Sorry,” said Noble, not looking sorry at all. His grin had a wolfish quality this evening, glinting in the darkness that settled into the corridor now that the sun had set. “Shall we?”
Aria straightened his taupe tunic robe. Not a bardic robe in design, but more casual, with silver threads that made an angular design along the hem, and cut shorter, revealing his legs from the thigh down. He narrowed his eyes at Noble, wary, and said, “What are you so happy about?”
“Nothing. Excited for dinner.”
Aria had learned many things about Noble against his will, and one of them was that he ate more than the average man.
He should probably be far less trim considering the amount of food he had daily, but perhaps his running at a higher temperature made it stick less to his bones.
Aria gestured down the hall and said, “Then, let’s eat. ”
Noble fell into step beside him as they descended the stairs. “Is your room to your liking?”
Aria knew Noble was up to something, but he couldn’t be sure what. “It’s quite fine. How is yours?”
“Nice.” He paused. “Actually, it’s only alright. Fairly dusty. I had to relocate a spider outside. He’d made a residence in the corner.”
“You could have left him,” said Aria. “The spider was there first.”
“He was the size of my fist.”
Aria blinked wide, startled eyes up at Noble, at his side. “Truly?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you kill it?”
“He did nothing wrong,” said Noble. “Besides, spiders keep other pests at bay.” He paused and said, “I also have a healthy fear of the Spider Court Elves.”
Aria snorted and said, “That’s but a title. They don’t truly have dominion over spiders; none of their ilk would know if you smashed one here in Allbright Kingdom.”
Noble said, “No, but my family hosted their prince and his retinue, once. I was ten, if I recall. And he was…” He frowned in thought. A slow smile climbed back upon his face. “He left an impression. I’d like to meet with him again one day.”
“You didn’t like him?” Aria truly couldn’t tell, watching Noble’s face.
Noble shrugged. “I didn’t in my youth. But now? I think I understand him more. He, like me, isn’t one for stuffy tradition.”
“I know little of that court. They’re in the Northern Isles?
” Aria conjured a map within his mind. At the farthest northern point of Allbright, several mountainous islands sat in a cluster, filled with enormous evergreen trees and cliffs that dropped straight into the black of the ocean.
Aria could almost see it—it sat silvered, misty in his memory—though he’d only ever read about the place.
“Quite right; they share a kingdom with the orc dynasty. You’re well-acquainted with the nobility after all.” Noble patted Aria once on the shoulder, hard enough that Aria stumbled, and Noble grabbed his arm and said, “Apologies.”
“Quite fine.” Aria straightened his robes.
“I know a little bit of everything from schooling.” He’d always had a good imagination, too.
The Spider Court was particularly interesting as their branch of elfdom had dwindled down over the last two centuries.
The prince Noble mentioned was the final remaining heir of the monarchy, born at around the same time as Aria.
“He was quite young, then. This prince?”
“We were the same age,” Noble said. “I thought we’d be fast friends.” He paused. “He was not impressed by me.”
Aria’s smile escaped his control. “Then I’ve even more respect for him than before.”
Noble rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes. He’s the reason I don’t kill spiders anymore. He claimed he could speak with them. I still know not if he said so in jest.”
Aria hummed and said, “I understand. I’d probably spare spiders in your position, too.”
“See.”
“How did you get the spider outside without harming him?”
“I ushered him into a shoe. And put the shoe out near the stables. It’s still there. I’ll fetch it in the morning.”
Aria blinked, nearly at a loss for words. “You sacrificed a shoe?”
Noble huffed and said, “I did what I had to do.”
Aria, smiling, entered aside Noble into the dining area. “I suppose you did.” He glanced down at Noble’s feet, clad in black velvet loafers.
“I obviously wouldn’t wear one shoe,” said Noble. “I’ve got my backup pair.”
“You’ve done odd things before,” Aria mumbled. “It wouldn’t be—"
“Hello.” A voice interrupted, and a slight but muscular form swept before them both. Aria blinked at the linen-clad stranger. “Yves. Good to see you again.”
“Rebel!” Noble said, reaching out to pat a hand upon the man’s arm with some amount of familiarity. “Hello, old friend.”
Rebel was an elf—handsome, but perhaps a bit plain—with long black hair that signaled his lack of attachment.
More surprising than that, however: “You know each other?” All the way out here?
Why would Noble know someone so far from New Hieroph?
And the stranger called him Yves, so they weren’t actually friends.
Aria’s suspicions grew deeper.
“Yes,” said Noble. He grinned and said, “Let me introduce you. Aria, this is Rebel. Rebel, Aria.”
Aria held out a loosely fisted hand, and Rebel did the same. They tapped the back of their hands together in a brief, glancing touch, the way elves often did as a greeting. “Well met.”
“Well met indeed,” said Rebel. His eyes fell down Aria’s body, blatant. A kinsme, then. Aria was familiar with that look—with the silent exchange. Rebel’s smile remained perfectly polite, despite his leering. “Would you care to dine together?”
Aria chose the politest response, looking at Noble for confirmation. “We would be amenable to a third person at our table, I believe.”
Noble gave him an odd, unreadable look. “You two can dine. I’ll fetch my own meal.”
Aria, still not yet catching onto the scheme, said, “Why would you do that?”
Rebel squinted at Noble. Noble seemed to ignore him, and said, “You two can chat. You know. Alone.”
“We can chat with you at our side,” said Aria, baffled. He thought perhaps this was, once again, Noble’s failure at common courtesy. Why else would he abandon his friend at dinner? Aria pointed to a table with four chairs. “Let us sit.”
Rebel said nothing, but he and Noble silently exchanged a look. Some sort of unspoken conversation happened there, visibly tense, but Aria could not yet translate.
No, it’d be many hours before he understood what the two men had meant to do.
At their chosen table, Noble sat across from Aria and Rebel, the spindly, rustic dining chairs creaking.
The innkeeper came out of the kitchen in a flurry of energy, with flagons of ale and three bowls of an onion stew balanced on her forearms. She deposited them, one after another, with impressive grace, and harried urgency.
Before anyone said a word, she offered, “Chicken’s on for tonight. Carrots and potatoes on the side.”
“Great,” said Noble.
“Just the vegetables for me,” said Aria, “If you can.” The innkeeper nodded before taking off again, towards the swinging door that led to the kitchen.
“Proper elf you are,” said Rebel, sounding impressed. “Vegetarian, even grown.”
The children of elves were often fed no meat.
Aria had branched out as an adult in Argosin—sampling chicken, beef, and pork specifically—and still preferred meals of vegetables instead.
“It’s easier on the system, you know.” He’d actually never been as sick as the time he ate improperly prepared beef and rice.
It was as if the War Gods waged battle within his bowels.
“I do know. Can’t say I’m good at resisting a good roast chicken, though.” Rebel said, “Yves told me you’re a bard?”
Aria blinked a few times and said, “When did he tell you such a thing?”
“When you arrived.”
The feeling returned to Aria: Noble was up to something.
He gave him a skeptical glare—to which Noble chuckled and said, “Don’t worry.
I didn’t tell him anything you wouldn’t want him to know.
” The rumbling of the storm outside grew loud, and one of the inn staffers scrambled to lock all the shutters.
Aria felt certain that was a lie. “I am indeed a bard.”
“Will you bless our ale?” Rebel lifted his flagon and winked. A flash of lightning blinked through the dining room just before the final window was closed tight. The pattering of rain filled the space.
Aria hesitated but lifted his as well. When Noble joined them, Aria sang, the spell winding through him as a warmth that started deep in his chest and emanated out. “Sweet is the hop grown on a vine. Bolder is an ale over a wine. Cheers.”
They collided their cups—clang—and a golden light briefly filled the air around their table. When it dissipated into sparks drifting around each flagon, Noble said, “Whoa. Why haven’t you been doing that before now?”
Aria took a sip and nodded in satisfaction.
It tasted sweet and pure, with all its imperfections dulled and all the hops pronounced.
He exhaled and said, “You’ve not yet asked me to, My Lord.
” He paused. “But I have, actually. Most of our meals have been blessed with weaker magic.” A hum was not as strong as a song.
“My Lord?” Rebel questioned, only to be dismissed by Noble with a laugh. Aria’s brows pinched, concerned, but—
“I didn’t know you could even do such a thing.” Noble reverted his focus to the cup, took a deep drink, and said, “By Elys. That’s damn good.”
Rebel drank and hummed, agreeing, wiping foam from his upper lip. “Well done, Aria.”
Aria felt his face flush, distracted by their praise, and said, “Happy to oblige.”
When the innkeeper came out with another table’s order, Noble waved her over and said, “Another round of ale, please.” And then he gestured to Aria. “You can do it again, right?”
Aria tried not to squirm under the scrutiny. “Yes. I can perform such a thing a dozen times.”