Page 82 of Noble Charms

“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.

Aria stepped to the edge of the curtain. Outside, partygoers chitchatted, sipping their drinks, eating their food, awaiting their time to dance. He heard the clock strike ten—he was perfectly on time. He played a few notes on his lute, signaling the start of his set, and stepped through the curtain.

Polite applause greeted him as he sang, “O Say the Darkest Night of the Year, Winterend: Good Morrow to Men. Who would like to dance?”

The Director of Affairs at Cordelia Ballroom approached Aria at his final break and said, “Do you mean to cast all your spells during this final set? You’ve not done any magic at all so far.”

Aria peered up from where he’d sat on an ottoman behind the curtain. After an hour and a half of performing music and putting on a brave, unaffected face, Aria could feel himself cracking like near-broken glass again. “I will try.” He wasn’t sure he could. The flow of the arcane still remained absent from him. Performing spellwork for the last half-hour he was contracted to play seemed impossible.