Page 2 of Noble Charms

Noble’s initial thought was how he wouldn’t like for the gods to suddenly appear in his mind. His second thought was, “Why don’t they talk to us now?”

“We don’t know.”

Noble stood off the pew. His heart raced as his mind caught up with all he knew, and all he learned just now, and he said, “Are we not going to be able to talk to Grandfather? We won’t be able to speak with him ever?”

“I don’t know.” His dad’s eyes still brimmed with tears, but he offered a smile nonetheless. He stood and pulled Noble close. “No one really knows.”

A sudden, overwhelming flood drowned Noble in fear. “But I didn’t say goodbye to him. I was going to tell him about—” and he struggled to speak. Instead, a sob broke from him, louder than the countess at her peak. “I was going to tell him about the sword I liked. And the falling star I saw, and⁠—"

If the gods were silent, and Rosint was no longer a deliverer of messages to the dead, Noble wouldn’t be able to say all the things he wanted to say. All at once, he understood: death meant his grandfather was gone. Forever. His heart broke and he wailed.

Dad crouched down and pulled Noble into a hug, but it did little to soften his cries. Noble wept loudly, openly, into his father’s nice dress shirt, against the thick red fabric of his jacket. His dad picked him up, eventually, and said, “Shh.”

Noble’s mom, having been coordinating the funeral from the wings, came springing over. “What did you do?”

Noble’s dad chuckled, and that rumble against Noble’s chest soothed the heartache. “I just answered some questions, that’s all.”

“He’s making a scene, Emeric.”

His dad soothed a hand down his back. “What would you have me do?”

Noble’s Aunt Prittey manifested before them. She pulled her black veil over her head, revealing her familiar, angular face, and her cheeks were dry of any tears. Noble sniffled and hiccupped and squeezed more tightly to his father, suspicious of her approach.

She said, “I’ll take him to the library. We can meet you at supper after. How about that?”

“No!” Noble cried.

His mother gasped, her face pale with horror. “Yves St. Clair, you lower your tone right now.”

Noble knew there was nothing he could do against his mother’s word. He shrank back from her and his father chuckled again. Like before, it soothed him—and his panic ebbed away.

“Here. Go with Prittey. You love your Aunt Prittey, don’t you? You said she has the best house in the whole entire family, remember?” said his father.

Noble sniffled and bit back another scream of no, because he knew his mother would scold him again. Instead, he went into Prittey’s arms, and found himself whisked quickly away.

Prittey, like all the royal family, had Sun God strength, and carried Noble easily through one of the back doors, down a corridor, and into a library, as discussed.

Prittey placed Noble upon one enormous leather ottoman and crouched down. She grinned, teeth bright and white. Her big brown eyes looked like Noble’s dad’s. Her smile did, too. She stroked some hair from his face and said, “You’re okay, Yvie. You feeling any better?”

Noble sniffed. Wiped his face with a sleeve. Shook his head no.

“Don’t let your mom catch you getting snot and tears all over that nice wool. Here.” Prittey pulled out a clean handkerchief and gave it to Noble to use.

Noble had too many thoughts, and his stomach hurt, and his heart hurt, and the first thing to escape his mouth was, “Are the gods dead?”

Prittey laughed at him, and when Noble started to cry anew, she said, “No, no. Sorry, sweetheart. It’s okay. I don’t think they’re dead. They’re just silent. They’re somewhere else. Doing something else.”

“Sometimes—” Noble swallowed, catching his breath, and wiped at his face again. “Dad said sometimes they visit us. Sometimes they come to the castle, even. Maybe they’re here?”

“Yeah, mayb⁠—"

The door to the library opened, and the elf priest, Rosint’s priest, stepped inside, carrying a pile of books. He made it only two steps before his eyes fell on Noble and Prittey, and he gasped. “Elys above. I apologize. I didn’t realize someone would be in here. Please forgive me, Princess.”

“Please—I’m hardly a princess these days, am I?”

Noble tilted his head in confusion, because Prittey wasn’t ever called Princess Prittey. But then he wondered, “If my dad is a prince, then you are a princess. But no one calls you that.”

Prittey booped Noble’s nose with one finger. “Smart little boy.”