Noire was exhausted as he kept heading toward Lady Elianne's estate. After an entire day of running messages around the city, only the briefest nap before the ball, followed by the ball and his time in the parlor with Gael ...
Being extremely busy was not unusual. Most people thought the hardest part of being the Voice was not sharing all the secrets to which he must be privy. Noire found most secrets were easy to keep—the only secret that agonized him was his love for Gael.
No, the hardest part of being the Voice was the physical demands. Running all day, going with little to no sleep, and often being so busy that even food fell by the wayside. When he was finally able to hold still for a little while, he relished it.
He would have given anything to be allowed to fall into bed and not wake up for a week. But he pushed on, spurred by the way Gael had asked him if he would choose Gael or Ailill. And Gael probably had not meant it that way, but it had hurt all the same. The same way it hurt that Gael stayed with his sisters. The same way it hurt that Gael refused to tell the world about them for Noire's safety.
What would it take for Gael to trust him?
It was well into the afternoon of the next day when he finally reached the halfway point, but Noire kept going, pushing until he began to stumble more than run. He finally made himself stop when he reached the woods and a stream where he often stopped when he had more time. He drank the water greedily, uncaring that anyone who saw him would sneer at him for acting too much like a beast. What was the point in having their Triad-given forms, their gifts from the gods who loved them though they were still Lost, if they did not use them fully? He liked being a cat as much as he liked being human.
Thirst slaked, he stumbled over to an enormous tree, settled beneath it, and almost immediately fell asleep.
When he woke a few hours later, it was late evening. The light slipping through the trees was almost entirely gone, the absence of sunlight causing the air to grow chilly. Noire yawned, went to the stream for more water, and then resumed his journey.
The hour was late when he reached his destination, the air chilly, the moon and stars hidden by clouds that promised rain. Noire shifted and knocked on the door, fighting an urge to lean against it and fall asleep.
When it opened, he stared in surprise at the man in front of him. He was definitely no servant—he wasn't even from Verde. The stranger was tall, broad, and big; he looked like a fighter, despite his fancy clothes and neatly trimmed, if ruffled, hair. He had dark brown hair and gray eyes. A fire child. What in the name of the Triad was a child of Pozhar doing at Lady Elianne's house?
"You must be Noire," the man said, the cadence of his words slightly off. Definitely Pozhar, but not quite like all the other Pozhar visitors in the palace. It was like listening to an educated commoner rather than a noble—close, but not quite there.
Shaking himself, Noire drew back his shoulders and said, "I do not recall you giving your name, though you feel free to use mine."
Familiar laughter drifted out the door before the man could answer, though an amused smirk curved his mouth. Ailill appeared beside him. "Noire? What brings you here so late? You look ready to fall over."
Noire swept him a bow, afraid that if he knelt he would not be able to get up again. "Your grace, I have come to recall you to the palace. The Triad bids you return with all possible haste."
Ailill's smile of greeting faded into a look of concern. "No further message?" he asked.
Guilt twisted Noire's gut, but he had his duty, and he would rather die than disappoint Gael. "No, your grace."
"Oh, stop with all the formality," Ailill said, then reached out and grabbed his wrist to pull Noire into the house. He closed the door and continued to pull him along into a sitting room.
He pushed Noire down onto a sofa, turning to the other man, "Vanya, have someone bring tea and real food."
Vanya nodded and slipped out of the room. Ailill sat down next to Noire. "You look exhausted."
"I was ordered to reach you quickly," Noire said with a shrug. "We must leave—"
"We'll leave when you're fit for traveling," Ailill said. "Nothing will be accomplished by rendering you too tired to continue performing your duties, Voice. Eat, drink, rest, and then we will be on our way."
Noire opened his mouth to protest, but the words turned into a yawn. Ignoring Ailill's laughter, he finally managed to say, "You need not wait on me to depart, your grace—"
"If you call me 'your grace' one more time, Noire, I am going to put you to sleep and refuse to leave until the day after tomorrow."
"I'm doing my job."
"We're friends. You can do your job without being so formal. This is not like you, Noire. What's wrong?"
Noire winced and dropped his gaze to look at his hands. "Nothing," he said. "It's been a long journey and I'm tired. But the matter is urgent—"
"And yet you can tell me nothing about it. I suspect this ties in to the matter I am investigating and the matter has taken a turn for the worse—to the point that the Triad trusts no one, not even their Beasts."
"I have given my message; I can say no more."
Ailill squeezed his shoulder. "I would not expect you to, Noire. I am sorry. I am only thinking aloud." He looked up as the door opened, and Vanya came in bearing a tray laden with tea and food that made Noire's stomach growl.
Noire obediently stood as Ailill tugged him up and led him to the table. "Noire Chevalier, meet Ivan Mikhailovich Kozlov, the Duke of Vaklov."
"Your grace," Noire said and bowed.
"A pleasure to meet you," Ivan replied. "Ailill speaks highly of you. It cannot be easy, doing your job. Being nobility has been difficult enough just the two years I have been doing it. Being the one caught in the middle ... well, I admire you for doing it."
Noire flushed under the praise, surprised to hear his duties described in such a way. He had never thought about it like that—caught in the middle—but it fit. "It's an honor to serve in such a role," he replied.
"Well, I admire you saying so when you look ready to drop. I did not exhaust myself to that extent unless I was being paid very well indeed."
Ailill laughed. "Oh, is that why you tolerated me, mercenary? Because I paid well?"
Ivan gave him a look that was unmistakable. A look that made Noire ache because Gael only looked at him that way when no one else could see it. "For you, there were additional perks, and you know it."
"I do approve of giving perks where they're earned."
"There is nothing I can say to that without losing those perks, and so I shall say nothing," Ivan said, making Ailill laugh.
He laughed harder at Noire's confused expression and explained, "I believe his grace just called me a slut."
"I think that's what they say about most faerie children," Noire said with a faint smile.
"I rest my case," Ivan said with an easy grin. "Eat, little cat. We will go get our belongings gathered so we can leave before you start lashing your tail again." They left before he could reply, leaving him scowling at the door.
Little cat? That just made him think of 'kitten'. It was something people seemed to love calling him, no matter how old he got. He had always loathed it, the way it affected how people treated him.
Until Gael had said it right before he had kissed him the first time. He made the word intimate, special. Certainly Gael did not treat him as if he was fragile, but gave him everything he asked for and more. In bed, anyway.
Noire poured tea and helped himself to a bowl of soup and a small loaf of crusty bread. He refused to believe that Ailill was a murderer. Was he letting an old friendship sway him? Well, obviously he was—but he did not think he was wrong. Ailill would never kill other people for his own ends.
He didn't think Gael believed it either. He just wished he could help more, say something—just comfort Gael. But he couldn't, not until they managed to be safely alone. All because Gael refused to trust Noire with his own life. He could take care of himself, and they would stand stronger together and open than as a secret.
His eyes blurred, and he angrily scrubbed at them. He was tired, that was the only reason he was being so stupid. He had kept the secret for three years; he could manage for the two and a half months remaining.
"Noire, what's wrong?"
Jerking and dropping his teacup, Noire reared back—and froze, relaxed and feeling stupid as he stared at Ailill and Ivan. "Nothing. I'm fine. I'm tired. Are we ready to depart?"
"No," Ailill said firmly, shoving his satchel at Ivan and striding up to Noire, grabbing him firmly by the shoulders and giving him a gentle shake. "Noire, what's wrong?"
"I cannot discuss it," Noire said. "For all intents and purposes I am fine. Please," he added in a whisper.
Ailill made a rough, frustrated noise, but after squeezing his shoulders in reassurance, let him go. "Fine, but if you need someone to talk to, about anything, please come see me. I want to help, and I will take your secrets to my grave, I swear."
"It's not—thank you," Noire said. "We should be going."
"We're going, we're going," Ivan said lightly and handed Ailill's bag back to him.
Noire followed them outside, but stopped on the stairs with a frown. "A carriage?"
"Get in," Ailill said. "We will make it there as quickly as possible, I promise. But I am not leaving Vanya behind. If it were truly necessary for me to return within the hour, Freddie would have fetched me herself. If I am correct in my assumption that another Beast has fallen, arriving tomorrow night is sufficient. Now get in the carriage, or I will strap you to the top."
Scowling, Noire nevertheless obeyed. He hoped Gael would not be angry that it had taken him so long to fetch Ailill. "I'm going, I'm going," he groused as Ailill all but stuffed him into the carriage. He settled into one of the seats, staring at Ivan and Ailill together on the opposite and fighting an urge to go to sleep as the carriage started moving. "So how do you come to visit Verde, your grace? If you do not mind my asking."
"Renewing an acquaintance," Ivan said, twining his hand with Ailill's. Envy coiled in Noire's chest, making it ache. He turned away to stare out the carriage window.
"How was the royal ball?" Ailill asked when the silence had stretched on.
Noire's breath hitched as thinking of the ball flooded his mind with images of Gael dancing with him, sneaking him away. That brief moment in the kissing nook, then being bent over the sofa and fucked hard, the way Gael had listened to him, apologized—
"It was fine," he said, shoving the memories back and ignoring the sting of his eyes. "A ball is a ball. They do not change so much."
"Spoken like a jade of the court," Ailill said with a laugh. "Here I am a duke, and I will be overwhelmed by it all."
Ivan snorted, and Ailill jerked, not quite yelping, as Ivan pinched him. Noire could not endure another moment of their flirting, the easy, open way they were allowed to love each other. Closing his eyes, he let sleep finally have him.
He woke up with a start, groaning when someone continued to roughly shake him. "Noire, we're stopping for a bit," Ailill said. "Are you all right?"
"Stop asking me that," Noire said. "I'm fine."
"Stop lying, and I'll stop asking," Ailill retorted. "Come on, we're going to stop to eat and stretch our legs, and we'll be back on the road in a couple of hours."
Noire nodded, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "I will follow shortly, just give me a moment to wake up so I do not stumble around like a simpleton."
Chuckling, Ailill patted his thigh and then left him in peace. Noire sighed, raked a hand through his hair, and thought longingly of his bed. He yawned again, then heaved himself out of the carriage. Ignoring the traveler's post itself for the moment, he went over to the washrooms tucked back into a copse of trees several paces away.
After he'd relieved himself, he finally headed into the post itself to find Ailill and Ivan. When he stepped inside the dining hall, however, it was empty save for a handful of people. Where were Ailill and Ivan?
He shrugged it off; there were only so many places they could have gone, and they would not leave without him. Given the way they had been flirting, he had a sneaking suspicion what they had slipped away to do.
While they had fun, he was more than willing to eat without them. Sitting down at a table near the door, he slumped groggily while he waited for someone to serve him.
The room was hot, and Noire was too tired to feel like retaining his jacket. Unbuttoning it, he handed it to the man who came up with a pitcher of wine and a cup. "Just a fruit tray will be fine, thank you," Noire said with a smile, and handed off two coins. The man slipped away to hang up his jacket and fetch the requested food, leaving Noire relatively alone once more.
He poured wine and sipped it while he waited for Ailill and Ivan to reappear. Really, where had they gone? Well, whatever. He let his mind drift, from the worrisome problem of the poisoned Beasts to dancing with Gael to kissing him to the way he'd apologized and then back to the Beasts and the looming ceremony.
Raucous laughter drew him from his thoughts, and he looked up in time to accidentally meet the gaze of a tall, extremely slender man with a sharp, pointed face and mean eyes. The three men with him looked no better. Noire smiled politely, but with a sinking heart recognized the cold look that fell over all their faces.
"It's a dirty faerie," the man with the pointed face said.
Noire flushed at the insult, but remained stubbornly silent. He loathed getting into fights. Appearance was the dumbest possible reason to engage in violence. But clearly the men did not share his opinion, taking his silence as encouragement and raining down further insults as they crowded around his table.
Still, he put up with it, drinking his wine and smiling stiffly and otherwise not looking at them—until one grabbed his hair and yanked his head back. "Pay attention, you half-dead whore," the man with the sharp face and eyes the color of green algae said.
"I'm neither half dead nor a whore," Noire said. "You have no idea who I am, and if you let me go now, I will not press the matter. But if you do not unhand me, I promise you will regret it."
In reply, the man just pulled him out of his seat by his hair and then threw him to the ground.
That was enough for Noire. He shifted as he fell, landing smoothly on his feet and roaring in fury as he rammed his full body weight into the nearest two. Roaring again, he rounded on another, swiping his claws down the bastard's chest—enough to draw blood, but not do any real lasting damage.
Something heavy hit him, landed on him, and rolled them across the room, knocking into tables and chairs. He heard other people scream and start running, heard somebody roar for them to stop—and then that voice was abruptly cut off.
Noire yowled, threw off the weight pinning him down, snapped around, and slashed his claws across the face of the lion that had attacked him. He roared again, rounded on the two wolves coming toward him, pounced to strike—and then they all stopped as Ailill appeared in the doorway and unleashed the full power of a White Beast.
They dropped to the floor, immediately submissive and compelled not to move. "What in the name of the Three is going on here?" Ailill demanded. "Shift, all of you."
Obediently shifting, they went to circle around Ailill as he beckoned them. Reaching out, Ailill grabbed Noire's wrist and separated him from the rest of the group. "Tell me what happened."
"I was drinking wine when they came in," Noire said. "They saw me and starting casting slurs. I ignored them. Then they grabbed me, threw me to the floor, and I decided I was tolerating nothing further."
The man with the pointed face, the lion who had nearly gotten the better of him, sneered and said, "Your grace, he's as filthy as you are pure. Look at him! He belongs more to those corpse-lovers than—"
"That is enough," Ailill thundered. "Do you not know whom it is you have assaulted?" Confusion filled the men's faces, along with a slowly growing dismay. "You have attacked none other than the Royal Voice of the Triad," Ailill said. "For that, you will be imprisoned until I have time to deal with you. Hope that by then, I have decided to be merciful. Until someone can be sent to arrest you and take you back to the city, you will be bound and locked up."
The men fell silent, torn between genuine fear at what would happen to them and rage that they were in trouble because of someone who had only gotten what he deserved—someone in a position of which he was not worthy.
Noire ignored them and simply turned and strode outside. There, he drew in deep breaths of fresh air, faintly sweetened by the white flowers growing in a field across the road. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying not to think, trying not to feel, trying not to do anything but just be. Everything else just hurt too much. He wanted Gael.
"Noire ..." Ailill touched his shoulder, but Noire jerked away.
"I'm fine, please," Noire said.
"I cannot even begin to tell you how sick I am of those words," Ailill said and took his arm, turning him around and then, to Noire's astonishment, hugging him tightly. "What's wrong, Noire? Please, tell me."
Noire pushed him gently away, shaking his head. "I can't. I wish—I wish that I could, but I can't. I made a vow and I intend to keep it."
"There is no point in keeping a vow that is slowly killing you."
"That's not true," Noire said softly. "Every day the Triad pushes on knowing that all their efforts could be for naught. Is not waiting for death the way they must the same as slowly dying? They cannot truly live, not when they live like that. Yet they smile and rule and serve with never a single word of complaint."
If Gael and Freddie and Etain could do that, then he could survive for two and a half more months. Feeling sorry for himself would accomplish nothing, and by the Oak, he would remember that.
Looking up, he smiled more genuinely. "If the Triad can face all that lies before them bravely, so can I. And speaking of the Triad, we are due in the palace. Enough dawdling, your grace. You have been ordered to return home with all haste. Do so."
"Yes, Voice," Ailill said, and he smiled as he led the way back to the carriage.