A faint musical chiming floats in and out of Aster’s consciousness, like a thousand tiny bells ringing in the wind. 

Slowly, she blinks her eyes open.

A hundred windchimes hang from the ceiling above her, dripping glass and teardrops and ornamental beads. Carved wooden tokens dangle amongst spiralling seashells and crystalline fixtures, while paper tags flutter from their glass jars. A string of bottlecaps clatter against a fixture of metal constellations, as feathers of jet black and tawny and snow-white flap in the remnants of a past breeze.

Aster knows this ceiling. 

It’s Damien’s room. 

Why is she in Damien’s room?

A sharp spike of pain lances through her skull, making her wince. “Ow,” she mutters, as the back of her head throbs with a pulsing ache.  

What in Hale happened to her?

“Oh good. You’re awake.”

Aster’s eyes snap to the side, where a boy is seated beside the bed. He regards her almost warily, irises so pale they’re more akin to chips of ice. 

“Thank Hale,” he mutters to himself, scrubbing a hand through his cropped blonde hair. “Nox would’ve ripped me a new one if you didn’t wake up.”

“Nox?” Aster rises to sit up. “You mean Damien Nox? Do you know him?”

The boy scoffs. “Who in this palace doesn’t know him?” 

Aster frowns. Before she can speak again, the boy beats her to it. 

“I’ve never had to deal with, er, ladies of nobility before, so I don’t really know what to call you,” he admits. “Are you fine with me calling you miss?”

Miss. That takes her back; it’s what the stablehands at the estate used to call her while she was growing up. 

Aster nods. “Yeah, miss is fine.” 

The boy nods to himself. “Alright then. Miss, I think you’re going to need this.”

He reaches down to grab something in a bucket by his foot, before holding it out to her. Something wrapped in cloth. When Aster takes it from him, she finds that it’s cold to the touch. 

“We weren’t quite sure of how to ice your injury while you were lying down.” The boy gestures towards the back of his head vaguely. “But it should help somewhat.”

Gingerly, Aster presses the pack onto the back of her skull. She hisses at the initial contact, before the ice works its magic and begins to numb the pain. 

“Thanks,” she says with relief. “Uh-”

“Gerard,” the boy says. “The name’s Gerard.”

“Well, then thanks for the ice, Gerard.” 

“You’re welcome.”

Something about this whole situation feels… strange. Not just her splitting skull, or the fact that she can’t remember how she ended up here. Something feels off about Damien’s room. 

But what?

It looks the same as always. The same star shower of windchimes hanging from the ceiling, the same ominously smudged notebook lying on his desk, the same collection of dried flower wreaths stacked meticulously on the shelf. The same sight Aster’s grown used to seeing, every time she pops by the magic tower to visit. 

And then it hits her.

Oh, she thinks to herself. That’s what’s off. 

All the noise.

The click clack of wooden tiles knocking against each other. The silvery chime of metal as the breeze winds its way through the strings. Every time Aster’s visited, Damien’s room had always been quiet, every windchime and ornament hung in utter stillness. 

Practice, Damien calls it. Creepy, dubs Han. The ability to manipulate the air around every hanging string and hollow shell subconsciously, the second Damien steps into his room. 

But now, without their owner there to manipulate their breath, the windchimes play freely, filling the room with their song. 

“Do you remember what happened, miss?”

Aster tears her gaze away from the windchimes. “Sorry, come again?”

“Do you remember what happened?” The boy repeats. “Before you passed out?”

“I passed out?”

“We found you in the east gardens near the magic tower. Can you remember how you ended up there?”

“Well-“ Aster racks her brain for an explanation. “I… got lost.”

“Lost?”

Well technically she did get lost. Within the maze that is. 

“Oh you know, the palace is just so huge.” She shrugs helplessly as Gerard narrows his eyes at her. “As for how I ended up passing out…” She tries to piece together what happened after she escaped from the maze, only to come up with a blank. “I… can’t remember.”

Gerard frowns. “Hm.” 

Aster swings her legs over the side of the bed to face him. “So… you and Damien brought me here after you found me passed out in the gardens?”

“That’s right, miss.”

“So where’s Damien now?”

“He’s-“

The door flies open with a bang. 

“Gerry, how is she?” 

The second Damien’s eyes land on her, he’s at her side in an instant, shoving Gerard aside so he can kneel by the bed. 

“How are you feeling? Are you okay? Are you in pain?”

Aster watches him fret over her, managing to feel both comforted and overwhelmed at the same time. “Feels like I just got knocked out,” she says, only half-joking.

“Huh. Funny you should say that.” He casts Gerard a sideways glance.

Gerard shakes his head dismally. “That sounds awful, miss.”

Damien’s eyes narrow. “You ass. She doesn’t know, does she?”

“Is that her treatment, Nox?” Gerard juts his chin towards the bowl that Damien’s clutching. In it is a goopy mixture of herbs, the scent wafting from it making Aster’s nose wrinkle. “Smells like crap.”

“Is that comfrey?” Aster pulls a face. “I hate comfrey.”

“The injured don’t get to be choosy,” Damien says, lifting a spoonful of the mixture towards her. Aster recoils dramatically.

“Are you putting that on my head? My hair’s going to stain!”

“Wear a hat or something.”

“It’s winter!”

“Well, time to introduce woollen hats into high society fashion, princess. You can be the next trendsetter.” 

Aster scoots determinedly into the corner of the bed furthest from Damien. He watches her go bemusedly.

“Nox, since you’re up here, does that mean you managed to convince Fina?” Gerard chips in. 

“What do you think?”

Gerard looks somewhat impressed.

“She became a lot more amicable once you were out of sight,” Damien continues.

“Go screw yourself.” Gerard scoffs. “ He rights his stool back up, before settling onto it once more. “Where is she now?”

“On her way to send word to the queen. After, she’s coming right back to hear Aster’s verdict straight from her own mouth.”

Aster isn’t following any of their conversation, feeling more and more lost. “Wait, Fina as in Seraphina? What does she have to do with any of this? And what do you mean by my verdict?”

Damien grasps the back of his neck, expression twisting into something exasperated. “Hale, where do I even begin…” He sighs. “Well for starters, do you mind telling me how you ended up getting knocked out by Gerry?”

Aster blinks back at him owlishly. “…What?” 

“Gerry. He’s the one who knocked you out.”

Aster turns to look at Gerard, who remains impassive despite the accusation. In fact, he almost looks bored. 

She looks back at Damien. Then at Gerard. 

Then she points a finger at him. “You what?”