Private Tales Sighing Shadows by the Light of the Moons

[Galen]

The wooden drawers of the heavy desk creaked as they opened. Galen winced. Should he cast a muffling spell? Too late now.

The light from the moons above cast far too much light in through open window shutters. At least it meant Galen could see while he worked. Working. He supposed that was what he could call cat burgling the upper story of an Elbion mansion. Whoever lived here, they could afford it.

He found a jewelry box inside the desk and popped it open. He picked up a strand of pearls in one hand, shrouded mostly in fingerless gloves, and examined them.

“Hells. This could buy me a whole month’s tuition,” he muttered.

Ever since the debacle with that mercenary company, Galen had been on temporary hiatus from the College, trying to pay off the student loans his former master, Telemachus, saddled him with after vanishing. Well, not Telemachus, strictly speaking, but the Bank. And he needed the money by tomorrow morning or…

Galen swallowed, remembering the evil twinkle in the eyes of the Valkyr and Sons enforcer. Something about throwing him in the water to “talk” to Drakormir.

The mage shuddered.

No, thank you. He’d already done that once. Not that the Book of Wyrms aided him any when he’d fought that nasty band of mercenary monsters in the Kaliti sands. He was determined to never go back there.

Galen turned, shoving the pearls and the jewelry box into one of the many pockets of his high collared, rough sewn, black coat and casting his eyes about for another bit of plunder while he ran fingers through his unkempt, dark hair.

Hmm.

Ciana

 

[Ciana]

The tip of her quill stilled against the parchment, the soft scratching sound breaking off mid-word. For a moment, Ciana thought she had imagined it, the faint groan of wood somewhere deeper in the house, carried to her through the stillness of night.

Her crystalline eyes lifted from the candlelit page, glancing toward the open door of the little study she occupied. She drew a slow breath. Her small number of staff had all retired hours ago. Her father was far away in Vinra.

Carefully, she set aside her quill, her fingers trembling as she reached for the candlestick, more comfort than weapon. The heat of the flame licked at her skin, and for an instant the familiar burn stirred beneath it, the restless glow in her veins answering the light. She swallowed it down, and rose from her chair, night-robe whispering against the carpet as she stepped toward the door.

The sound of her own heartbeat filled her ears. She edged into the hall, the flicker of her candle pushing back the dark, and her gaze fell on the spill of moonlight from a doorway down the corridor . A door that had been closed..

“...Hello?” Her voice, though soft, carried uneasily through the silence as she pushed the door open further. The sight of a man she did not know tore a gasp from her chest, her eyes blown wide and flame extinguished as she launched the candlestick directly at his head.

 

[Galen]

Galen ducked.

The candlestick crashed into the wall behind him and he winced.

Hang on, had it been silver?

He should just jump out the window. Maybe a spell to make him light as a feather? Did he have any feathers on him? No. Maybe one of the pillows… Oh moons, too late now.

Galen’s racing thoughts reined in as he caught sight of his assailant. She stood in the hallway, illumined in the light of the moons streaming in through the open window, hair all white-silver and aglow, clad only in a night robe. Pale and gaunt she stood and those eyes reflected the moonlight.

The mage held his hands up in surrender. Nobody said anything about this being a haunted mansion. Except, no, she wasn’t a ghost.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Galen promised, one hand clutching an ivory comb and a bronze mirror.

Except, of course, that it was exactly what it looked like.

 

[Ciana]

Her hand pressed harder against her chest as though she could hold her thundering heart in place, each breath trembling past her lips. She stepped back into the threshold of the hall, unsure exactly what she thought she might do to defend herself or her home against an intruder..

And then his hands were up. A thief. Her brow knit as her crystalline eyes swept over him, taking in his ragged coat and the bulging pockets that told the truth he tried to deny.

“Unless you’ve mistaken my home as some sort of parlour…” her gaze dropped to the mirror and comb in his grip, her words little more than a whisper, shaken and breathless. “…then I think it’s exactly what it looks like.”

She cut a quick glance toward the dresser before looking back at him. The heat that always prickled beneath her skin began to stir, a warning ember she dared not let rise. Her stomach twisted as she realised what else might be gone.

“I…” her throat tightened, her voice breaking before she forced herself to go on. “…if you’re going to take that.." she gestured with a nod toward his coat.. "At least let me retrieve one thing. It… it’s worth far more to me than it will ever be to you.”

Her fragile tone wavered with fear and plea both and she swayed slightly where she stood, though her eyes did not move from his pockets.