Private Tales Sighing Shadows by the Light of the Moons

[Galen]

A slow, stupid smile crept across the mage’s scruffy features and he tapped the side of his nose. When did he suddenly get so lucky? This visiting blue blood wanted him to give her a tour.

“A little night time adventure? Careful, I’ve heard there are burglars out there. Hang on, I’ve got you.”

He waved his hand and muttered an incantation. Narrowing his eyes, he willed his thoughts to take form, gave them life, and in a moment a slightly translucent version of Ciana stood next to the real one. There was something slightly off about the copy. He couldn’t be quite sure. Maybe the eyes a touch too big, or the hands too small. It wasn’t a one for one copy, but close enough. Galen gestured toward the bed and not-Ciana walked over and got into it, slipping under the covers.

Quite pleased with his work, Galen looked at the real Ciana.

“What? It’s in case someone comes in to check on you. It should last us a few hours. Not the first time I’ve had to leave a doppelgänger behind. Usually it’s of me though.”

Leaving the books behind, Galen went to the open shutters and waited for her to join him. He produced two white dove feathers from his coat, then mischievously tickled under her nose with one before he handed it over. Eyes twinkling, Galen nodded toward the window.

“Come on, witch. It’s time to infuriate your stepmother. That’s what they’re best for, I hear. Go ahead. Jump out when you’re ready. I bound an enchantment to the feather. You’ll land soft as one. Just don’t try it on anything higher or it won’t work.”

He made a face, imagining them leaping off the belltower.

Ciana

 

[Ciana]

Ciana’s lips curved into a grin, though her eyes narrowed in mock reproach at his joke about burglars. Har, har. But as he began his incantation, her smile softened into wonder. It still felt illegal somehow, just to watch him wield magic so openly, and yet she couldn't hide her fascination..

Her eyes widened as the shimmering double took shape beside her. She stumbled back until her hip bumped the vanity with a soft thud, a little gasp escaping.

“Why, it’s… me?” Her head tilted in disbelief, and the doppelgänger mirrored the gesture perfectly.

She wrapped her arms around her ribs as she watched the strange version of her walk across the room and slip into her bed. A shiver rolled over her back. “Gracious, that’s unnerving…”

Casting off her robe, she crossed the room and pulled a fine dove-grey cloak around her shoulders, lifting the hood. With the soft swish of fabric she joined him at the window, every movement as tentative as it was eager.

“I don’t think I can—” she started, only to be interrupted by the feather brushing under her nose. She gave a startled laugh, huffing and rubbing at the itch with her sleeve. “Menace.” she muttered. Still, she accepted the feather, holding it between two fingers to study it.

When he called her witch her breath caught, then released as a small smile curved across her lips. “That’s a dangerous word to use where I’m from…” she murmured, though there was a spark of mischief in her eyes.

But then came his ridiculous suggestion, and her smile gave way to wide-eyed disbelief.

“Jump!?...” she blinked at him, clutching the feather tighter as her stomach flipped at the very idea. “I think I’d rather take the stairs…”

 

[Galen]

“No,” he insisted, shooing her forward, wielding his feather like a rapier. “Easier to get caught sneaking out the front door. Never use the front door. Or stairs.”

He frowned.

“Stairs have a way of creaking loud when you least want them to.”

Gods, her laugh reminded him of those little silver wind chimes at that tinker’s shop on the east market. And the way her eyes seemed to light up at the mention of scandal and mischief. As if she enjoyed it. What was he getting himself into?

A night on the city, apparently.

“You aren’t afraid of a little jump are you? Go on. Here, we can jump together.”

Wrapping an arm around her waist, he marched them forward onto the lip of the window and proceed to count.

“One, two - hold on - three.”

Before she could protest further, he stepped off.

Air. Wind. Weightlessness.

Ciana

 

[Ciana]

Her eyes went wide as his arm slid around her waist and suddenly she found herself teetering on the ledge with nothing but cobblestones below.

“Wait- Galen, I don’t think-!” she squeaked, clutching his sleeve.

But then there was no more thinking. He counted to three and stepped, and the ground rushed up to meet them. Her stomach swooped, her hood flew back, and for one impossible heartbeat she was certain they’d both smash into cold stone. But then- lightness. The wind roared in her ears and she found herself gliding rather than falling, drifting to earth like a feather caught in a summer breeze. Her slippers touched the street with barely a whisper.

Ciana staggered a step, gasped, and then let out a breathless laugh that broke into giddy giggles. “Oh! Oh my goodness!” she pressed a hand to her pounding heart, blue eyes bright as stars. “That was--...” she laughed again, shaking her head, “I cannot believe you just--...”

Words failed, but exhilaration shone through every flush of her cheeks.

Impulsively, she caught his hand, fingers curling around his without hesitation this time. “Come on,” she grinned, tugging him away from the manor’s looming shadow.

She pulled him into a run, her cloak billowing behind her as they slipped through the gates and out into the lamplit streets of Elbion, her laughter trailing in their wake.

 

[Galen]

Well. What a change of circumstances a few days brought about. Just three days ago, Galen stood on the verge of defaulting his loans and being beaten into a pulp by some Valkyr and Sons thugs, then his corpse resurrected under contract to go marauding for the Thronebreakers. Now here he found himself led through the streets of Elbion at dusk by a devastatingly beautiful Allirian noblewoman.

A thrill of exhilaration raced through him as they raced way from the manor, their fingers intertwined. He found he could not stop grinning. Probably looked a thrice-damned, absurd idiot. Being close to her like this, hearing her laughter. It felt electric. Like when he finally got the hang of a spell and saw his conjuration come racing forth. Gods. Why couldn't he feel this way all the time?

They quickly reached the end of the nearby bridge and passed through an alley, then started toward another. Galen pulled her up short.

"Alright, your ladyship, slow down. Can't go racing off into every darkened corner. You trying to scandalize me?" He squinted at her, mockingly.

Of course, if they ever did get caught and they realized who she was, then he might be done for... oh his student status with the college of mages might save him. Maybe. Only maybe. They couldn't afford to hang all their mage students. Even the ones who snuck about with a noblewoman. He would definitely be beaten, though, and Galen preferred to avoid the feel of a blackjack cracking his ribcage.

"Here, you ever seen a night market before? It should just be getting started," He led her in the direction of the merchant district, closer to port. Hardly anyone was out roaming the streets who didn't also have a collar turned up like Galen, or a hood like Ciana.

Galen didn't let go of her hand at first, even when they slowed walking. He uh. Well. He kind of liked it, truth be told. And if she did too, then what's all the fuss about. Supposed it would be more gentlemanly if he offered her his arm. So he did just that, elbow poking toward her.

"Madame," he said with an incline of the head, then led her in the direction of all the pretty lights, visible even from this distance. By the time they arrived, the sun had truly sunk beneath the horizon and the shadows grew long from the moons and the stars.

They could hear them before they rounded the corner, the hubbub of the night market, then as they came around all the lights shone on display. Regular lamps. Candles. And blobs of floating magical light that just sat there like glowing orbs. Beneath and around the light were two rows of tents, stretching on either side of the cobblestone thoroughfare. Merchants and peddlers and tinkerers and all sorts hawked their wares from beneath the tents. There was even a tavern or three still open, a bit further down, if she felt inclined for a drink.

Here in the night market, most of the wares had a more... unseemly tinge to them. Instead of common produce, they sold tinctures and concoctions. One old crone tried to grab him by the arm, talking about an ointment to make him rut like a wild bull. Galen tore his arm away, blushing furiously and stammering.

"Oh look, a fire breather," Galen pointed to a little stage with a man twirling a torch. A small crowd surrounded the stage, properly gasping when he held the torch to his lips and blew out a sudden gout of fire into the night air.

"Just like you. Should ask if he's got any tips," Galen chuckled.

Ciana

 

[Ciana]

Ciana froze, her eyes wide, appalled.

“Scandalise you?” she repeated, scandalised herself, ready to apologise profusely for her behaviour, until she caught the crooked grin tugging at his mouth. Her heart stumbled, then steadied. Gods, she really was a fool. She exhaled, shaking her head, the smile slipping back, softer this time. “Sorry. I’m just… alive, I suppose.”

The words surprised her. But it was true. For the first time in years she wasn’t bone-weary, wasn’t waiting for the next collapse and premature death. For once her body didn’t feel like a cage. She felt free, perhaps a little dangerously so. This was a new life.

She steadied her pace, let herself breathe. And when he mentioned the night market, something childlike flickered across her face. “No… I haven’t been to a market since I was a child.” Her voice laced with wonder, as if markets themselves were a memory out of reach.

When his hand finally slipped from hers, she felt the absence immediately, like being dropped into cold water. Then he offered his arm instead, gentlemanly. Ciana flushed hot, her stomach twisting. Oh, Saints—what had she been thinking, clutching him like some tavern wench? Some back-alley Sally! She swallowed, murmuring, “I’m sorry…” before giving him a shy, crooked smile and slipping her hand into the crook of his arm. Proper. Decorous.

Then, there was light.

"Wondrous..." she whispered.

The market spilled open before her like a story come to life, every flickering lamp and orb of conjured glow reflected in her wide eyes. The colours, the voices, the scents, clove smoke, fried foods, sharp herbs, all of it wrapped around her. She slowed as though to drink it in, gaze darting from one strange stall to another, unable to decide what to marvel at first.

Ciana blinked in shock as a hunched old woman caught Galen’s sleeve and said something about rutting bulls. Her cheeks went crimson, her throat cleared with an awkward little cough as she looked away very quickly, feigning sudden fascination with a rack of glass bottles that glimmered like stars.

Mercifully, Galen steered her on. Ciana stopped to watch the fire breather, her lips parting as the man exhaled a plume of flame into the night. The crowd gasped. So did she, her brows arching. “Gracious, no… I couldn’t do that.” Her voice was hushed, awed.