Private Tales Sighing Shadows by the Light of the Moons

[Ciana]

Ciana’s lips pressed into the thinnest of smiles, but a smile all the same. Perhaps to him, she did not seem so ordinary after all.

At his question, her brows knit together. “I… was accused of such,” she admitted reluctantly, voice dropping to a whisper as though the very library might carry her confession to every ear. “But I do not quite remember exactly what happened. Only that it was… frightening.” Her fingers flexed slightly against her skirts.

When he drew the sapphire from his pocket, her eyes narrowed faintly, silently asking where did you get that?But she decided against asking aloud, best not to know, and instead reached for it with hesitant fingers.

She slipped off her glove first, her pale hand trembling faintly as it met the light. The gem was cool against her skin. She turned it over once, twice, three times, watching the way the deep blue caught the dim light and fractured it into sparks. Then, biting her lip, she closed her fingers around it and held it tight, her shoulders tense as though expecting something to happen.

A long moment passed.

At last, her shoulders slumped, and she let out a quiet sigh, shaking her head. “Nothing,” she murmured, her voice tinged with disappointment.

“Oh well..”

 

[Galen]

“Not to worry, we must be just missing an important step,” Galen said cheerfully, patting her bare hand absently.

“Ouch,” he yanked his hand away and shook it. “You’re blazing.”

Wait.

He held up his hand to forestall a noble-sensibilities meltdown, “I mean you’re burning up. Feverish. Here. Give it here. Your hand. Oh, don’t look at me like that. This isn’t a back alley shake down.”

Well. Not anymore anyway.

Galen held his own hand out, palm up. He studied her hand, nodding to himself. Partly because it was human nature. Partly because he’d watched Telemachus do the same, often. “Yes,” he mused, “Look at those glowing lines. It’s like your blood vessels uh - your humors - are practically bursting with energy. Lucky for you I’ve seen this before. Thakathi sorcerer. Absurdly powerful.”

How long had it been since he’d had a normal conversation with someone? Just sat down and talked like this? Well. A mostly normal conversation. Ages.

The mage smiled winsomely from where he hunched in his chair.

“Course that was right before the Thakathi sorcerer exploded into tiny pieces, but that probably won’t happen to you.”

Probably.

Ciana

 

[Ciana]

Ciana flinched at his startled reaction, panic flashing in her eyes as though she’d truly burned him. “Goodness, I’m so sorry, I—” she cut herself off as he lifted his hand, not in anger but in placation, and asked for hers.

Her cheeks bloomed crimson, and she darted a look over her shoulder to ensure they were still alone. With reluctant, hesitant movements, she set her hand in his, her fingers light against his palm as though afraid to hurt him again.

She studied him as he studied her, gaze darting between her own hand and his face. “My… humors?” she echoed uncertainly, frowning. “Is that a bad thing?”

But then came the comparison to a powerful sorcerer and she felt her throat go dry. Her head gave a tiny, desperate shake, curls swaying. She wasn’t powerful. She wasn’t anything like that.

And then.. “Exploded?” The word broke from her in a gasp, her heart hammering against her ribs. “Goodness, how do you know that won’t happen to me?!”

Her skin flared hotter in her fear, fever-bright, and she snatched her hand back, fumbling her glove back on with shaking fingers before standing abruptly.

“I should go home,” she blurted, panic rising sharp in her chest. “I shouldn’t be out. I shouldn’t be here, I—”

Her dizziness hit her like a blow, and she stumbled back into a leaning stack of books, sending them crashing to the floor.

“Gracious, I…” Her voice quavered, barely above a whisper as her breath came shallow and fast, her knuckles white on the edge of the table that slowly scorched under her grip.

 

[Galen]

Galen's eyes widened as he caught sight of the smoke rising from between her fingers and the smell of woodfire. He nearly fell out of his chair, lurching forward.

A fire? In a library? Not just any library, but this particular one? Oh gods. Oh gods above and below. There was a reason candles weren't allowed in here. Not because of the loss of the books, although that would be terrible enough, but because of the power that might be unleashed if some of those books burned up. Bound spells and spirits and worse.

The girl looked as if she might faint. If his hunch was right, that could make this even worse. Unconscious, she might not be able to control all that pent up magic within her. He didn't think she would melt a hole through the floor, but she might set the parchment around on fire. And once that blaze got started...

Galen darted forward, unthinking.

"Your hands!"

He reached out and grabbed them. They burned. He blew on them, working a simple spell. Frost spread across both their hands, cooling and melting almost instantly.

"Look at me, stay with me. We've never exchanged names, did you know that? I'm Galen. Stay with me. Look at me." Slowly he crouched so that they could both sink to their knees on the ground, ice-cold fingers still interlocking with her own. "Look at me. What's your name?"

Darkness still permeated the air in a circle around them.

Ciana

 

[Ciana]

'Your hands!'

Ciana flinched, lifting her hand from the table in a panic. The sight of her gloves, burned straight through, sent her heart into a frenzy. “Oh dear… I’m sorry, I—” Her words stumbled over each other, her breath coming too quick, shallow and panicked. Her chest ached. Her ears rang. Black spots bloomed at the edges of her vision. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. She was burning up, surely dying.

Then, cold.

The sudden chill of frost crawling over her skin startled her, forcing a sharp breath from her lungs. She stared with wide eyes up at Galen, listening to his voice as he guided her down, lowering her until her knees hit the floor.

“I—my name—” she stammered, struggling to hold on to thought and breath alike. She blinked through the haze, keeping her teary eyes locked on him as if he were the only solid thing in the room.

“That’s… a nice name,” she managed at last, her voice fragile..

Her gaze dropped briefly to their joined hands, his icy fingers a shock that steadied her racing pulse. “Your hands.. are cold,” she whispered.

The circle of darkness pressed close, soothing, cooling, and the heat beneath her skin slowly began to ebb.

“Ciana…” she finally said, quieter, calmer. “My name is Ciana.”

 

[Galen]

“Ciana,” repeated the mage from where crouched beside this syncope-prone noble. “That an Allirian name?”

The name reminded him of an Allirian pasta he once had, delicious. Why the pasta? Hmm. Maybe because he had not eaten this morning. But uh. He looked at her. He should not tell her that. No. He definitely should not tell her that. Should compare her to something else. Like a flower. Yeah.

So... an Allirian woman. He'd heard about them once from some sailors in a port bar. Certainly explained the attitude. He'd try to pretend he hadn't heard any of the other comments from the sailors. How would Ciana put it? Well. She wouldn't put it. If she heard them she would faint again. Not for uh... "polite" society, or something.

"It's a nice name too"

And it was. Nice pasta too.

Nobody ever told Galen they thought he had a nice name before. He might have to process that one later. He didn't tend to like hard G sounds, like Guh-ay-len, or Guh-ards, or Guh-et him he's getting away!

The mage frowned a bit and held one of his frosty hands to her forehead, while the other still held one of her hands reassuringly.

"Fever is receding somewhat," he muttered, then cupped her pallid cheek in that hand, "You're not exploding on anyone today, your highness. Have you considered ice baths?"

Ciana

 

[Ciana]

Her blue eyes stayed fixed on his, the sound of her name on his lips like a rope she could cling to, dragging herself out of the haze of panic that still rattled through her chest. It was ebbing now, each breath a little deeper, a little calmer.

“Mm… I’m from… Vinra,” she murmured, still faint, still half in the dark spiral she’d been tumbling through. Some small, sensible part of her wondered if she ought to have kept that to herself - besde Rhagos, Vinra’s reputation for its treatment of magic was hardly secret. But the words had already slipped out.

Her breath left her in a shudder as his cold hand cupped her face. Against all her upbringing, all the etiquette drilled into her since childhood, she leaned into that touch. Cool, soothing, grounding. He’d tried to rob her blind, yes, but right now he was the only thing holding her together.

A lazy, almost delirious smile curved across her lips, followed by a very unladylike snort as he called her highness.

“It’s… Lady Van’Santen, to you…” she corrected softly, though without any true sting, more like a girl reciting lines from a play she’d long since grown tired of performing.

“And yes…” she admitted with a sigh, eyes fluttering closed as the cool from his hands chased the fever heat away, “…ice baths are quite soothing.”

She let the quiet hang between them a moment longer, breathing finally steady, pulse no longer thundering in her ears. Then, with all the gravity she could muster in her half-dizzy state, she said slowly:

“I should warn you, ser… the last man to put a hand on me had his face melted.”

Her lips twitched at her own dry delivery, but she didn’t open her eyes, not yet. It was easier to stay here, in the dark and the cold, for just a little longer.

 

[Galen]

Casual death threats. The sailors were right after all. .

“Seems fair,” Galen nodded, “But if you melt my face off you have to deal with the mercenaries when they come to collect my corpse for necromantic resurrection.”

Gods, what a pain that would be.

He admitted to some reluctance to pulling his hand away. Her cheek felt warm against his skin. And soft. And she smelled of all the nice things that nobles tended to smell of, not like the gutter at all.

With her eyes closed and face pressed up against his hand she looked almost peaceful. How often did he get to comfort a fair maiden as she sighed into his hand after almost spontaneously combusting? Not every day, that’s for sure.

He wondered where Vinra was and if all the women there had moonlight hair and iceberg eyes.

The knots in the old wood floor started to dig into his knees. Ah well.

“We will figure out how to control your power… I’m sure there’s a book somewhere here on whatever is going on with you. Hmm or we could summon a devil or a fae to consult. That might be faster.”

Ciana

 

[Ciana]

She lingered for a moment longer, laughing softly under her breath though she wasn’t entirely sure if he was joking or not. Then he mentioned devils and fae, and her eyes opened again, searching his face, hoping, praying, to find some trace of a jest there.

Realisation washed over her all at once: where she was, what she was doing, who she was leaning against. Ciana straightened abruptly, as though waking from a dream.

“Goodness, I’m sorry… I mean, thank you, but I—” she faltered, smoothing invisible wrinkles in her skirts as though that could compose her. “I should just…”

Her cool fingers, absentminded, brushed against the charred edge of the table as she pulled herself to her feet, and she winced, clasping her hands together to keep them from causing further damage. The tension in her chest had eased, but she looked paler than before, worn down by the effort of it all.

“Thank you, Galen..” she said again, softer this time. “And please, don’t trouble any devils or fae with my problems.” The laugh that followed was quick and breathy, betraying her nerves. She’d only ever read of such things in books she wasn’t supposed to have, and she very much doubted he was serious.

“I should get home…” she murmured, almost to herself, before glancing at him again. “Perhaps, if you do find any of those books, you might bring them by?”

Her gaze dropped quickly to the floor, as though she’d said something too forward. “If you require more silver for your time, I can arrange that.”

Ciana reached for the little jewellery box and cradled it against her chest.

 

[Galen]

He was incredibly serious. His master had been a great conjurer. And who better knew the mysteries of the world than the ones who dwelled on different planes.

After you sorted through the riddles and the lies they could be quite useful.

Uh.

When they weren’t trying to get you killed, of course.

He scratched the back of his head. “Yeah. Look, I don’t need your silver. I feel bad about the whole business. I uh…” he laughed weakly, “I may have some debt collectors after me is all. On top of the mercenaries.”

Really, skulking about the school trying to avoid the lot of them was becoming quite the feat of invisibility spells.

“But the moment I find a book or two that might help I’ll come calling.”

Ciana

 

[Ciana]

Concern flickered across her pale features as he spoke of debt collectors being after him. She couldn’t pretend to understand what sort of life that was, her world had always been sheltered, even as sickly as it had been, but if it had him resorting to breaking into people’s homes, it had to be serious.

And yet, he really did seem remorseful.

“I’ve been very sick for a very long time,” she admitted quietly, her fingers curling around the little box against her chest. “My father agreed to send me here so that I might survive it…” Her frown deepened for a moment, before she drew a slow breath and forced a small smile.

“If you’re to help me with my troubles, then let me help you with yours. It’s the least I can do.” The smile stayed, but it cost her something to keep it there, her eyes already heavy with exhaustion.

She pulled her hood back over her pale hair, the shadow of it falling across her face. “Good afternoon Galen.”
And with that, she turned to leave him, steps careful and quiet.

 

[Galen]

Two days later, the sun just started sinking beyond the horizon when there came a rapping at Ciana's bedroom window shutters before they suddenly swung open of their own accord and a lanky mage stumbled through, carrying two books under an arm, while the other held one open.

"Ciana!" He cried, nose still buried inside the book as he absently dropped into the room and began wandering in circles, "It's right here. How could I have been so blind? Of course the color of the jewels matter. Everything matters in magic, you know. Even the pronunciation can cause drastic changes in a spell. So of course a blue sapphire wouldn't absorb magic born of fire."

He thunked the book into his forehead.

"What we needed was a ruby. I'm sure you have some rubies laying around, right? Ugh," then he lowered the book from his face and looked around, "Ciana? Where are you?"

Ciana

 

[Ciana]

Ciana had been deeply, blissfully asleep, the first real sleep she’d managed since arriving here in Elbion, when the sudden BANG! of the shutters flying open jolted her upright with a startled gasp.

By the time Galen came tumbling gracelessly through the window, she had already thrown her quilt over her head and curled into a defensive ball, as though the blankets could shield her from both impropriety and lunatic mages.

She stayed there, frozen, listening with growing incredulity as he began pacing her room and muttering about gemstones and pronunciation like a man possessed.

When he finally called her name, she groaned and let her voice out from beneath the quilt, muffled but dripping with exasperation.

“When I said to come by, Galen, I meant in a gentlemanly manner!” she huffed, poking her head out just far enough to fix him with a wide, affronted stare. “Are you entirely unfamiliar with the concept of a door, or do you simply prefer breaking into my home as a matter of habit?”

Slowly, she lowered the quilt to reveal the scandalous sight of her pale hair loose and tousled about her shoulders. A wild, rebellious look for a noblewoman, though she didn’t quite realise it in her sleepy state.

She blew an errant strand from her eyes with a most unladylike pfft before continuing with great dignity for someone who was still half under the covers.

“I require a moment to dress in something more appropriate for company,” she said primly, despite being in a heap of blankets. “If you would be so kind as to turn around and pretend you’ve any sense of propriety at all.”

 

[Galen]

“Huh,” the young mage looked perplexed.

The quilt dropped, revealing the sleepy-eyed Vinran with hair all wild and askew, a proper lion’s mane. Galen beamed, then she said something about impropriety and gentlemanly and he stopped beaming.

“Oh right.”

Dutifully, the mage turned and looked the other way. He studied her wallpaper quickly becoming bored and restless. Galen shifted his weight from foot to foot, glancing down at the open book in one hand, then back up to the wallpaper again and again.

“I’ll have you know, I’ve got loads of proprietary. But… I guess I shoulda asked if you had a paramour or something before I banged open the shutters.”

That would have been rude of him, he supposed. He shifted his arm carrying the other two books. They were really quite heavy.

“Anyway, grab a ruby if you’re changing. A big one!”

How long did it take noble women to change? Hours, probably. He’d heard that from someone, who was it? Maybe Spaghetti Roy who died when he tried to create a portal into the female dormitory. Spaghetti because that’s what he looked like when he came out the other end.

An itch plagued at his nose and he scratched at it with his shoulder.

Ciana