Chapter 401: Slipping Through the Night
Slipping Through the Night
Sona leaned her head to one side, her silver hair flowing like liquid silk over a shoulder, catching the radiance of the chamber’s lantern light. Her voice, gentle but unflinching, contained the serenity weight of a person who had long ago mastered the art of masking storms with grace.
"Yeah," she said, her voice holding a soft note of consideration. "It vexed me too. But if our Lord speaks tomorrow, then tomorrow we depart. I believe he knows what he is doing."
Her words weren’t blind faith—they had conviction, as if each and every decision Leon made had a hidden thread only she could sense.
Situated across from her, Natasha’s black eyes narrowed, watching Sona for an extended period. Shadows played in those eyes, dark and razor-sharp as the darkness of midnight, before they melted back into something cunning. Gradually, her lips spread into a smile that was nearly wicked in its wisdom.
"Well then," she whispered, her voice low but underlaid with triumph. "At least this accursed king has already departed Moonspire.". I saw his banners this morning—marching east toward the border." She leaned forward, lowering her tone even further, so intimate it was almost as if the walls themselves might strain to listen. "That gives us freedom. No one to stop us. And with my power..." Her hand glided over the table, lightly tracing imaginary sigils in the wood. "...we can slip away unseen."
The conspiratorial note in her voice hung in the air, the scent of smoke after a candle flame has been extinguished.
Sona’s lips curled slightly, not into wickedness, but into calm acceptance. She raised her teacup, the dainty porcelain shining pale in her fingers. With one elegant flick of her wrist, she emptied it in one smooth sweep, placing it down with not a drop spilt.
She stood up afterwards.
The silver-blue dress flowed around her in a susurration of fabric, the loose folds catching against the lantern light until she was less woman than moonlight in the flesh. Even the merest movement possessed dignity, as though each movement of her body had been polished to remind the world of what nobility truly was.
"Then let us go," she murmured, and beneath her softness an iron thread was spun.
Natasha’s sneer sharpened as she rose too, her own dress—midnight black, seamed with a subtle glimmer—rinkling around her form. She laid aside her cup with the faint tinkle, her fingers drumming against the rim once as though to stress her impatience. Her gown’s neckline plunged perilously, snaring glints of lamplight on her skin, but she cinched up her sleeves with a careless flick, as if her beauty was merely a relaxed extension of herself.
"Good," she responded, a wry note sliding into her voice. "I was getting restless."
The two women stepped abreast to the chamber door. The rustle of their gowns against each other was gentle, harmonious, almost a duet of whispers.
As the door creaked open, the broad halls of Moonspire lay before them—vaulted ceilings curving high above, serpentine-patterned columns, gilded torch brackets throwing a warm, steady light against polished stone. The floor that they stood upon glowed softly with reflected light, each step ringing with muted authority.
And as they advanced, the guards snapped into sharp attention, spears crossing over their chests before bowing low in concert. Maids in subdued gowns promptly dropped their heads, eyes glued to the ground, hands pressed tight to prevent trembling.
No one dared to speak aloud. No one dared to question why the two brightest stars of the palace were walking together so late at night.
Sona’s composure was serene, each step deliberate, as if every step of hers left behind an intangible design of elegance that others unwittingly followed. Natasha moved with a soft swing, her hips undulating in natural charm, her self-assurance sufficient to command even silence.
Together, they were contrast and complement—moonlight and midnight. And all heads turned, though none would ever own it.
The garden lay before them past the final archway.
Night had fallen over Moonspire. The sky was wide and dark blue, the stars scattered pearls, and the moon up high and full, throwing down a light silver that blunted all sharpness of stone and leaf.
Crickets sang softly from hidden corners. The air was cool, crisp, bearing the scent of roses in tightly clustered bloom, and jasmine climbing up trellises laden with white flowers. Lanterns radiated warmly along the paths, puddles of golden light dapple-shading across the tidy stone walkways.
In the garden’s center, a fountain breathed softly, its spray catching moonlight in drips of liquid silver. The murmur of the water blended with the stillness of the night, making the garden a refuge shielded from the troubled din of kingdoms.
Natasha took a deep breath, her eyes shutting for the blink of an eye, as though she were sucking the night into her bloodstream. The air moved through her raven hair, ruffling delicate strands against her face, but she didn’t brush them aside. Rather, she allowed the feeling to stay.
When she opened her eyes once more, they shone brighter, a predator’s glint veiled in refinement. She swung around to Sona and, without pause, held out her hand. Palm open. Fingers extended.
"Well," she whispered, the words sliding off her tongue like a vow. "Take my hand. And let us fly.
Sona’s eyes fell to the extended hand. For one breath, she didn’t react, silver lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. Then her gaze lifted once more, meeting Natasha’s dark eyes with soft calmness.
"Fly..." She said again, soft and almost tasting the word. A fleeting smile passed over her lips—barely a movement, but true.
And then, with the peace of a person already making that decision years ago, she slipped her fingers into Natasha’s.
Their hands gripped tightly. Heat pressed against heat, a human bond in the center of an empty and uncaring night.
Natasha’s smile grew deeper, and for the first time, mockery was not there—only the cutting pleasure of knowing.
"Good," she breathed, low enough so that only Sona might hear. "Then cling to me."
Closing her eyes, Natasha leaned her head back slightly, lips forming the cadence of an ancient language. The syllables, unfamiliar and heavy, fell into the darkness like strands of lost melody.
Nothing at first. The garden held its breath, only the soft murmur of the fountain filling the stillness.
Then the air changed.
It started as a faint vibration, a wave that shook the lantern fires, causing them to tremble. The air filled with rose-scent, as if night herself were advancing. On either side of their clasped hands, there arose a faint luminescence—blue, fine, hardly perceptible at first.
The light intensified. It defined their contours, burning along the lines of gowns, hair, skin, until both women seemed to be drawings made in starlight. The energy built, coalescing, entwining around them in rings of pale blue.
The light warped the air itself, light bending, darkness twisting. The fountain softened, the roses softened. Reality rippled like silk in water.
A glowing bubble was created around them—shimmering, round, vibrant with thrumming energy. It glimmered softly, its surface rippling with moon and star reflections, as if it were not so much a shell of magic but rather a trapped fragment of the heavens themselves.
For an instant, standing inside it, they were not women—they were creatures of legend, luminous within a globe of the universe.
Sona’s eyes grew wider, but her poise didn’t waver. "It feels... alive," she whispered.
Natasha’s smile grew once more, her grip around Sona’s firming. "It is. And it listens to me."
And with a burst of sudden speed, the bubble ascended.
The earth fell away from them, the garden diminishing as if it were a picture that was being folded smaller and smaller. Moonspire’s towers sparkled for an instant in the light before dwindling into tiny shadows, the great city flattening to lines of distant lanternlight.
The wind whirled about them, cool and biting, though within the sphere everything was calm, quiet.
From the garden below, two guards looked up for a fleeting moment, their faces furrowing as if something had moved above them. But when they squinted further, they saw nothing—only the unchanging stars, shining and infinite.
As far as the world was concerned, Sona and Natasha were nowhere to be found. Disappeared into the night with no evidence of their passing.
To the people inside the palace, it would appear they just kept walking among roses.
But in reality, they were already far above, borne hidden by a glistening cocoon of energy, flying past the skies.
Bound for Blackthrone City.
Bound for Leon.