“Wherever you heard it, it’s all the more fortunate for us. I've met nobles before with the same name- you will blend in just fine.” Cyran’s smile was still slightly tight at the edges but slowly relaxing. Morwen was a fairly common enough name, the chance that Iryla had overheard someone talking about a minor lady from Moonglade all the way here in Darkveil. For a moment, Cyran wanted to ask what she’d heard, if she could recall the remnants of conversation that had stuck to her mind like dying embers, but the conversation seemed to have troubled her enough for her to curl in on herself, wrapping her arms around herself, and the last thing Cyran wanted to do was upset her.

He could focus on that after the party. For now, they had a job to do, and he couldn’t afford to be distracted while he was meant to be training Iryla. He wanted to give Iryla his fullest attention. Noblemen may have been fools, but these were Darkveil natives, and he had no doubt in his mind that there would be guards posted everywhere, ensuring everything was going smoothly. Their target may have been a dimwit, but their hosts, and the other party members, would not be so easy to fool. Cyran needed to be on his best performance, for Iryla’s sake.

“Then,” He cleared his throat, “Should we get going, Iryla?” He did not use her alias- not quite yet. There would be plenty of time for that at the party, but they were not those characters yet. Perhaps selfishly, he wanted to wait until the last moment to don the fake name. He didn’t want it to be an act.

He would lead her through the back door of the inn, avoiding the tavern at the front to avoid running into their mark. The outside air was fairly chilly for the early evening, and he was thankful for his thick jacket to ward off the elements.

Iryla knew these streets better than he did, and even though Cyran had made great strides in learning the layout of the land, he still depended on Iryla to lead him around to places he hadn’t been before. “I trust you know the way?” He asked her. As they set off through the streets of Darkveil, ash falling around them lazily like snow.

“When we get there, stay close to me. I’ll try to do most of the talking- you won’t be expected to say much unless someone addresses you directly. Most nobles only bring their children along to parade them around and show off their family’s success and fortune. It’s unfortunate, but it’s true. It should take some pressure off your shoulders, though.” He remembered parties from his youth, in which he was forced into stuffy clothes, expected to stay behind his mother, only to be seen and not heard.

He would not act the same as she had.

Cyran put a hand on her shoulder, hoping it was comforting. “I will give you the best opportunity I can to watch, and listen, and keep your eyes out for our mark. And it gives me more chances to brag about my wonderful daughter.”

Iryla looks up at Cyran when he asks her if they should leave, and after the barest moment of hesitation, she nods. Though he leads her through the inn to the outside world at first, it is easy for her to take over and begin leading their way through the city.

Iryla knew Darkveil in the way that all children of the street had to. She knew the ins and outs of every nook and cranny, knew where to hide, where to play, where was safe and where was not. As it stood, she was definitely leading them to one of the less safe places for people of her ilk. It was certainly a different sort of feeling, to be walking through the streets of nobles and the rich with her head held high, instead of cowering in the shadows…

She listens carefully to Cyran’s advice as they walk, nodding to show her understanding. Knowing she would be able to stick by Cyran, and better yet, not have to talk much, was certainly a relief for her.

“I think I can handle that.” She murmurs while looking up at him, even managing a small, shy smile.

It’s when he mentions bragging about his daughter that Iryla trips over her own feet, unexpectedly stumbling through the ash with a startled squeak. She catches her balance, only just barely, before giving her companion a startled look.

Right. They were… They were pretending to be father and daughter. Surely this was all for appearances, yes? And yet, her face still burned and her heart beat loudly in her ears.

'And it gives me more chances to brag about my wonderful daughter.'

He couldn’t help but be proud of the way Iryla followed his instructions nearly perfectly- despite the fact she’d never walked a noble’s walk before, she’d given a damn good first try while they made their way from the marketplace, into slightly more unfamiliar territory for Cyran. The layout was different, but to him, it was all the same- homes carefully built in a way that displayed their wealth, all evenly spaced out and lovely, like perfectly decorated dollhouses. The architecture of Darkveil was a far cry from Eclipse City, but he was struck with a familiar, unnerved feeling as Iryla led him to House Beli.

It felt eerily like returning home.

Iryla at his side helped, though. He chose to focus his attention on helping her prepare for what they would see on the inside. She even managed a small smile, still hesitant and unsure but with a budding confidence that made Cyran’s heart sing with pride.

And then she tripped and nearly fell on her face, managing to right her balance before she hurt herself, but Cyran had already made it to her side, checking for injuries with the nervous attention of a fluttering bird. “Goodness, are you alright? Did you hurt yourself anywhere? Twist your ankle again?” It had only been a short while, all things considered, since she’d thrown herself out that window and gotten away with only a minor ankle injury, and she’d made nearly a full recovery of her full range of motion since then. Cyran couldn’t help the worry gnawing at him as he checked her for injuries.

She looked… unharmed, save for a red face. Was she embarrassed? Or had he simply said the wrong thing and upset her?

“Ahh, I’m… sorry.” He said eventually, feeling somewhat foolish. Here he was, promising that he wouldn’t do anything to make her uncomfortable, and here he was, doing just that. “I- I wasn’t thinking about what I was saying…” He trailed off uncertainly. Iryla was a guarded individual- the two of them had made progress with one another, slow and hesitant, yes, but sure and true. He didn’t want to scare it all away with some careless, absentminded comment.

“If you don’t want me to brag about you, then I won’t.” He cringed as he remembered- “Well, aside from aside from what I already have.” Most of his discussion about Iryla was with Zarius, who had been curious to know how her lessons had been progressing so far. Cyran had been honest, though he hadn’t been able to stop himself from boasting a little with pride for how quickly she’d been picking things up.

Zarius had probably been the unwilling recipient of a long, rather one-sided conversation that day.

“I mean- well. Are you sure you’re alright? If you’re hurt, we don’t need to keep going with this. This isn’t a real mission- only a test one.”

He extended out a hand for her to take if she needed to lean on him.

“I’m o-okay-” Iryla stumbles over her words, not because of the fall she came very close to taking, but because she’s not quite sure how to react to being so carefully looked over for injuries. She had been trying so hard, so, so hard this entire time to not get too invested in their little ruse. But the thought bubbles up from her chest to her mind unbidden, and when she thinks it, she cannot put it away again.

’Is this what it’s like to have a parent worry about you?’

The girl wouldn’t know. Though her life had not been long yet, she had no idea what it might be like to be fretted over. She had never had anyone to worry about her scraped knees, let alone her worse injuries.

It feels… Warm, she decides.

Being with Cyran feels warm.

“N-No, it’s- I just.. I tripped over a rock.” The lie was a lame one, something Cyran could probably easily see through. But she didn’t want him to feel bad for what he said, even if it was making it all a bit harder to keep telling her this was just pretend.

Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she looks down, it takes Iryla a moment to come up with what to say next. “...You can brag about me, if you really want to, I just don’t know what you’d have to brag about.” She tries so hard to sound nonchalant, but she’s fairly certain there is a hitch in her voice that gives away her nerves when she finally manages to speak again.

“I- Wait, did you say you’ve… Bragged about me already?” But she doesn’t understand, why? And to whom?

She can’t imagine she’s done anything worthy of Cyran bragging over her. But the thought of it feels like more warm bubbles in her chest.

Without thinking she takes his hand to keep him from moving away or attempting to leave. “I-I’m okay. I’m not hurt. I can do this.” Iryla promises. She wouldn’t be a disappointment to him, she swore it.

Even if it was just for tonight, she would be his daughter. She’d do everything she could to make that happen. She’d do everything she could to just be good enough.

Anything.

She certainly looked okay, and insisted she was fine, though Cyran didn’t quite buy the excuse that she’d tripped over a rock. Iryla normally moved with the natural silence and grace of a child who had learnt to be silent from a young age- a fact that broke Cyran’s heart, but he wasn’t so naive that he didn’t understand that it was a necessary tool for survival. She really had quite a knack for it, as well. It was just unfortunate that she’d decided to pick the pocket of someone just a touch more perceptive than your run of the mill criminal.

Though Cyran had long since stopped thinking of that encounter as bad luck.

“If you’re sure…” Cyran trailed off, a lingering suspicion in the back of his mind that he would not voice for now as Iryla asked if he actually had spoken about her to anyone. Now it was Cyran’s turn to attempt to feign normalcy, as he suddenly had a difficult time looking her in the eyes. “Mostly Zarius… and Snow.” He didn’t really know anyone else in the Ash Lands yet, and it didn’t seem entirely appropriate to compliment his- ward?- temporary apprentice?- to compliment Iryla to a target he was about to kill. “He stopped by to ask how I was settling in to Darkveil, and how you were settling in with… me. So I told him how well you’ve been doing in our lessons, and…”

He trailed off with a shrug, unsure of what else there was to say. He was never much of a talker, or one for lies- honesty came easiest to him, but even that came with its own caveats. Especially when it came to admitting his own wants and feelings. Those were luxuries he thought he no longer deserved to express.

To his surprise, though, Iryla did not pull away from him. She grabbed his hand, insisting that they could keep going, determination evident in her tone despite her wavering words.

“Okay.” Cyran said eventually. “We keep going.”

The closer they got to the mansion, Iryla probably would have noticed that other partygoers, other parents and children, only stood as close to one another as strangers or acquaintances might. There was no warmth in that kind of familial bond, only the kind of proprietary manners one was expected to hold themselves with in public. Memories drifted to the forefront of Cyran’s mind, of nights like this where Cyrilla treated him much the same way.

By all accounts, for the sake of the game, Illias should have let go of Morwen’s hand, put the proper distance between them.

Cyran did not let go of Iryla’s hand.

They were approaching unfamiliar territory for her now, and he would be damned if he treated her the same way he’d once been, ruse or no- they were undertaking this mission together, and he would give her all the support he could.

And ahead of them, the Beli Family mansion loomed.

“You really bragged about me to Snow and Zarius…?” Her tone of voice is bewildered, though she doesn’t sound upset.

“...Oh.”

Wow, she… She really didn’t know how to react to that, huh? Had she ever had anyone like that in her life before? Someone who would talk to other people about her? In a positive way, no less? Iryla didn’t think she had. Back in the orphanage, she had been easy to look over for the other brighter, happier, better children. On the streets she was just alone.

But now she had someone who paid enough attention to her to bother talking about her progress to other people. Who felt proud enough of her to brag. Maybe Cyran was just proud of himself for making a competent little thief out of her, the more cynical part of her psyche whispers, but it cannot drown out the blossoming warmth in her chest.

She doesn’t try to ask him for any more details of his conversations about her with Zarius and Snow. Truth be told, she would likely be too embarrassed to hear what he said. But the knowledge he had said anything at all sticks with her, urges her to hold her head a little higher as they approach the party.

If Iryla really had made him proud of her she wanted to keep doing it.

When they approach the party, Iryla easily notices other families like the one Cyran and she were pretending to be. She notices the distance that the parents put between themselves and their children. She notices the looks of disdain and boredom on their childrens’ faces. But Cyran doesn’t let go of her. He doesn’t put the same distance between them like those real families do.

“I think we’re here... Father.” She murmurs to Cyran with a glance in his direction. “Should we go in now?”

Father.

Cyran nearly stumbled at the word, only his own instinct and natural grace preventing him from tripping much the way Iryla had. And it was only years of practice that prevented him from habitually responding. That was not his right- not anymore.

Cyran hummed as he attempted to shove his own thoughts to the back of his mind and bring the character, Illias, to the forefront. When it came to any job in front of him, Cyran strove for professionalism, forced himself to hide in the shadow of whatever part he had to play. It was… necessary, for doing the kind of work that he did while still preserving the parts of him that were still him. All he had to do was separate work from his feelings.

Separate work… from his feelings.

“Ah… yes, It wouldn’t do to stand around here when the party is inside.” He replied after a moment’s hesitation. Within earshot of so many people, he had to switch to the alias. There could be no room for mistakes, and if this was meant to be a training exercise, then he would be the best example he could.

It was lucky enough for them that this particular party didn’t have a guest list, and Cyran soon learned why- the Beli family had guards posted almost everywhere, men who stood at attention with crossbows and various other melee weapons strapped to their back. They kept sharp eyes on the crowd of posh nobles in fancy clothings and trappings, wary of any attempt on the hosts, which seemed to be perched up on a balcony overlooking the ballroom floor at the moment.

It was a good thing the Beli family wasn’t their target this evening.

The crowd seemed to pay their presence no mind- even with guests among the crowd, most were Darkveil natives, and were hardly free of sin themselves. Cyran was not a betting man but he would wager that nearly every family here had some kind of dirt on them, a mountain of crimes behind their backs that stained the money and status they coveted so fiercely. This was a den of criminals as much as it was one of the wealthy elite, far different from the lavish parties of Eclipse City that he was used to.

They would have to tread carefully, and keep their eyes open.

Music wafted through the large-domed room as Cyran stepped forward, still holding onto Iryla. The room was already packed, with some couples already taken to twirling on the dance floor, and others mingling in corners. Cyran scanned the room, but he could find no sign of the ostentatious half-elf they were here to spy on.

The sheer volume of people was overwhelming to Cyran, the chatter of guests that resembled the squawking of birds more than it did human speech, and the sound of stringed instruments accentuated by clinking glasses all swirling together like an orchestra of dread in his ears. But Illias would be right at home in a place like this, so Cyran straightened his back as if someone had stacked books on his head and it was his job not to knock them over. He forced a confident, serene smile on his face as he glanced down at Iryla, who was no doubt just as overwhelmed in this strange environment as he felt.

“Shall we mingle, Morwen?” He asked, gesturing towards the ballroom. The message in his words was implicit- they would start making their way around and begin their search for their mark.

… And maybe Cyran would manage to find a champagne flute.

A drifting hum catches Iryla’s attention, but Cyran offers no words to go with it. He.. He didn’t react poorly to her calling him ‘father’, likely because they were slipping into their masks now. Yes, that was why. But she was glad nonetheless that calling him ‘father’ hadn’t gone poorly for her.

Not that she really thought Cyran would be angry with her at this point for calling him that. No, she was more worried that he would hear that word in her voice and find himself… Disgusted? Disappointed? She wasn’t sure the right word. Whatever it was, it didn’t seem like he was feeling it now…

It was a small relief in the face of what they were walking into now.

The nigh omnipresence of guards in this party doesn’t seem to surprise Iryla even a little bit. There were reasons she and her ilk often stayed away from this side of town, after all. Of course the infamous Beli family would be well guarded in their own home, these types often were. You had to be at least a touch paranoid to keep yourself safe in Darkveil, even if you had nothing to lose. The half-elf could only imagine how paranoid one must be to cling onto power when you had it around here.

Perhaps they weren’t paranoid enough, however. Not if they were so confident in their security that she and Cyran could simply walk into their home without being questioned. Of course they both looked the part, and it wouldn’t be easy for any riff raff to acquire the kind of find clothing needed to blend in at this party. But the Beli family was not the only family with money to burn and connections in this city.

Were they perhaps so arrogant they didn’t care? Even if the Ashen Fathers themselves sent rats in jewels to spy on them?

That might be something to mention to Cyran later, if he didn’t realize the implications himself. And to Zarius when they returned to the Rookery. But for now, their target was not the Beli family, but one obnoxious Elven Noble.

An Elven noble she couldn’t spot in the crowd yet.

Was he late? Or had he been lying about having an invitation to this place? She doubted it was the second option, considering how easily they had gotten in here. Maybe he was occupied in one of the other rooms of the house, but it would be hard to go searching for him without seeming suspicious... They'd likely just have to talk to some of the people already here to find out more.

Cyran seems to be having similar thoughts as he looks around and then gestures to the ballroom with a question on his lips. It takes her a moment to respond, if only because she isn’t used to the name he calls her by, but she nods nevertheless.

“Of course, Father. Please lead the way.” She replies, ever the demure and obedient daughter.

The father and daughter duo made their way across the ballroom floor at Iryla’s acceptance. Cyran kept his eyes peeled for any sign of Eldaran, but amongst the glittering fineries and golden gowns, the nobleman did not stand out amongst the crowd. Every once in a while, a partygoer glanced over at them, but more with the curiosity of someone who had spotted something new and interesting than with suspicion. They were something strange and new, but hardly the only moon elves in attendance. Just the right amount of standing out.

Cyran guided them closer towards the ballroom floor, where couples were still dancing to the music, some more elegant than others, and some… bordering on inebriated. Laughter rose from the dancers who stepped on each other’s toes and bumped into one another with gleeful abandon. He scanned the ballroom- still no sign of their mark. By now he’d reached the same conclusion as Iryla that they would need to speak with others if they wanted more information. Loathe as he was to admit it, they would actually need to mingle.

Thankfully, they didn’t have to wait long for someone to approach them first.

“I’m surprised to see a fellow countryman this far north.” A wry voice called out from behind, making Cyran pause. He turned to find a moon elf woman with vines and pearls adorned in her white hair, and a long dress that looked like it had been spun from moonlight trailing a little bit past her heels. Her smile widened when she made eye contact with Cyran, as if she’d spotted something amusing.

“Ah, good evening.” Cyran bowed at the waist, posture rigid like someone had attached a piece of string from his head to the ceiling- old habits. “As am I. I was under the impression that we,” He took the opportunity to gesture between himself and Iryla, “Would be the only dignitaries from Moonglade in attendance tonight.”

She curtsied in response. “Why the surprise? Is this not meant to be a gathering for the Beli family to curry the favor of any elven allies they can in light of the unification?”

Cyran nodded, internally grimacing at his own slip-up. Anyone in attendance who was meant to be here would know the reason for this gathering. “I simply meant that in the grand scheme of things, it would be more beneficial for them to invite more sun elves from Sol City than those of us from Moonglade.” He corrected himself, wearing what he hoped resembled a somewhat bitter smile on his face. In reality, he didn’t care one bit for the power play between elves, but the announcement of the unification at the Black Harvest Ball had left a bad taste in the mouths of plenty of elven families. It was an easy enough topic to stoke their ire.

Just as he predicted, the pleasant expression immediately slid off her face. She tilted her nose in the air and sniffed derisively.

“... Yes, well, the Beli family would be fools not to seek the counsel of Eclipse City’s elite. We have just as much to offer as those fat and happy bastards in the Capitol.” That last part was spoken in a hushed tone, as if she didn’t want the wrong people to overhear. “But where are my manners? I am Saoirse Lunen.”

It took Cyran’s self control not to continue to lapse into old habits and introduce himself by his former full name. “I am Illias Mellora, and this here is my darling daughter, Morwen.” He gestured to Iryla once more, a genuine smile on his face that pinched the corners of his eyes.

“Daughter?” Saoirse’s eyes widened as she looked between them. “I would have been able to see the resemblance even if you hadn’t told me. You certainly take after your father, young lady. Tell me, what is your father doing bringing you here instead of letting you stay home? Surely, a political party like this must be dreadfully boring to a girl your age?”

Weaving through the crowd is like a dance, Iryla finds, one that she has never seen before nor does she know the steps. She tries so hard to keep her head held high, but a little more of her resolve crumbles with every pair of eyes that glance their way.

Which one of them, she wondered, would notice the obvious fact that Iryla did not belong here? Which gaze would be shrewd enough to look past the hair and the clothes to see the dirt no doubt still staining her skin? There weren’t enough baths in the world to really take the street rat out of her, after all. No matter how finely scented.

The girl tries her best to remind herself that she was just being paranoid again. Of course people were looking at her and her father-figure. It was a party, and they were posing as a pair from a far off land. They had certainly dressed the part. But the thought that she would somehow ruin this entire operation with her very presence was a hard one to shake from her shoulders, clinging there as it was like a worn cape.

Self-doubt was the closest thing Iryla ever had to a mother. And what a bitch she was.

She nearly loses her grip on herself when they’re approached by a woman made of gold and moonlight, but she manages to cover her almost blunder with a squeeze on Cyran’s arm and an expression she hopes communicates more shyness than fear. She curtsies as her father does, just like he showed her ages ago in their cramped little bedroom, and does her best to portray a nervous but polite daughter.

The nervous part isn’t all that hard to conjure up.

The half-elf girl is content to let Cyran handle the talking. He had given her a primer on what to say and expect as a supposed Noble’s daughter, but talk of politics in the bigger world still went over her head. Was there some sort of issue between the Capitol and Eclipse city..? She’d have to ask about it later.

Iryla curtsies again when she is introduced as Morwen, as demure as a young flower. But her face flushes with an undeniable surprise when she is directly addressed by the Moonlight Woman.

Did she really look like Cyran…?

It couldn’t be because she was half-moon elf could it? Surely another moon elf would be able to tell them apart without mistaking them as being related just because they were of the same race like some more ignorant folk in Darkveil might.

She.. That… That was something to think of later. There was more being said to her in the moment. And now she would have to respond.

“I... Asked to come along.” Iryla replies in a soft voice. “If I’m to one day follow in Father’s footsteps, shouldn’t I start early?” She looks at Saoirse and then up at Cyran with large eyes and an innocent expression. She wasn’t really lying after all. “I don’t think it’s boring at all as long as I’m here with him. I just- Um… There’s a lot of strangers here. More than I am used to...”

Saoirse’s comment about the two of them looking alike was not lost on Cyran, either. Others like Zarius mistaking them for family because of their shared moon elf features was one thing- but this was another matter entirely. Cyran tilted his head, unsure if this was an attempt at flattery or if she really did believe they shared a resemblance. He was inclined to believe the latter of the two. Another curiosity to think about later. For now, all he could do was squeeze Iryla’s hand encouragingly as the attention turned on her, Saoirse expectantly awaiting her reply.

She handled herself well, glancing up at Cyran as ‘Morwen’ claimed she wanted to follow in her father’s footsteps, and some small part of Cyran couldn’t help but hope she wasn’t just talking about Illias. Of course, such a life was not meant for a young girl, but it was what she was given, and Cyran would do his best to help her in whatever way he could. And maybe this was a sign that she really did enjoy her lessons… that she might want them to continue.

Cyran cleared his throat before he melted into an emotional puddle of feelings on the floor. It had been so long since he’d played this part… the doting father of a young girl who might follow in his footsteps. As he looked down at her, he half-expected to be reminded of Marlow, but that wasn’t the case at all. Iryla was her own person, nervous and bright-eyed as she looked between him and Saoirse, desperate to do a good job and act every bit the nobleman’s daughter she was supposed to be.

That was the moment that Cyran realized he truly did want to be Iryla’s father, if she would allow him to be.

“Um.” He was so frazzled for a moment that he nearly broke character, before remembering that Saoirse’s eyes were watching him expectantly, waiting for him to speak. “Yes. She is extraordinary- much more suited for the family business than I was at her age.” This was not a lie. Even at sixteen, it was obvious that Cyran did not hold the same mind for business as the Fenastra family, that he was unsuited to carry on as the next head. Rather than learning, he spent his days sneaking out and getting into whatever trouble he could. One might not think it while looking at him now, but he’d been quite the hellion in his youth. Iryla, on the other hand, took to his training like a duck to water- the nature of said business was vastly different from a noble merchant’s politics, but the principle was the same.

“She’s quite good at geography and politics…” Namely, the streets and important people of Darkveil… “And she has been picking up on economics at a rapid pace.” In the form of picking people’s pockets without being caught. “I suspect she’ll outpace me any day now. As you can see, she’s already taken the initiative to attend functions and make connections.”

“Is that so?” Saoirse beamed at Iryla. “You’ll get used to the people soon enough. I suppose functions like this are bigger than the small gatherings at Eclipse City you’re not doubt used to.” There was a teasing lilt to her voice, one Cyran recognized as a backhanded attempt to talk down to them. This, too, was part of the game- families that tore one another down to make themselves feel superior.

“Much larger, but I have faith that she will do well today.” He said firmly, shutting it down before it could even begin. “In fact, we’re hoping to be able to talk to some other families and encourage Morwen to branch out. You wouldn’t happen to have seen any dignitaries from the capitol, would you have?”

Saoirse’s eyes narrowed at him for a moment.

If she suspected him or anything, or perhaps thought his behavior odd, Cyran wouldn’t know, as she quickly recomposed herself before pointing in a direction somewhere behind them. “I saw a gathering of a few families over there. They looked like they were talking about something serious. If you’re going to lobby, make sure to include my name in there somewhere, will you?”

“We will make sure to do so.” Cyran assured her with a bow, signaling the conversation was over as he and Iryla made their way in the direction of the gathering she’d indicated.

Saoirse kept her eyes on them as she walked. The noblewoman wasn’t sure what kind of game those two were playing brushing her off like that, but she didn’t like being ignored. She’d have to watch out for them.