Page 18 of Unravelled
A towering figure loomed before her, clad in a battered steel breastplate, his presence commanding even in the chaos.
The leader of the ambush. His red cape danced in the wind behind them.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Their gazes locked.
Mira grinned. Adrenaline surged through her veins, sharpening her focus.
Without breaking eye contact, she raised her bow and loosed an arrow, deliberately off-mark, the arrow slicing past his shoulder.
A taunt. A challenge. His expression darkened.
He lunged. A flash of steel. Mira twisted, barely evading the sword's thrust, but pain seared across her side as the blade skimmed her flesh. He barely had time to register the move before she spun, deliberate and precise. She aimed the bow mid-turn, directly at the back of his head.
The moment stretched thin. She let the arrow fly. She didn’t linger to watch him fall. There was no time. Blood soaked the earth. They were winning, but they had not yet won. Mira tore through the fray, her mind already on her next move. She needed more arrows.
Thunder, a rhythmic pounding against the earth.
Mira spun towards the sound just as Ren charged through the chaos.
His horse cutting a path like a blade through flesh.
His eyes met hers. No words needed. He reached a hand out and she grasped his wrist. In one swift, practiced motion, he hauled her up behind him.
Ren wheeled the horse around, driving it hard toward her carriage.
The battle still raged, the air thick with screams and steel, but he didn’t slow. His grip on the reins was iron, his posture rigid. As they reached the carriage storage box, Ren yanked the horse to a sharp stop, using the stallion’s hooves to break it open.
Wood splintered, the latch giving way with a sharp crack.
Inside lay a crossbow. Smaller, more ornate.
Dark, knotted wood gleamed beneath the dimming light, its form elegant yet deadly.
A quiver of bolts rested beside it, ready.
Ren didn’t hesitate. He leaned down and snatched the weapon, turned, and shoved it into Mira’s hands.
“Now,” he barked.Ren was already kicking the horse forward, back into the chaos.
The moment her fingers closed around it, something surged through her, recognition. She had just seen this crossbow in her memory. It was hers. She raised the crossbow, loading the first bolt.
They moved as one. Ren rode with effortless control, weaving through the battlefield, while Mira took aim, losing bolt after bolt.
Each shot found its mark, picking off the worst of the Kharadorians with deadly precision.
Before the sun could fully set around them, the remaining fighters scattered, their resolve breaking.
Shadows swallowed them as they fled into the trees, leaving behind their dead and dying.
???
Throughout the night they counted their dead and burned the bodies, the acrid scent of smoke curled into the blackness.
Shadows flickered across the battlefield, cast by the flames consuming the fallen.
The distant cries of the wounded echoed through the clearing, a stark reminder of the cost they had paid.
Mira stood by her overturned carriage, her fingers idly tracing the grain of the crossbow’s wood. She should have felt something more, grief, horror, even exhaustion, but none of it settled in her chest the way she expected. The battle had raged, blood had been spilled, and yet,she wasn't shaken.
For the first time in a year, she had moved without hesitation. It wasn’t just the thrill of battle. It was the way she and Ren had moved together. Seamlessly and instinctive. She had felt like herself again, just for a moment.
She watched as Tharion, Torvyn, and Ren discussed the way forward, their voices low but urgent. Mira couldn’t hear their words over the crackling of the fires and the murmur of the wounded. She could see the tension in their postures.
Tharion stood with a stiffness that betrayed the pain beneath his bandages. His jaw was set, pride keeping him upright.
Ren, in stark contrast, looked every bit the warrior fresh from battle.
Sweaty, disheveled, his dark hair damp and tangled, the scruff on his jaw seemed rougher than usual.
Blood smeared his arms and clothes, some his, most not.
His usual cocky smirk was absent, replaced by quieter, more intense look.
And then there was Torvyn. Untouched. His leathers gleamed in the firelight, not a scratch or stain to be seen. Even his hair remained perfect, as though the battle had been nothing more than a mild inconvenience. She shuffled closer to hear.
"We need to figure out how to move everyone without the carriages." Torvyn stated.
"That’s going to be difficult. We have too many wounded to walk on their own.
" Tharion nodded. "We’ll have to redistribute. The strongest of us can walk or double up on horseback, while the injured ride in the carriages that still have wheels. But it’s added a few more hours with the horse pulling so much weight. "
Torvyn crossed his arms. "We take turns. Rotate the riders to keep a steady pace. We can make it work if we’re careful."
Ren sagged against the broken wheel, "That only works if we don’t run into more trouble.” Ren’s gaze slid to Mira.
She turned away from him. Shame, deep and painful settled in her chest. People were dead, Bharalyn people. A consequence of her choice. Their blood was on her hands. Mira stared at the fire, jaw clenched so tight it ached.
Ren continued, “If we’re ambushed on the way back, we’re slow and exposed. We need a better plan." Mira exhaled through her nose.
"Also the supplies? We lost most of them when the carriages went down and we can’t carry what’s left.” Torvyn warned.
Tharion's lips pressed into a hard line. "We take only what we need to get home. Anything else, we leave behind. It’s not worth slowing us down."
Ren pushed off the wheel. "We can stash what we can’t carry. Mark the location and send a retrieval party later."
Tharion nodded, "We can send word ahead, have them meet us halfway."
Torvyn's shoulders relaxing slightly as he agreed, and Ren exhaled.
They would make it work. As the conversation continued, the exhaustion that Mira should have felt crept in.
Slow, suffocating but it wasn't just weariness pulling at her.
Her choice had gotten people killed. That fact pressed against her ribs, hollowing her out from the inside.
She lowered herself to the ground against the carriage.
The motion stiff and reluctant, knees drawing up slightly toward her chest. The fire’s warmth reached for her, but it couldn't thaw the ice settling under her skin. The voices around her dulled, like a storm rumbling far away. She sat with it the weight of what she’d done, the silence of those who would never speak again.
Her limbs felt heavy. She let her eyes fall shut. Just for a moment.
She heard Torvyn brushing dust from his palms. “I’ll get the scouts moving. We’ll need eyes on the next pass before dawn.” His voice was low, firm, and efficient. No one argued. Mira listened as his footsteps disappeared into the darkness.
A moment later, Ren’s voice cut through the low hum of the fire. “You gave away our weapons.”
Tharion's voice remained calm. “I gave them to people who needed them more than we do.”
“We’re right alongside of hostile territory,” Ren hissed,“People died, We could’ve held our own if we’d had those arrows.” Mira’s eyes cracked open sliver.
Tharion didn’t flinch. “Anyerit would’ve been protected in the first place if someone in Bharalyn had actually assigned resources to protect them.” Silence.
Tharion sighed. “We can argue about it all night Ren, but I did what I thought was right. If that’s a problem...”
Ren’s snap could have cut through iron. “It is a problem when your version of right gets people killed.”
The hushed argument rolled on, sharp and low around her, but Mira barely heard it. The exhaustion she'd been holding at bay finally settled in, heavy and certain. She sank deeper into it, the words blurring at the edges of her mind, until they faded into something distant and harmless.
???
The market pulsed with life, a vibrant tapestry of color, scent, and sound.
Silk banners of crimson and sapphire billowed overhead, casting shifting shadows over stalls brimming with sun-warmed fruit, fragrant spices and delicate trinkets that glimmered like captured starlight.
The air carried the sweetness of honeyed pastries and roasted almonds, mingling with the rich, familiar scent of tanned leather and parchment.
Mira moved effortlessly through the crowd, the weight of her coin purse against her hip.
Torvyn had left her to search for some specific items, muttering something about rare herbs, but she had little patience for potions and elixirs.
Instead, she lingered by a stall of leather-bound books, their gold-embossed spines catching the light.
A flash caught her eye. Its edges worn, its cover softened by time.
She reached for it, fingertips grazing the spine.
A sudden force barrelled into her. Her breath was knocked from her chest. She gasped, tilting off balance, but before she could fall, a firm hand caught her wrist, steady and unyielding.
"Easy," a voice murmured, laced with amusement.
"Wouldn’t want you falling." She spun, the beginnings of a sharp retort on her tongue, only to find him.
Recognition struck her like a whispered storm.
Taller than she remembered. Strength carved into every inch of him, the kind earned through battle training.
His dark tunic clung to lean muscle, his belt riding low on his hips, the hilt of his sword worn smooth from use.
Strands of unruly hair curled down to his jawline, but it was his eyes, green, sharp, knowing.
The tournament, the way he fought as though victory had already chosen him.
The fiery intensity in his gaze, each perfect strike a dance of destruction.
"You,"she breathed. The corner of his mouth lifted in a slow, knowing smile. "I recognized you at the tournament."
He nodded. She caught the faint, intoxicating scent of steel and cedar.
"I wasn’t sure about you at first either," he admitted, voice smooth, deliberate.
"You looked every bit the noble. Poised.
Untouchable. Stunning" A pause, his smirk deepening.
"But then I saw the way you leaned forward during the practice duels.
The way you watched every strike, every dodge.
" Mira’s lips parted slightly. He had noticed that?
"You assume I wasn’t watching the champions. They were all so attractive," she teased, masking the way her pulse raced.
His smirk didn’t falter. "I remember you climbing trees at twelve years old. I can't imagine you're happy sitting on the sidelines."
Her breath hitched. He remembered. For a moment, the world around them faded. The laughter, the music, the shouting of merchants, it all blurred into the background, like a painting smudged at the edges.
His expression shifted, something heavier, something unspoken settling between them she couldn't quite see.
"You were meant to give your favor to the Queen’s Champion," he murmured, the words careful, measured. "Everyone expected you to."
Mira lifted her chin, feigning indifference.
"I don’t enjoy doing what people expect.
" Something flickered across his face, something between amusement and relief.
He exhaled, a quiet laugh escaping him. There was something else there too, something he hesitated to say.
He shifted on his feet, the confidence from before giving way.
His throat worked as he swallowed, his green eyes searching hers, as if looking for an answer before he even spoke.
"Come with me tonight," he said, the words almost shy, almost daring.
Mira’s brow furrowed. "What?"
His fingers brushed the back of his neck, a small, nervous gesture."You didn’t have to choose me. But you did."
Her chest tightened. She could have brushed him off, could have made some witty remark, but the way he was looking at her. Like she was something he had no right to hope for but couldn’t stop himself from wanting.
His breath was uneven now, his voice rougher, lower, barely a whisper, "You don’t owe me anything, Mira.
" Then he took a small step closer, closing the already small gap between them.
He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear, his scent wrapping around her.
Steel, cedar, and something deeper, something that could only belong to him.
"Please." His voice brushed her ear, sinking into her like a hook. "Meet me at the Tahla tree. Midnight."
A slow, treacherous shiver coiled through her. She should have made him wait made him chase, made him ache for it. And Navigators, how she wanted to. She let the silence stretch, tilting her head just slightly, her lips curving into something wicked and teasing.
"Tonight, you say?" she mused, tapping a finger against her thigh as if considering. "I don’t know… I might have other plans."
He pulled back to look at her, his gaze sharpening, amusement flickering in the green depths of his eyes. "Other plans?" he echoed, one dark brow arching in challenge.
Mira lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug, her smile nothing short of wicked. "I might have better offers," she teased.
His green eyes narrowed in playful doubt his smile deepening. Slow and dangerous. He circled around her, until he stood behind her.
"How can I convince you," he said, his voice dropping low, almost a purr. Mira didn’t so much as flinch. She turned her head just enough to catch him over her shoulder, her smile sharpening.
"Just a flower," she said lightly. "But not just any flower. Bring the Tahla I gave you."
A low, rumbling chuckle left him, not frustrated, not annoyed. If anything, he looked like he was enjoying this far too much. He reached into his pocket, movements unhurried, and drew out a small, folded scrap of cloth. Nestled inside, perfectly preserved, was the tahla flower.
"You think I'd ever let it out of my hand?" he murmured, his smile slow and sure.