Page 21 of Unravelled

Mira awoke with the lingering heaviness of exhaustion clinging to her limbs.

Sleep had not been kind. Her dreams had been vivid, pulling her back into memories she couldn't quite recall.

Balls, celebrations, the scent of perfume and sweat, the low thrum of violins beneath laughter and silk.

She could still hear the music. Still feel the weight of stares, the press of expectation.

Still feel the echo of Tharion's hand on her back.

She groaned as it slipped away. Her dreams always remained just out of reach. A melody half-remembered. She shifted, glancing to the other side of the bed. Tharion had not returned, not that she’d expected him to.

A sharp knock at the door pulled her fully from the haze. She sat up slowly, stretching against the stiff ache in her spine. The door creaked as it gave slightly under pressure, and on the floor lay an envelope. Small. Plain. Sealed in crimson wax.

She held her breath as she rose and crossed the room,fingertips brushing over the seal as she collected the message. The wax bore Torvyn’s insignia, but the handwriting within it, was Brahn’s. Her stomach tightened as her eyes flicked over the hurried script.

Meet me in the kitchens at the ninth bell toll this evening. Bring your bonded. Burn this letter.

Her pulse quickened. Brahn wouldn’t risk this message unless it mattered.

She crossed to the brazier near the window.

With a flick of her fingers, she dropped the letter into the embers.

It caught immediately, curling inward like a drying leaf, the message vanishing in a soft rush of smoke and flame.

Mira washed and dressed slowly, wrapping herself in layers of soft, flowing fabric.

Appropriate for the day’s duties. When she exited, the stone halls were already alive with movement.

Courtiers and stewards swept past with arms full of fabrics and scrolls, the scent of cut flowers and incense growing thicker the closer she drew to the great hall.

Mira slipped in, just as the second bell tolled.

The space was already crowded with attendants, clerics, stewards, and apprentices, all gathered in a loose half-circle around the thrones.

The scent Mira had followed was drifting from brass burners nestled between the marble columns.

Golden light streamed in through the stained-glass windows, casting fractured sunbursts across the floor.

Cleric Perrin stood at the altar, her voice rising above the hum of the crowd, measured and certain. Every syllable polished with practiced authority.

“…The Festival of the Final Sun is not merely a celebration,” she intoned, “but a sacred reflection of balance. Light and dark, warmth and cold, life and rest. The Navigators guide us not only through seasons of the year, but through the seasons of the self.”

Mira lingered at the back of the crowd, folding her hands before her. No one had noticed her arrival.

Perrin continued. “The preparations are already underway,” she said.

“we will open great hall to the townships at sunset this evening. In a few days, the Lantern Rite will begin after the sun sets on the western hills. Thereafter the garden canopy will be opened to noble guests only.” Perrin surveyed the room.

“The great hall will be adorned with petals by midday. The floral weavings must match the five Navigators, no substitutions.” Perrin continued, her gaze sweeping the crowd with steel-backed grace.

“The Altar must be redressed each day before the third bell. I expect precision from everyone, not improvisation.”

A few scribes scribbled faster. One apprentice paled visibly. Perrin’s voice cut through Mira's drifting thoughts.

“We do not falter in the shadow of endings,” the cleric said. “We rise to meet them. That is the legacy of the Navigators.”

Applause rippled politely as Cleric Perrin gave a slight nod, and with smooth, rehearsed ease, an apprentice acolyte stepped up. Her voice was soft but clear as she began calling out roles from a folded list in her hands.

“Household stewards to the Pavilion. Lanternists report to Master Arlis near the southern courtyard. Florists are to begin in the great hall under Vesra’s direction…”. The applause was quickly replaced by the shifting murmur of movement as instructions rippled outward.

The rhythm of work resumed as people peeled off, footsteps echoing beneath the high vaulted ceiling. Perrin’s robes whispered as she moved, her presence like a shadow slipping through the crowd. She moved with quiet purpose until she was standing beside Mira at the edge of the hall.

“Mira,” her voice low but kind. “Walk with me.” Mira hesitated only a breath before falling into step beside her.

They walked in a companionable quiet for a few strides. The bustle behind them faded slightly as they turned toward the quieter alcove beneath the side windows, where dappled light streamed across the floor in softened gold. The noise of the hall fell away behind them.

“I expected you earlier,” Perrin mused. “But I understand there was a complication when you were returning.”

Mira gave a slight nod, unsure how to respond. Her silence had never seemed to offend Perrin. They stopped just before the open altar doors. Perrin looked at her. Not as a superior, not even as a cleric, simply as a friend. Mira stood beside her, unmoving.

“You’re not sleeping well, are you?” Perrin said gently. Mira’s throat worked, but no sound came. She stared down at the fractured light at her feet.

“Not well, no.” she whispered finally. “Not really.”

Perrin didn’t press. Mira swallowed, the burn rising behind her eyes sudden and hot. The silence made it worse. The weight of everything unsaid pressed against her chest until it ached.

“I kissed him. And he didn’t even move. Just… nothing. Like it meant nothing. Like I don’t...” Mira tilted her head to her chest.Perrin didn’t fill the silence with platitudes. She let the words settle. Let the hurt live where it needed to.

“I don’t know who I am to him anymore,” Mira's voice cracking. “I don’t even know who I’m supposed to be.

” Still no tears, but her fingers trembled where they were clenched in the folds of her sleeves.

Perrin reached out, gently taking Mira’s hand in hers.

Not pulling, not pressing, just holding. Warm. Present.

Mira stared out the window, blinking against the weight behind her eyes. That pulled a shaky breath from Mira. Perrin gave her hand the lightest squeeze.

“Let him have his silence a little while longer. Perhaps it is the best option, for you both” Mira nodded once. The ache didn’t ease.

“Tell me of Anyerit?” she asked. Mira blinked, startled by the timing of the question.

“It was…” Mira’s voice faltered. “Worse than I imagined. But there’s still people there. People worth helping.” Perrin nodded, her hands folding before her.

“It’s strange, isn’t it? To see destruction and still feel hope. Like trying to carry water in your hands.”

Mira swallowed, her throat suddenly tight. “Iwonder if I did enough. If I was enough.”

“I am sure you did everything you could,” Perrin said.

“and you saw truth of what is happening out there.” She let the words linger, then turned back toward the altar, her voice shifting back into a lighter lilt.

“Now go, they’ll need you to collect the petals from the gardens.

” Mira nodded, she didn’t reply, only turned to go.

The echo of the temple’s quiet halls stretching ahead of her.

Mira spent the rest of the morning in the lower gardens, where the sun had finally crested above the palace walls. The scent of earth and blooms was heavy in the warm air, and her fingers were already stained with pollen and crushed petals.

She moved slowly, basket in hand, brushing her fingers over each bloom before plucking its petals carefully.

She looked down at her full basket. Colorful.

Balanced. Beautiful. Repetitive. A task that asked for nothing more than her hands, her breath, her patience.

The soft whisper of bees, the rustle of a breeze, they helped her forget the weight of eyes and expectations, even for a moment.

She bent to gather a cluster of bright amber marigolds when the sound of hurried footsteps and fabric brushing against stone reached her.

“Mira!” a familiar voice sang out, far too cheerfully. Mira looked up just in time to see Nerra round the edge of the archway, arms loaded with neatly folded fabrics and a grin as wide as the sun. Nerra laughed, unbothered.

“We’ve been given flower duty, and I am delighted.” Mira tilted her head, eyes narrowing with mock teasing.

“Of course you are.” She couldn’t help the slight lift at the corner of her mouth.

Nerra dropped the stack of linens onto a nearby bench, then clapped her hands together. “I already have a vision, by the way. I’m thinking of floating garlands. Maybe arrange the petals by color gradient? You know, to mirror the sun's descent.”

Mira grinned. “You’ve put too much thought into this.” Nerra’s energy could level an army, and she loved her for it.

“I’ve put exactly enough thought into this,” Nerra replied with a wink.

“Now come on. I saw a basket of twilight orchids near the fountain that would look divine along the entrance to the great hall.” Mira hesitated, glancing down at her half-filled basket of quiet simple flowers.

Her plan was different from Nerra’s celebratory vision.

Quieter. Still... the energy in Nerra’s smile was impossible to resist.

“All right, come on then" as Nerra brushed her palms on her skirts. Mira followed, the warmth of the sun curling over her shoulders like a shawl. And for the first time in days, her mind felt just a little lighter.

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