Page 22 of Unravelled

By the late afternoon, Mira and Nerra were knelt on the floor of the great hall, surrounded by baskets overflowing with petals and trailing vines. Sunlight filtered down through the high stained-glass windows, washing the flowers in waves of color that changed with every passing cloud.

The vast chamber had changed under their hands.

Its stone bones softened by color and scent, transformed by ritual and intention.

The hall bloomed. Petals swept in deliberate arcs and swirls across the floor, winding toward five offering pedestals positioned beneath each stained-glass panel.

Five paths. Five legacies. Five Navigators.

They had chosen each flower offering with care.

Violets for Myrran, arranged in drifting constellations across the eastward steps, reflecting soft light with a faint shimmer.

Fire lilies for Bharas clustered in bold spirals at the center, their orange-red petals radiant beneath the dome.

Stormbells for Kharad lined along the base of the columns, their delicate deep blue flowers catching the breeze from the open archways.

Sea glass poppies for Lyren, set in low bowls of water that mirrored the ceiling’s painted skies.

Star-vine for Drala, woven through the throne dais railings, its silver strands trailing like spun fate.

Nerra sat back on her heels, hands streaked with pollen, and let out a long breath. “A little behind schedule but, if this doesn’t please the Navigators, I'm sending a complaint. ”

Mira let herself smile. It was true, but she couldn't help poking Nerra. “You said that in the garden.”

“And I’ll say it again at my funeral if the arrangements are ugly,” Nerra replied.

“No one wants to ascend surrounded by wilting greens and some sticks.” Mira laughed, brushing a smear of pollen from her wrist. But the levity barely had time to settle before she caught the sound of boots echoing on stone. She looked up to see Tharion.

He paused just inside the hall, caught mid-step by the transformation. His eyes swept the petals, the light, the impossible quiet. For a moment, he simply stood there, looking at the space she and Nerra had shaped.

His eyes landed on Mira's. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”he said quietly.

Nerra nudged Mira gently and stood, brushing off her skirt. “I’ll go check the stormbells. Again.”

Tharion drifted further in to the hall, gaze shifting toward the star-vine woven across the dais. “It’s beautiful.”

“It was Nerra’s vision,” Mira said. “I just followed her orders.” His eyes flicked toward her. She stood. “What are you doing here?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

He paused for a moment, then nodded toward Bharas. “I came to pay my respects.” She nodded him forward, and Tharion moved to the image of Bharas and knelt.

For a moment, he was still, his head bowed in silent reflection beneath the shifting light. Mira watched him quietly, saying nothing as he rose.

“I need you to come with me tonight.” she blurted out. That caught his full attention. She lowered her voice, “Ninth bell. Kitchens. Back entrance.” Tharion’s jaw tightened slightly. “It was Brahn’s request,” Mira added quietly. “He asked for both of us.”

He studied her for a beat. “Do you know why?”

Mira shook her head and looked down, then met his eyes again. “Please.”

He hesitated, just for a breath. Then, softly, “I’ll be there.”

She released a breath she hadn’t meant to hold. “Thank you.” He glanced at the petals one last time before turning. He gave Nerra a brief nod on his way out, and was gone.

???

The ninth bell was just beginning to stir in the distance. Deep and low, a sound that rolled through the stones of the palace like a slow heartbeat. Mira stood at the rear entrance to the kitchens, half-shrouded in shadow, her hood drawn low over her face.

The door before her was old and thick, worn smooth by decades of heat. It smelled of flour, oil, and soot, even from the outside. Behind her, Tharion was silent. Still in his guard's cloak, though, his hand hovered casually, deliberately, near the hilt of his weapon.

“You sure he's here?” Tharion asked, voice low, pitched just above the breeze.

Mira hesitated, then nodded. “He wouldn’t risk sending a note if he wasn’t ready for us.” Tharion’s jaw flexed.

The final peal of the ninth bell echoed and faded. Mira raised her hand. Knocked once. The door remained closed for several heartbeats. Just as Mira reached to knock again, there was a soft scrape, metal sliding free, and the door cracked open.

Only a sliver. The warm scent of bread and herbs rushed out, strange and comforting against the night air. A single eye peered through the gap. Sharp. Familiar. Then the door opened fully.

Brahn stood at the threshold. His hair was tied back hastily, and his face was more worn than Mira remembered. No armor. No weapons. But the weight of responsibility clung to him all the same.

“He came?” Brahn askedalmost disbelieving.

“You asked for my bonded,” Mira replied.

Brahn’s mouth twitched, a half smirk. “Come in.”

He stepped aside, and Mira pulled her hood down and crossed the threshold first. Tharion followed without a word, closing the heavy door behind them.

Heat poured from the hearths, and the scent of baking bread curled in the air.

A few cooks worked at the far end of the preparation bench, too absorbed to notice them.

Mira glanced around. “The kitchens?”

Brahn gave a smile. “No one listens in the kitchens. Just clatter, flame and mouths to feed. Makes it the safest place in the palace to speak.”

Tharion stepped up, next to Mira. “Then say it. Why are we here?”

Brahn leaned back against the preparation bench, folding his arms.

“Because our people are being squeezed dry, by rations, by fear, by a council more interested in posturing than protection. I’ve tried diplomacy with Torvyn. I’ve tried patience. Neither buys food, or keeps the Khadrador blades off our borders.”

Mira had known things were bad, heard the murmurs in corridors, seen the guarded looks on attendants faces. But Anyerit was the truth laid bare. People were going hungry. Families were being torn apart. The council’s silence wasn’t strategy, it was neglect.

Brahn turned to her, expectant, waiting for a suggestion.

For the first time, Mira saw a path forward.

She wasn’t just sitting at the table as Tharion’s silent shadow, absorbing strategy and watching others lead.

She had a voice, and she could use it. She could act.

An old instinct to defer, to stay quiet, flickered and died.

She met Brahn’s gaze. His eyes sharpened, and the faintest nod told her he was with her. Encouraging. Ready.

She drew a breath and spoke, “We need something that shakes the council into seeing the consequence of what they refuse to.”

Brahn moved past the hearths to a door tucked behind a rack of drying herbs.

He opened it without a word, revealing a narrow alcove.

A single small box sat in the corner. He crouched and opened it, pulling free a thick roll of parchment, its edges worn.

He brought it to the table and spread it open.

A map of the region, hand-marked with inked trails, ridgelines, and trade paths.

Mira and Tharion stepped in close. Brahn tapped a thin route carved along the eastern side of the mountains.

“There’s a Khadrador supply convoy running this path.

We think it’s small. Fast-moving. Carts.

If they’re cutting through the Ridgelands, they’re doing it to stay out of sight.

” Brahn looked between them. “I want to hit it. Clean. No bodies. Just enough damage to throw off their schedule and send a message. To them and to our council.”

Tharion studied the route. Mira leaned in, scanning the map. Her fingers hovered over the lines, the terrain shifting in her mind from ink to stone in her mind.

“They wouldn’t use the lower pass,” she murmured. “Too exposed. If they’re smart, they’ll take the spine trail and keep low.”

Brahn nodded. “That was my guess.”

She traced a bend higher up. “What about here? It bottlenecks between the hills. Steep on both sides. Sheltered from the wind. Perfect for an ambush.”

Tharion stepped closer. “You’re right. It would muffle the sound, too.

That trail’s brutal. Easy to trap, hard to escape.

No other path for miles.” Brahn gave a curt nod.

“We wait there. Let them come to us.” Mira’s hand lingered on the map.

“We can go in fast. Scatter the horses, cut the reins, take what we can. No deaths. Just confusion.”

“No witnesses,” Brahn agreed. Mira looked up at the two men beside her. She felt the weight of the moment, not as a burden, but as something solid she could carry. This was a choice. Her chance to make something right.

“Then it’s settled." Brahn rolled up the map and set it aside. “Midnight. Horses will be at the south gate. No one else joins us. No one knows we’ve gone.”

Tharion raised a brow. “Just the three of us?”

“Just us,” Brahn said. “Fewer voices, fewer mistakes.”

Mira looked between Brahn and Tharion, heart steady. She felt like awakened to what this fight truly was.

Tharion stood beside her, his voice low. “You sure about this?”

“I am,” she said, without hesitation. Tharion held her gaze a moment longer, then gave a single, firm nod.

?? ?

Hours passed, and the night air clawed at Mira’s skin as they rode away. Behind them, the palace loomed high, its windows aglow with festival lanterns. Silks fluttered from balconies. The scent of crushed petals lingered in the gutters, sweet beneath the press of night.