Page 25 of Unravelled

The journey back was slow, Brahn rode ahead scouting the path in case any patrols had seen the fire, while Mira kept close to Tharion.

He sat slumped in the saddle, barely conscious, his weight swaying with each step of the horse.

Mira rode behind him, one hand wrapped around his waist, the other gripping the reins with white-knuckled focus.

By the time they reached the outer edge of the palace gardens, dawn had lightened the sky.

A soft pink bled across the horizon, a gentle indifference to the night just past. As they entered the kitchens, the scent of baked bread and cooking meats clung to the air.

The warmth of the ovens wrapped the room in a deceptive comfort, but fear still curled low in her stomach like smoke trapped beneath stone.

Brahn lay Tharion on a cot beside the hearth, wrapping him in Mira’s cloak. His chest rose and fell in shallow, even breaths, but his skin was still too pale, his brow slick with a fever that refused to cool.

“He needs a healer,” Mira said, nearly trembling. Brahn leaned against the cot, arms crossed, shadowed by the flickering firelight.

“And bring someone else into this? One wrong word, Mira, and we lose more than just him.”

“He’s burning up,” she hissed.

“He’ll survive, he always does” Brahn muttered, though the words felt like a prayer more than certainty. He crouched beside Tharion, one hand hovering for a moment before tugging the cloak higher, tucking it just beneath Tharion’s chin.

Mira had turned away. She didn’t wait for permission or another argument.

Her boots echoed down the stone hallway, each step ringing with urgency.

The corridors were hushed in the early morning hush, but the palace never truly slept.

She slipped through the attendants’ stairwell, avoiding the main passageways, until she reached the door of the altar.

She knocked once, sharply. Then again. It was Cleric Perrin who opened the door, still dressed in her night robes, though her veil had already been pulled over her hair. Her face was calm but curious, but Mira could see the tension in the way her fingers gripped the doorframe.

“Mira,” she said, voice low but alert. “What’s happened?”

“He was training,” Mira said quickly, the words tumbling from her tongue before she could second-guess them. “Out past the lower range. He fell. I think he hit his head.He hasn’t woken properly.”

Perrin studied her in silence, eyes sharp behind the thin curtain of her veil. Mira didn’t flinch beneath the weight of it. A long moment passed.

The cleric stepped forward, and gestured for her to lead. “Show me.”

They moved fast, cloaked in quiet and wrapped in the chill that clung to the early dawn. Mira led her through the passages, keeping their route away from the usual patrols and watchful attendants. Perrin said nothing, her steps soft but swift, robes trailing like whispers behind her.

Inside, the warmth of the hearth reached for them, comforting but heavy with worry.

Brahn looked up from where he still sat by Tharion’s side, his face etched with concern.

He didn’t speak as Perrin crossed the room and knelt beside the cot.

She pressed a hand gently to Tharion’s temple, her fingers moving with practiced grace.

Her movements were soft, almost reverent.

“He’s lucky. He will recover in a few hours,” she murmured. “But the swelling is dangerous. He needs rest. I’ll mix a poultice to draw the heat and an elixer for the pain if he stirs.” Mira exhaled shakily and sank to her knees on the other side of Brahn.

Perrin glanced between them. “He will recover, but you’ll need to keep him cool and still. And next time,” her voice dipped with quiet steel, “Don't train so recklessly.” Perrin didn’t soften. But there was a thread of understanding beneath her words, thin but present.

Mira offered a tight nod, relief surged beneath her worry.

Tharion was going to be all right. She brushed a hand gently against his arm, needing the contact to anchor her.

Her jaw clenched to keep the emotion from slipping out.

Perrin's curiosity hung heavy in the air, she asked nothing.

For that, Mira was quietly grateful. Perrin stood, brushing a hand down her robe.

Mira stood with her and dipped her head. “Thank you.”

Before she could lower herself back to Tharion’s side, Perrin touched her arm lightly, halting her. “You can not tend to him"

Mira blinked.“But I…”.

Perrin continued "Go to the east corridor and send for Acolyte Vesra. She’s to oversee the morning delegations.

” Perrin paused, assessing Mira. “No one will question you,” Perrin said briskly.

“And you’ll raise suspicions if you’re seen outside the kitchens too often.

” There was no room to argue, not with Perrin’s tone, and not with the logic she so effortlessly wielded. “Get some sleep, and then find Harwen.”

Still, Mira hesitated, her eyes drifting to the cot where Tharion lay unmoving.

Mira nodded slowly, pressing her palm to Tharion's chest one last time before turning. She crossed to the door. Brahn hadn’t moved, but he looked up, his eyes rimmed with something that might have been exhaustion. .. or guilt.

???

By mid-afternoon when Mira woke, the palace hummed with its usual business.

Soft footsteps echoing along the corridors, silks brushing against stone, voices low and measured behind arched doors.

Mira stepped into the great hall chin lifted, her dress gathered neatly at the waist by her apron.

No one would guess she had been out all night.

No one would see the worry still coiled at the base of her throat.

Across the room, Harwen waited near the eastern archway, her hair freshly braided, her apron a more formal wrap of pale blue linen. She looked every inch the perfect attendant. Calm, organised and collected.

“Hello Mira,” she said softly, stepping closer. “I hoped they’d pair us for the lantern placement.”

Mira gave her asmile. “You don’t think I’d let you place the lanterns crooked on your own, do you?” she joked, though she felt her eyes lingered a little too long, trying to hide the fear still clinging to her.

Harwen huffed a quiet laugh. “I heard they are only crooked because you tie the strings too short. Which is why I'm doing the tying today,” Harwen declared cheerfully. “You'll do the placing. Teamwork.”

They retrieved the four wicker baskets, brimming with carefully packed lanterns, small glass bowls of oil, reed floats, and silk cords already trimmed to length.

The halls had become quieter, most courtiers and attendants wrapped in pre-festival duties or final preparations, leaving the gardens and balconies theirs for the afternoon.

The sun had dipped low in the sky by the time they made it out into the open air.

Golden light dapplingthrough the gardens and catching the fine threads woven into the lantern silks.

The fountains trickled quietly, and bees hovered near the star-vine hedges.

To Mira, it felt like one of those lazy summer afternoons that might stretch on forever, just as the summer began slipping away, soft and slow.

“I’ve decided I’m going to catch one this year,” Harwen announced as she knelt beside the reflecting pool. She was arranging a trio of lanterns along its edge. “After they’re released. I’ve been practicing my timing.”

Mira arched a brow and paused, tying a cord around a hook. “You know they’re designed to float away, right?”

“Which is exactly why it’s impressive,” Harwen said smugly. “I almost had one last year.”

Mira paused, she watched Harwen tuck a wisp of hair behind her ear, her face lit with excitement and determination. It was rare to see that kind of joy in anyone lately.

“You would get a request of the Navigators if you did. What would you wish for?” Mira asked gently.

Harwen didn’t answer right away. Her hands were steady as she placed another lantern at the edge of the path, fingers brushing the delicate sides with care. She sat back on her heels, eyes drifting toward the open expanse of the garden.

“For someone to listen to my village,” she said at last. Mira stilled.

Harwen didn’t meet her gaze, not at first. Her voice remained soft, even.

“They send requests. Petitions. One after the other. Shortages. Sea rot. And the council sends back scrolls full of reasons. Policies. Delays.” She looked up then, and her eyes met Mira’s with a quiet smile, bittersweet.

“So if I catch one, that’s my wish. We just need someone to listen. ” Mira nodded back.

They didn’t speak for a while after that.

The wind shifted gently, tugging at their hair, ruffling the corners of their sleeves.

Together, they worked steadily through the rest of the garden, placing each lantern with quiet precision.

Some were strung from the arching iron hooks above the flower beds.

Others were placed on reed floats, ready for the evening release.

The air grew slightly colder, golden with the slanting light of afternoon.

When the last lantern was set, Harwen stepped back and wiped her hands on her skirt. “That’s all of them,” she exclaimed, satisfied.

Mira looked around, heart swelling with the beauty of the garden covered in lanterns. The palace felt transformed. Not just prepared, but hopeful.

“Thank you,” Harwen replied, voice quieter than before. “For listening.” Mira met her eyes. Harwen’s expression brightened again, cheeks a little pink from the wind and sun.

“I hope your wish finds its way to someone. Navigator or human.” she offered gently. There was a beat of silence between them. Mira gave a small nod, the kind that said she understood more than she would ever put into words.