Page 52 of Unravelled
Mira found Brahn in the kitchens, past the quiet corridor where the scent of morning bread and spice masked tension better than any soldier’s steel.
He was already speaking low to a pair of cloaked couriers.
Sharp-eyed men who blended into stone and shadow too easily.
One accepted a scroll, nodded once, and slipped through the side door.
The other moved past her without a word.
Brahn looked up when he saw her. Not surprised. Not cautious. Just calm. As if he had expected her.
“You heard,” he said simply. Mira nodded, her face carefully composed.
“Harrow’s Hollow.” Her voice held just the right amount of shaken, just the right breathlessness.
Brahn nodded once, sleeves rolled to the elbow, forearms dusted with flour. “We’ve already sent people. Quiet ones. They’ll move the survivors. Shelter beyond the river.” He didn’t look up from the dough he was folding. “Kharador hit harder than expected. But they didn’t stay. Just swept through.”
Mira stepped closer, letting the fire’s warmth brush her skin, but the chill inside her had nothing to do with the cold.
“I know who attacked,” she said softly. “That’s not what I'm here for.” Brahn turned his head to look at her. Carefully. Measured.
She met his gaze, steady as she could. “Who told them Hallen would be undefended?” The pause was slight, but it was there.
Brahn’s mouth pulled tight. “I don’t know.” Too fast. Too even.
Mira tilted her head, softening her tone. Feigning uncertainty. “But you have guesses.”
“Of course I do,” he snapped, heat rising just enough to mask the deflection. “Someone let the Kharador through. Someone who knew how to cover their tracks. And you think it’s not from inside? You think it’s not someone who walks these halls?”
He turned, pacing now, not toward her, but away, so she wouldn’t see how his face. Because that slip, that moment, it was enough. It was too smooth. Too practiced. She schooled her expression, watching him carefully from the corner of her eye as he continued his tirade.
“We’ve got a court full of silk-draped snakes,” he muttered, fists clenched. “And a Regent too blind to see them. And the Betrothed? Decorative. He's practically an Ornamental.” A bitter scoff. “If either of them had done more than pose for paintings, Hallen might still be standing right now.”
Mira's anger flared hot and tight in her chest. He had known. Not just known. Expected. He wasn’t upset Hallen had fallen. He was angry it had fallen too soon. And that meant he had planned for it to fall. Mira stayed quiet. Let him talk. Let him reveal himself.
“This didn’t happen by accident,” he said, voice low and burning. “Someone made a deal. Someone traded lives for favor. And unless we find out who, more villages will burn.”
Mira almost flinched. He was still pretending.
Still playing both sides, still casting himself as the vigilant hero, the only one willing to fight fire with fire.
And all the while, he was the one holding the match.
The kitchen door creaked open. Torvyn rushed in like the shifting of a tide, quiet and inevitable.
His gaze landed on Brahn instantly, a sharp read, the kind that didn’t need words.
“Enough,” he said, cool and precise. “These walls are not soundproof. We lose more than a village if you can't keep quiet.” Brahn stilled. Mira watched the shift in him like a blade slipping into its sheath. Not cooled. Controlled.
His next words were smoother, tailored. “We’ve already begun.
Quiet rescues. No banners. No approval needed.
” Brahn turned back to her, a gleam in his eyes like polished brass.
And Mira saw him, truly saw it. There was no guilt in his eyes.
No mask at all. He wasn’t hiding because he didn’t think he had to. He thought she didn’t know.
She swallowed hard, and look to Torvyn. He didn’t know. She was sure of it now. He didn’t know what Brahn had done, what he had allowed. What he had planned.
He was still standing in the dark, thinking they were on the same side.
She couldn’t tell him. Torvyn had always believed in people like Brahn.
He believed in loyalty. In love. If she told him now, if she stripped that belief away too quickly, she would be the one he blamed.
Mira didn’t know if she could be the one to break his heart.
“Discretion is survival,” Torvyn said, folding his cloak over a chair. Brahn nodded. “The people will remember who helped them. Not who waited for permission.”
Mira kept her expression neutral. Her fingers curled around the edge of the long prep table, steadying herself as her chest tightened. He thought she was still a part of it. Still his tool.
Brahn stepped closer, lowering his voice like a conspirator. “Smile for them. Sit in their circles. Someone betrayed us, Mira. But they’re not in the shadows. They’re right in front of us.”
Mira’s heart slammed in her chest. She let out a soft breath, like a sigh of agreement and nodded. Let him believe she was still caught in his game.
Mira left the kitchens with her pulse thudding in her ears, Brahn’s voice still hot in her mind.
His certainty. His strategy. His ambition masked as duty.
It coiled around her ribs like a snare. But even knowing Brahn had want Hallen to fall, it had still fallen early.
If someone had given Hallen to the Kharadorians ahead of Brahn’s plan, then it had come from someone in power. She needed to know it wasn’t Ren.
Her steps quickened through the palace’s corridors. Thesunlight through the stained-glass windows cast fractured colors across the stone. She followed it upward, toward the observatory. If Ren had given the order, then.... Mira pushed the though down. He wouldn't have.
???
Mira hesitated at the arched doorway, her fingers brushing the cool stone as she peered inside.
The observatory was dimly lit, a hush settling over the space like a held breath.
The mechanical orrery stood like a sentinel in the center of room, and amidst moved a familiar figure in flowing white robes, each step a study in grace and precision.
“Cleric Perrin,” Mira called softly. She turned. Her pale eyes, sharp and unwavering, settled on her.
“Mira?” she said, quiet surprise threading her voice. “Youare supposed to be at the reflecting pool?”
Mira stepped inside, the stone cool beneath her feet, the air thick with the faint scent of old parchment and polished brass. “I was... I"Mira fumbled, grasping for something. "I was hoping to find Torvyn.”
Perrin’s expression remained measured, though the edges of her veil shifted slightly as she tilted her head toward a brass astrolabe. Her fingers, gloved and steady, brushed a fine layer of dust from its etched rings.
“He was here. But the council have since adjourned for the Veiled Night Celebrations tomorrow.” Her voice carried no judgment, but Mira could hear the suspicion.
Mira nodded, her pulse a steady thrum in her ears. Ren’s quarters were in the north wing, close to the council chamber. If he had returned there, she needed to find him before he attended the Celebrations.
“Thank you, Cleric Perrin.” Mira turned toward the door, the faintest echo of her footsteps swallowed by the thick stone walls. But before she could cross the threshold, Perrin’s voice stopped her.
“Mira.” Her tone was softer now, almost laced with curiosity, but never without control. “Is something wrong?”
Mira hesitated, her hand grazing the cold frame of the door. Perrin had been a mentor once. A friend, maybe. But now? She wasn’t sure where she stood, or who she could trust. The truth hovered, unspoken.
Instead, she offered a smile. Thin. Measured. “Everything is fine. I just...need to see him.”Perrin’s pale eyes lingered on her a moment longer, veiled and unreadable. Then she dipped her head, graceful and composed.
“Very well.” She didn’t press, but Mira felt the weight of her gaze even after she’d turned away. It wasn’t a lie. She was looking for someone.
The halls stretched before her, narrow and winding, the sconces casting long fingers of shadow along the stone.
Her boots whispered over the polished floors, and with every step, her heart beat harder against her ribs.
She felt the pull of urgency, a thread winding tighter, drawing her toward Ren’s quarters.
Mira reached the double doors and paused.
The dark wood was carved with intricate patterns, vines and Tahla leaves entwined around the frame.
She reached for the handle, but the faint echo of footsteps caused her to snap back, her instincts pulling her into the alcove just beyond the archway to hide.
She pressed herself against the wall, breath shallow, eyes half-closed as the sounds drew closer.
The cool stone bit into her back, grounding her as her pulse thundered in her ears.
She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. She’d followed the echo of familiar voices by instinct, by need.
But now, rooted in place, she couldn’t move.
Ren’s voice cut through the quiet first, a low murmur that sent a shiver down her spine. “You think she knows?”
“Not yet,” Tharion replied, his voice steady but edged with something she couldn’t name. “But she’s getting close.”
The words dropped like stones into still water, sending Mira’s thoughts scattering in every direction. She, they were talking about her. A flicker of anger sparked behind her ribs, low and hot. Her? Like she was a threat.
“You were supposed to protect her,” Ren continued, his voice dropping to a low, urgent whisper that lost none of its intensity. “Not let her stumble blindly into the jaws of this.”
Her breath caught.
“I’ve done what I can. Do you think it’s easy? She has her own mind, Ren. She always has.” Tharion’s muttered.
“Don’t you think I know that? Her mind is not the point,” Ren hissed.
Mira’s stomach twisted. The words were wrong in his mouth, like chains wrapped in velvet. Her mind. Her choices. When had she become a burden to manage?
Tharion’s voice strained “I thought you wanted her to remember.”
Mira bit down on the inside of her cheek, the sharp sting of pain anchoring her to the moment.
Blood bloomed on her tongue, copper and salt.
Silence stretched between the men, thick and suffocating.
She could almost see them through the wall, Ren’s fists clenched at his sides, Tharion’s jaw tight with frustration.
The air around them burned with tension.
“She made her choice,” Ren said finally. His voice was quieter now, but no less absolute. “In the end, it should be her to choose...”
Mira’s thoughts spun, untethered. Choose what?
Choose to remember? Choose to restore whatever her dream meant?
To choose him? The weight of their words pressed against her lungs.
They were keeping this from her. Something dangerous.
She could feel it, like the edge of a blade sliding under her skin.
“Trust takes time to rebuild and we’re not there yet,” Tharion admitted, voice rough. “Not after... everything.”
“That’s on you.” Ren snapped.
Mira’s fists curled at her sides. The heat of her fury built slowly, creeping up her spine. Why was Ren giving Tharion orders about her?
“You think this is all on me?” Tharion said, voice low. “You’ve been playing your own game with her since the start of this.” Ren didn't answer.
Mira heard Tharion take a step forward, “You keep talking about what she should choose, but everything you do pushes her toward the outcome you want." Ren’s breath hitched.
His voice came out hoarse, barely more than a whisper but sharp with feeling. “Of course I am.”
His words bloomed in Mira's chest. Sudden and bright, like warmth catching flame in a cold room.
Ren continued, “Because it’s my fault. All of it. And if I don’t guide her... if I don’t try to protect her, she’ll get hurt again.”
A rush of something fierce and breathless surged through Mira.
Relief, maybe, at hearing him speak with such raw protectiveness.
But it twisted almost instantly, turning sour.
They were going inside now. She heard the door creak, their voices dimming as it shut behind them.
Still talking. Still deciding. About her.
Without her. Like she was something to manage, to protect, to control. Her hands trembled.
It was Ren’s fault. The words landed like a blow, sharp and staggering. He’d said it himself. Not just guilt, responsibility. Her thoughts spun, crashing into one another. What had he done? What had he broken? Had all of this, their stolen memories, the dreams, the Kharadors, started with him?
Her pulse pounded, furious and erratic. And Tharion? Had he known? Had he been helping him, guiding her down a path they’d laid out together? Her stomach turned. The weight of their secrets pressed down on her chest, thick and suffocating.
And yet, Ren’s voice still echoed in her head. That quiet, cracked confession. It hadn’t sounded like manipulation. It had sounded like a man trying not to shatter. That sliver of doubt, of something softer, dug in like a thorn.
Mira drew a breath, the cold air slicing through her like a blade.
There would be no answers here in the shadows.
She knocked on the heavy double doors, the sound sharp in the quiet corridor.
She did not wait for a response. Her hand found the cool metal of the latch, and she pushed it open, the door swinging inward with a soft groan of old hinges.