Page 103 of Unravelled
Some fell where they stood, others barely managing to raise their shields before another volley descended upon them. Blood dripped onto the stone steps, the banners of Bharalyn whipping in the wind. Cries of pain rang through the air as their defense fell, some crumpling to the ground before they could even draw their weapons.
Mira didn’t hesitate. She dropped to one knee, bracing her crossbow against the edge of the balcony. Her fingers moved with precision. Load, aim, fire. The bolt shot downward, whistling through the air, but missing her target. She reloaded. Another shot. Another fall.
Her vantage gave her sight but not reach. Her angle was too high, the gap too wide. She couldn’t protect them from here. She cursed, yanking another bolt from her quiver and slamming it into place. Her heart pounded.
Her eyes locked on Ren, who had thrown himself toward the steps, dragging a fallen soldier aside as chaos exploded around him. She fired again, but the bolt went wide, pinging harmlessly against the stone. Useless. Too high. Too slow. Too late.
Mira rose, wrenching her crossbow back over her shoulder. The trap had been set. And now it was springing shut.
"Fall back!" Ren’s voice cut through the fray, sharp and commanding. "Get inside the palace, now!"
The guards moved as one, breaking formation, retreating toward the grand entrance. Their boots pounded against the stone steps, shields raised against the onslaught of arrows. As the first soldier reached the palace doors, he skidded to a stop. They didn’t budge. He threw his weight against them, panic creeping into his movements.
Another soldier joined him, then another, heaving, pounding, desperate. Ren’s sword was still in his grip as he darted out, his sharp eyes scanning the battlefield, calculating. Searching. Another way. As if drawn by instinct alone, his gaze lifted. Straight to her. She knew exactly what he was asking.
Get those doors open.
Mira had no hesitation. She turned and ran.
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The stone corridors blurred as she moved, her boots striking hard against the marble floors. She took the winding staircase two steps at a time, gripping the railing to propel herself faster. The great hall loomed ahead, its towering pillars casting long, shifting shadows in the dim torchlight. Mira rounded a corner, and her stomach dropped.
Pouring out from the narrow passageways of the attendants’ tunnels, their armor mismatches, their weapons gleaming. The Resistance, around seventy warriors. She didn’t recognize a single face. Mira pressed herself into the shadows of a carved alcove, her breath shallow, her body coiled tight.
Her mind raced as she watched them move, swift, efficient, like a tide sweeping through the palace. They weren’t breaking in. They weren’t forcing their way through the defenses. Their steps were sure, their formation tight, too disciplined, too coordinated. No hesitation, no uncertainty. These weren’t desperate rebels fighting for survival. A pit formed in her stomach.
A voice, cutting through the quiet, carrying that same arrogant lilt it had the last time she heard him talk. That smug, boasting edge.
“I swear to the Navigators above, easiest thing I’ve ever done,” Dren’s voice carried through the stone halls, casual, amused. “Some little whore I met in Seacliffe, just desperate to be fucked properly.”
Mira’s blood ran cold. He was talking about her. A few of the soldiers near him chuckled. Mira’s pulse hammered against her ribs. This wasn’t the resistance, these were Kharadors. Dren laughed, dark and cruel.
“Didn’t even have to try. She practically begged for it, and in the end?” A pause. A smirk in his voice. “Told me everything I needed to know. Troop movements, patrol schedules, just spread her legs and handed it over.”
More muffled laughter. A few muttered curses about the stupidity of some women.
“Poor thing didn’t even realize what she’d done.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Just lay there, looking so damn grateful afterward. I almost felt bad for her.” Another pause. Mira heard the grin in his voice. “Almost.”
Her fingers curled slowly around the hilt of the knife tucked at her hip, her pulse thundering in her ears. Mira forced herself to stay still. Forced herself to breathe. She had to be smart. She had to be calm. Not because she didn’t want to bury this dagger into his lying throat right then and there. But because if she made a single mistake, if she gave herself away, she wouldn’t be able to get the doors open.
If she didn’t get the doors open, Ren and the palace guard would be trapped and continue to be slaughtered. She swallowed the rage clawing up her throat and forced herself to focus. Her fingers itched toward the blade, but she tightened them into a fist.
???
She kept close to the walls, pressing herself into alcoves and blind corners whenever soldiers passed. The air inside the palace had changed, filled with a new kind of tension, shifting beneath the surface, as if the bricks themselves knew they had been betrayed. Who was commanding this army? This wasn’t a skirmish. It wasn’t even an ambush. This was a coordinated strike.Someone had been waiting for it.
She moved silently, slipping past the great hall’s entrance. The doors stood wide open, spilling golden light across the marble floors. She hesitated only a moment before pressing herself against the outer arch, peering inside. The hall was crawling with soldiers. They stood not in disarray, but in orderly lines. Waiting. And there, on the dais, standing above them, was their commander.
Mira’s breath turned to ice in her lungs. His voice rang through the hall, thick with conviction, with purpose.
“And you, our Kharador cousins, you are free.”
Torvyn's voice carried, reverberating off the towering stone walls, filling every corner of the chamber. Mira gritted her teeth, bile rising in her throat as she listened.
“Free to choose your own path,” Torvyn continued, pacing along the dais like a man delivering fate itself. “You have a crown that sees you as more than a means to an end.” He spread his arms wide. “You serve a ruler who will never silence you, never turn his back on you. A king who will provide for you, fight beside you, bleed beside you.”
A roar of approval and stamping feet thundered through the hall, shaking the floors beneath her like the pulse of something ancient and irreversible.
