Page 116 of Unravelled
"You were there, but you were not on the steps with the court. You did not fall. And you were seen after the battle, escorted by the Regent himself."
The word "Regent" landed like a blow. A few councilors shifted in their seats. Others narrowed their eyes. Mira didn’t move. Asric’s lips curled, almost a smile as he addressed the council.
"We have all seen the closeness between them earlier this very meeting. That is no longer speculation. It is a fact. And while I would not presume to suggest impropriety…" he trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air like a dagger balanced on its point. "It does raise questions. Of trust. Of allegiance."
Mira opened her mouth, but Asric raised a hand, the picture of patience.
"Of timing," he continued smoothly. "Of who benefited from the death of Torvyn Solwynd. A man who once stood in her way. A man who knew her better than any of us. A brother." That word. It sliced through the air like a blade.
"She stood to gain," Asric said simply. "And now, she the attention of the most powerful person in this room."
The council erupted. Some shouted objections, others spoke in hushed tones to their neighbors. The weight of suspicion rolled like thunder through the chamber. Ren stood then, sharp and sudden.
"Enough." His voice echoed through the hall like a command.
All eyes turned to him, Asric’s smile only deepened. And Mira realized, with sick clarity, that this was his game. Planting seeds of doubt, forcing them to bloom in public view. And if she wasn’t careful, if Ren wasn’t, those roots would twist themselves into something far worse that just doubt.
Ren’s jaw was tight, his posture rigid as he faced the council, his gaze hard but composed. “Lady Solwynd suffered a loss,” he said, each word deliberate, unwavering. “I comforted her. As I would any member of this court who had just lost their only living family.”
He let that settle, then added, “It is not impropriety. It is duty. My duty, as Regent, is to protect this kingdom and all who serve it. Including any of you.”
Asric did not flinch, but the gleam in his eyes sharpened, almost amused. The seeds had been sown. Now he would wait to see which ones would take root.
Mira rose slowly to her feet. “My brother is dead,” her voice quiet but clear as a bell “And yet, instead of addressing why, you’re trying to turn suspicion onto me. Instead of asking why this kingdom is tearing itself apart,primed for occupation by other kingdoms, you stand there, picking apart every word, searching for some excuse to blame me instead of facing the truth.”
A hush fell over the chamber. Mira’s eyes swept the room, meeting every gaze that dared to linger. She didn’t beg for belief. She didn’t ask. She simply stood, unflinching, the weight of her grief worn like armor.
Asric tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk curling at the edges of his mouth. “It’s tragic really. That grief cannot serve as evidence.”
Ren’s hand clenched at his side, but he didn’t move.
A voice rose. “I can provide the evidence.” The words settled with unnatural weight.
Danlea stood, her silver robes brushing the stone floor, her palms open, the light glinting off the fine rings circling her fingers. The room turned to her.
“My gift allows me to see the shape of truth within one's mind,” she said calmly. “And if the council wishes it, I will see what she saw when her brother fell. When her choices were made. Not twisted. Not filtered through fear or jealousy. But as they were.”
Danlea eyes met Asric’s. “And I am happy to do so with any consenting party.”
She descended from her seat, bare feet silent against the marble. The sunlight in the observatory seemed to lean toward her, the shadows curling away from her touch, as if the very room recognized her presence, her gentleness.
“Mira,” she said softly, her voice woven with warmth, as if calling her from somewhere far away. "Do you consent?"
Mira nodded. Danlea’s movements were slow, deliberate. She stopped in the middle of the observatory, close enough that Mira could see the intricate embroidery of stars along her collar, the delicate stitching that seemed to shimmer with its own light. She beckoned Mira to her.
Mira’s feet moved, the marble cool beneath her soles, the silence of the observatory pressing in like held breath. Every eye in the chamber followed her, but none of them mattered. Not Asric with his sharpened smiles. Not the council with their thrones and judgment. Only Danlea.
“You’ve been through so much” she murmured.
Her voice was a balm to Mira’s frayed nerves, a warmth that seeped through the cracks of her composure.
“They ask so much of you.” Danlea whispered.
Mira’s vision blurred, and she didn’t know if it was from exhaustion, grief or the sudden, aching comfort in the Queen’s tone. Mira swallowed, her throat tight,something fragile lodged deep in her chest. Danlea’s fingers brushed a stray lock of hair from Mira’s face.
“Look at me,” she asked, and Mira obeyed.
Milky white eyes met hers, and the room seemed to exhale. The light softened shadows that had seemed sharp now blurred, their edges melting into the stone.
