Page 131 of Unravelled
“Navigators please, give her back to me” he whispered.
His breath was cool against her skin, a quiet gust in the cold night. Her lashes were heavy, wet. She opened her eyes. The world came into focus, edged in silver and shadow.
As the bells continued to toll, echoing through the frozen air, the only thing she saw before her world went dark was Ren’s bright green eyes.
41
Ren
Eleven years before
The wind rustled softly through the garden leaves, warm and heavy with the scent of late-summer bloom. Ren ducked low beneath the hanging vines of the tahla tree, heart still pounding from the chase. His shoes were scuffed, his silk shirt stained with dirt, but he didn’t care. Behind him, his best friend hissing in panic.
“What do we do now, idiot?” Tharion snapped. “We can’t keep hiding in the same spot every time!”
“I’m thinking, okay?” Ren shot back, his voice sharp and low.
His eyes scanned the garden. Their new caretaker was relentless, faster and smarter than the last. And far more determined. She had found them twice this week already. But she hadn’t found this tree. Not yet. Ren leaned against the trunk, breath shallow. The tahla tree’s bark was rough beneath his fingers. He glanced toward the hedge line just as a voice rang through the air annoyed, and too close.
“Boys! I will be disappointed if you miss another appointment with your tutor!”
Tharion groaned. Ren flattened himself tighter to the tree.
A whisper. “Hey. Up here.”
He froze. The voice had come from above. He tilted his head, and there she was. A girl about his age, maybe younger, perched high in the branches. Auburn hair spilled over her shoulder, wild and wind-tangled, her dress torn in places from the climb.
But her face, bold and daring, held him rooted in place. There was something about the girl in the tree that made everything else fade. Her voice, her certainty, the glint in her eye. He didn’t know what he was feeling exactly, only that he didn’t want to look away. Only that he had to reach her.
Tharion, still clueless, whispered sharply. “Don’t talk to her. She might be a tree sprite.”
Ren barely heard him.
“I am not a tree spirit,” she said with cutting precision. “And for all you know, I am a Navigator, and since you have insulted me, I will curse your life to sail forever through chaos.”
Tharion hissed in alarm. Ren grinned. He grabbed for the first knot in the bark.
“Ren, what are you doing?” Torvyn whispered in horror, but Ren ignored him.
The world narrowed to the sound of leaves, the feel of rough wood, and the girl waiting above him. She pointed, silent and sure, guiding him toward the right holds. And then, he was beside her. Breathless. Grinning.
She was even closer now. Her eyes,a sharp, startling blue, met his with sharp interest. He couldn’t look away. Below, their caretaker shouted again, but Ren didn’t move.
“I wouldn’t mind being cursed,” he said, a little breathless, “as long as it’s you doing the cursing.”
She stared at him for a heartbeat. Then smiled. Just a little. It hit him like lightning. Something new bloomed in his chest. He didn’t know what it was. Only that he didn’t want to climb back down. Not yet. Not if it meant leaving her.
???
Five years before
Ren wasn’t supposed to be here. He was supposed to be anywhere else, anywhere that kept him out of sight, out of mind. But when had he ever done what was expected of him?
The championship duel was the grandest event of the season, and yet Ren hadn’t come for the spectacle or the glory. He had come because he could win and feed the fires that the court already fanned. He was on the sparring sands, facing off against the one man who could potentially beat him.
Tharion, this year's Queen’s Champion, was a wall of precision and strength. His blade never faltering, his footwork flawless. But Ren had been holding his own, his strikes calculated, his movements sharper than they had ever been.
Ren twisted, feinting left before striking high, forcing Tharion to step back. Ren pressed forward, catching the briefest opening. His blade flicked past Tharion’sdefenses, stopping just shy of his ribs. A fraction more, and it would have been a decisive blow.
