Page 14 of Unravelled
Mira nodded once. Firm. “I want to go with Torvyn to Anyerit. He’s leaving tomorrow.” Perrin studied her, saying nothing at first.
Mira continued, “The village was hit hard. There’s nothing left standing. They need aid. I’m not trained like you, but I can help. Even basic healing makes a difference.”
The cleric moved to light a summer candle, tallow and lavender, low and slow-burning. She cupped her hand around the match and waited for Mira to keep speaking.
When she didn’t, Perrin turned. “Tell me what you’re really hoping to find there”
Mira's voice was quiet. “The people there have nothing. And I... I have the luxury of choice. I want to use it to help them.”
Perrin regarded her with a gaze that saw more than it revealed. Her expression softened. She walked to the basin beside the altar and dipped her fingers into the water. “You know what you’ll witness there won’t be easy,” she said, turning back to face Mira.
Mira nodded, “I do.”
“And that there may be more to Torvyn’s purpose than simply relief work?” Perrin spoke with no judgement.
Mira’s jaw tensed, but she didn’t flinch. “Yes.”
There was no rebuke in Perrin’s silence, only thoughtfulness. She stepped forward and gently placed a hand over Mira’s. “Then go. See it with your own eyes. But don’t just look at what’s broken.” Her voice was softer now, almost reverent. “Look for what still stands.”
Mira took a breath, nodding. “Thank you.”
Perrin offered the smallest of smiles, though her eyes held firm. “Don’t thank me until you come back." She looked at Mira through her veil for a moment, eyes narrowing before moving on. "You'll be in the sanctum today. The central stacks need reordering, and the tomb ledgers are waiting to be archived properly.” she paused, “Take it as a quiet place to think, before the noise of the road.”
Mira hesitated. Perrin had never allowed her in the sanctum before. It was usually reserved for her acolytes. Miranodded and turned away toward the rear alcove. Here the dust smelled of old vellum and the tomb ledgers sat in solemn, uneven stacks. The space was quiet, removed, lined with arched shelving and narrow nooks carved into the stone. A single narrow window spilled sunlight across the floor like a golden blade, catching on the edges of faded ink and brittle parchment.
And Mira let herself exhale. It wasn’t punishment she assured herself. It was a pause. A breath. A place to be still before she faced fire. She rolled up her sleeves, laid her palms on the first stack of ledgers.
5
All three had agreed. Cleric Perrin, Torvyen and Tharion had insisted that Mira ride in the convoy of carriages, a decision she accepted with visible reluctance. She’d argued, of course, but none of them had budged. Riding in a carriage felt stifling compared to the freedom of a horse, where the wind and open air would have been her companions. But with Tharion stationed on one side of the carriage and Torvyn on the other, they’d made their point clear. There would be no sneaking off to commandeer a spare steed.
Through the small carriage window, she caught sight of Tharion riding beside her. He sat tall in the saddle, his dark cloak shifting slightly in the breeze, revealing black leather armor marred with faint scratches, silent testaments to the battles he’d fought out here. His sword rested against his hip, the hilt worn from years of use.
Once, she might have felt a spark of heat seeing him like this, a steadfast warrior, commanding and unshakable. But now, she felt only the faint ache of something unspoken, something muted and distant. Whatever connection they shared was buried deep in their memories. Her gaze lingered on him as he turned his head, scanning the horizon with sharp eyes that always seemed to search elsewhere. Once, his unwavering devotion to duty had impressed her. Now, it felt like a wall shutting her out.
The journey to Anyerit was short, just a few hours, but to Mira, it felt endless. She sat stiffly, her chin resting on her hand as she gazed out at the changing landscape. The lush gardens and towering trees near the palace gave way to the township surrounding the palace, then to orderly farmland. The neat rows of crops stretching across rolling hills. Sunlight bathed the fields, and for a fleeting moment, Mira allowed herself to believe that the rumors about Anyerit might have been exaggerated. But as the convoy pressed on, the scenery changed. The crops grew sparse, their leaves curling and browning. Vibrant green turned to dull yellow, and yellow gave way to brittle brown.
Mira leaned closer to the window, her brow furrowing as she watched the life drain from the land. There were no signs of fire or war, no scorched earth or smoldering ruins. These fields should have been thriving, feeding the people who worked them, but they had simply withered, as if the land itself had been drained of vitality.
The convoy slowed near a small rest point, the drivers pausing to water the horses. Mira welcomed the stop, stepping down from the carriage as the heavy fabric of her simple gray dress swayed around her legs. The design was practical for travel, with a fitted bodice and loose sleeves that gathered at her elbows. Tharion dismounted his horse with practiced ease, his boots crunching on the gravel as he approached her. His eyes scanned the horizon, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
"What happened here?" Mira asked, her voice low as her gaze drifted to the barren fields.
"They poisoned the fields," Tharion said grimly. "It’s a classic Kharadorian tactic from a few hundred years ago. Kill the land, starve the people, weaken the kingdom."
Mira frowned, stepping away from him as her curiosity pulled her toward the field’s edge. She knelt down, brushing her fingers over the dry, cracked soil. Her brow furrowed as she surveyed it.
"No," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. "This isn’t poison. It’s salt."
Tharion stepped closer, his tone skeptical. "Salt?"
“It’s like the salt we use in the rituals,” she murmured, rising to her feet and brushing the dry soil from her palms. She held a small pinch of the coarse white substance out toward Tharion, her hand steady. He took some without hesitation, his glove brushed lightly against her fingers as he did. “Why would they salt the fields instead of poisoning them?” she asked, turning the granules over carefully in her palm.
“Poison would be faster. Far more effective.” Tharion glanced down at the earth.
From behind her, “Salt can eventually be removed.”
Mira turned as she caught sight of Ren. He wore a dark travelling cape. The high collar framed his sharp jawline, and beneath it, his black tunic clung to the lean muscle of his chest. He always carried his strength so effortlessly.
