Page 28 of Unravelled
She turned slowly, shifting just enough to meet his eyes fully. They were shadowed beneath his brow, tired. But not cold. Not unkind. Just… exhausted. And before she could stop herself, before she could think it through, she leaned in and pressed her mouth to his. A soft, seeking kiss. Gentle.
For a heartbeat, she let herself believe he might meet her there, might remember something, feel something. The world held its breath around them.
But there was nothing in return. The touch was only skin-to-skin. She felt no weight, tug, or sensation. He didn’t pull away. His mouth was warm but unmoving, his body still as carved stone.
Mira pulled back slightly, blinking. Confusion swept through her like ice. She’d expected something. Anything. He didn’t speak. Neither did she. The silence between them stretched.
Frustration swelled inside her, pressing against her ribs, curling hot in her chest. Her throat ached with the sting of embarrassment. It felt like a rejection. Worse, like erasure. Like she'd reached for something she thought was there and found only emptiness. Mira whipped around to face the front, her hands clenched in her lap.
Silence dragged between them. Heavy. Suffocating.
She turned, sharp and sudden, hoping to distract them both.“Are your memories returning?” she asked. Tharion blinked once.
His expression didn’t change. “It’s not that simple.”
“That’s not an answer.” His jaw tightened. Just slightly.
“It’s the only one I have, Mira.” Something in his tone, flat, steady, weary, made her anger roar back to life. She swung her leg over the saddle and slid down, her boots landing softly on the packed earth.
He called out, “Mira…”
“I can walk, carry someone who can’t,” she snapped, the words quick and hard. She didn’t look at him. Instead, she stepped forward and raised a hand toward a rider near them. Within moments, someone else had taken her place on Tharion’s horse without question or fuss. She didn’t look back. Not when she heard the subtle shift of his weight in the saddle. Not when she felt the heat of his gaze press between her shoulder blades like a question left unspoken. She kept walking, despite the pain in her side.
???
The road stretched before her throughout the day of travel. Winding through fields that should have been bursting with life. Past villages that should have been filled with voices, with laughter, with people. But Mira walked in silence, her boots kicking up dust from a path that had seen too many leave and too few return.
The land had not been burned. No scars of war marked the soil, no remnants of battle lingered in the air. And yet, the damage was there, etched into the wilted crops, the cracked earth, the abandoned homes with shattered windows and doors left hanging open like silent screams. The once-rich soil had turned brittle, the fields now nothing more than skeletons of what they were.
In the distance, the palace and surrounding city remained untouched. The towering spires gleamed in the light of the setting sun, banners of gold and ivory catching the wind like delicate things that had never known hardship. Even from afar, she could see the intricate embroidery shimmering along their edges. Each thread woven with wealth, with indulgence. The palace walls, carved from pale stone and inlaid with veins of lapis and quartz, glowed as if they had captured the last remnants of daylight. Pristine, whole, unscathed by the suffering that occurred just beyond their reach.
Mira did not see any of it the way she once had. Not after what she had seen. The villages of hollow-eyed children, the fields that yielded nothing. A resistance that fought not for victory, but for change. And yet, here, the palace stood, unmoving, unwavering, wasteful.
Perfumed air curled from the city gates as they approached. Thick with jasmine, honeyed wine, and incense. She could hear the fountains before she saw them, their crystalline waters spilling endlessly into sculpted basins adorned with images and statues of Navigators. Symbols of wisdom. Of peace. A laugh almost slipped from her lips.
Footsteps sounded beside her, slow and careful. Tharion moved to her side.
"Not everyone believes a ruler should live in luxury while their people suffer." Mira didn’t respond. The anger in her chest hadn't left, it just found a new target, coiling beneath her ribs like a blade half-drawn. Her gaze swept the palace walls, the glittering halls, the lavish banners fluttering in the warm breeze. All of it built on the backs of people who had nothing. All of it flaunted without thought, without shame.
Her rage burned hotter now, cleaner. It wasn't just the secrets, the betrayals. It was the sheer waste. The carelessness. The way the nobility treated survival like a game they had already won.
“Then let’s give the ruler a reason to pay attention.” Her voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to.
She turned her head, watching him through the haze of incense and evening light. Tharion held her gaze for a breath longer, then nodded, just once. Quiet. Certain. He turned and moved ahead, weaving through the slow-moving column of riders and wagons, his stride purposeful as he made his way toward the stables beyond the gates. Mira watched him go, the distance growing between them again, not out of anger this time, but necessity.
Mira’s steps were slow as she moved through the grand halls of the palace, exhaustion creeping into her bones. The polished floors gleamed under the soft glow of candlelight, the distant hum of stringed instruments practised.Her fingers brushed against the stone as she walked, grounding herself against the reality of it all, the stark contrast between her and what lay beyond the gates.A memory surged forward, unbidden, sharp and searing, cutting through the exhaustion that clung to her limbs. It struck her like the lingering warmth of a dying fire, familiar, intoxicating, dangerous.
???
One year ago
The scent of spiced mead and salt filled the air, mingling with bursts of laughter and the steady hum of conversation. Lanterns flickered against the walls, casting everything in a golden haze, though maybe that was just the drink settling in. Their corner booth, half-hidden from the chaos of the main room, had seen countless nights like this. Debate and drink.
“The way Dralis treats its fishing towns, the way the wealth from their catch never seems to make it back to the people hauling the nets, is a disaster waiting to happen.” Mira leaned forward, tapping her fingers against the table for emphasis, conviction slurring slightly with drink.
“If we keep pretending, this isn’t a problem, refusing to negotiate fair trade, the harbors will fall apart. And when that happens, guess what? Everyone loses. Trade benefits everyone.”
Across the table, a cup tilted, mead sloshing dangerously close to the rim, nearly spilling onto an already drunk companion.
