Page 30 of Unravelled
Mira awoke with the lingering heaviness of exhaustion clinging to her limbs. Sleep had not been kind. Her dreams had been vivid, pulling her back into memories she couldn't quite recall. Balls, celebrations, the scent of perfume and sweat, the low thrum of violins beneath laughter and silk. She could still hear the music. Still feel the weight of stares, the press of expectation. Still feel the echo of Tharion's hand on her back.
She groaned as it slipped away. Her dreams always remained just out of reach. A melody half-remembered. She shifted, glancing to the other side of the bed. Tharion had not returned, not that she’d expected him to.
A sharp knock at the door pulled her fully from the haze. She sat up slowly, stretching against the stiff ache in her spine. The door creaked as it gave slightly under pressure, and on the floor lay an envelope. Small. Plain. Sealed in crimson wax.
She held her breath as she rose and crossed the room,fingertips brushing over the seal as she collected the message. The wax bore Torvyn’s insignia, but the handwriting within it, was Brahn’s. Her stomach tightened as her eyes flicked over the hurried script.
Meet me in the kitchens at the ninth bell toll this evening. Bring your bonded. Burn this letter.
Her pulse quickened. Brahn wouldn’t risk this message unless it mattered. She crossed to the brazier near the window. With a flick of her fingers, she dropped the letter into the embers. It caught immediately, curling inward like a drying leaf, the message vanishing in a soft rush of smoke and flame.
Mira washed and dressed slowly, wrapping herself in layers of soft, flowing fabric. Appropriate for the day’s duties. When she exited, the stone halls were already alive with movement. Courtiers and stewards swept past with arms full of fabrics and scrolls, the scent of cut flowers and incense growing thicker the closer she drew to the great hall.
Mira slipped in, just as the second bell tolled. The space was already crowded with attendants, clerics, stewards, and apprentices, all gathered in a loose half-circlearound the thrones. The scent Mira had followed was drifting from brass burners nestled between the marble columns. Golden light streamed in through the stained-glass windows, casting fractured sunbursts across the floor.
Cleric Perrin stood at the altar, her voice rising above the hum of the crowd, measured and certain. Every syllable polished with practiced authority.
“…The Festival of the Final Sun is not merely a celebration,” she intoned, “but a sacred reflection of balance. Light and dark, warmth and cold, life and rest. The Navigators guide us not only through seasons of the year, but through the seasons of the self.”
Mira lingered at the back of the crowd, folding her hands before her. No one had noticed her arrival.
Perrin continued. “The preparations are already underway,” she said. “we will open great hall to the townships at sunset this evening. In a few days, the Lantern Rite will begin after the sun sets on the western hills. Thereafter the garden canopy will be opened to noble guests only.” Perrin surveyed the room.
“The great hall will be adorned with petals by midday. The floral weavings must match the five Navigators, no substitutions.” Perrin continued, her gaze sweeping the crowd with steel-backed grace. “The Altar must be redressed each day before the third bell. I expect precision from everyone, not improvisation.”
A few scribes scribbled faster. One apprentice paled visibly. Perrin’s voice cut through Mira's drifting thoughts.
“We do not falter in the shadow of endings,” the cleric said. “We rise to meet them. That is the legacy of the Navigators.”
Applause rippled politely as Cleric Perrin gave a slight nod, and with smooth, rehearsed ease, an apprentice acolyte stepped up. Her voice was soft but clear as she began calling out roles from a folded list in her hands.
“Household stewards to the Pavilion. Lanternists report to Master Arlis near the southern courtyard. Florists are to begin in the great hall under Vesra’s direction…”. The applause was quickly replaced by the shifting murmur of movement as instructions rippled outward.
The rhythm of work resumed as people peeled off, footsteps echoing beneath the high vaulted ceiling. Perrin’s robes whispered as she moved, her presence like a shadow slipping through the crowd. She moved with quiet purpose until she was standing beside Mira at the edge of the hall.
“Mira,” her voice low but kind. “Walk with me.” Mira hesitated only a breath before falling into step beside her.
They walked in a companionable quiet for a few strides. The bustle behind them faded slightly as they turned toward the quieter alcove beneath the side windows, where dappled light streamed across the floor in softened gold. The noise of the hall fell away behind them.
“I expected you earlier,” Perrin mused. “But I understand there was a complication when you were returning.”
Mira gave a slight nod, unsure how to respond. Her silence had never seemed to offend Perrin. They stopped just before the open altar doors. Perrin looked at her. Not as a superior, not even as a cleric, simply as a friend. Mira stood beside her, unmoving.
“You’re not sleeping well, are you?” Perrin said gently. Mira’s throat worked, but no sound came. She stared down at the fractured light at her feet.
“Not well, no.” she whispered finally. “Not really.”
Perrin didn’t press. Mira swallowed, the burn rising behind her eyes sudden and hot. The silence made it worse. The weight of everything unsaid pressed against her chest until it ached.
“I kissed him. And he didn’t even move. Just… nothing. Like it meant nothing. Like I don’t...” Mira tilted her head to her chest.Perrin didn’t fill the silence with platitudes. She let the words settle. Let the hurt live where it needed to.
“I don’t know who I am to him anymore,” Mira's voice cracking. “I don’t even know who I’m supposed to be.” Still no tears, but her fingers trembled where they were clenched in the folds of her sleeves. Perrin reached out, gently taking Mira’s hand in hers. Not pulling, not pressing, just holding. Warm. Present.
Mira stared out the window, blinking against the weight behind her eyes. That pulled a shaky breath from Mira. Perrin gave her hand the lightest squeeze.
“Let him have his silence a little while longer. Perhaps it is the best option, for you both” Mira nodded once. The ache didn’t ease.
“Tell me of Anyerit?” she asked. Mira blinked, startled by the timing of the question.
