Page 33 of Unravelled
Tharion stepped closer. “You’re right. It would muffle the sound, too. That trail’s brutal. Easy to trap, hard to escape. No other path for miles.” Brahn gave a curt nod. “We wait there. Let them come to us.” Mira’s hand lingered on the map. “We can go in fast. Scatter the horses, cut the reins, take what we can. No deaths. Just confusion.”
“No witnesses,” Brahn agreed. Mira looked up at the two men beside her. She felt the weight of the moment, not as a burden, but as something solid she could carry. This was a choice. Her chance to make something right.
“Then it’s settled." Brahn rolled up the map and set it aside. “Midnight. Horses will be at the south gate. No one else joins us. No one knows we’ve gone.”
Tharion raised a brow. “Just the three of us?”
“Just us,” Brahn said. “Fewer voices, fewer mistakes.”
Mira looked between Brahn and Tharion, heart steady. She felt like awakened to what this fight truly was.
Tharion stood beside her, his voice low. “You sure about this?”
“I am,” she said, without hesitation. Tharion held her gaze a moment longer, then gave a single, firm nod.
???
Hours passed, and the night air clawed at Mira’s skin as they rode away. Behind them, the palace loomed high, its windows aglow with festival lanterns. Silks fluttered from balconies. The scent of crushed petals lingered in the gutters, sweet beneath the press of night.
The Festival of the Final Sun was everywhere. Even now, the celebration pulsed beneath the city’s skin, soft music drifting from closed tavern doors, low laughter winding between alleys, the occasional flicker of a lantern released too early, drifting upward like a lost prayer. Garlands hung across narrow streets. Ribbons of gold and rust-blood red. Chalk sigils drawn for protection and offering in doorways were already smudged by footsteps. The entire city was caught between the revelry and ritual. Mira tugged her hood lower over her brow.
The rhythmic thud of hooves against the dirt road along the town's border, a steady drumbeat that matched the quickening of her pulse. She was seated behind Tharion, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist. His back was solid, a wall of warmth and strength between her and the uncertainty that lay ahead. With every jostle of the horse, she pressed closer, grounding herself in the steadiness of him. He said nothing, but his hand would occasionally brush against hers as he held the reigns. A small that they were still together in this.
Ahead of them, Brahn rode alone, his silhouette a dark cutout against the pale wash of moonlight. His horse moved with controlled grace, each stride deliberate, as if even the beast knew not to disturb the stillness too much. Brahn didn’t look back. His focus was honed to a blade’s edge, his silence a tether that held them all taut with unspoken command.
They rode for what felt like hours, the city’s lights swallowed by rolling hills and thickening trees. The air cooled slightly, wrapping around them like damp wool. When Brahn finally pulled his horse to a stop, they found themselves on a small rise overlooking a well-traveled road. The trees parted just enough to offer a view of the dirt track below, where wheel ruts ran deep and the stones reflected the moonlight.
Mira slid off the horse, her legs protesting as she found solid ground. Tharion followed, his movements fluid, but his eyes remained fixed on Brahn. She mirrored him, watching as Brahn easily dismounted his steed. The air seemed to still around them, the trees a wall of shadows, eavesdropping on secrets.
Brahn crouched at the edge of the hill, his eyes fixed on the road below. His gloved fingers tapped against his thigh, a slow, thoughtful rhythm that seemed to echo inside Mira’s chest. “They can't be much longer." he whispered.
The minutes stretched, each one a coil tightening in Mira’s chest. She exchanged a glance with Tharion, his expression a mirror of her own confusion. The wind tugged at her hair, strands slipping from beneath her hood, and she fought the urge to shift, to fill the silence with something, anything.
A convoy slowly came into view, the creak of wheels and the soft clinking of metal are hooves breaking the quiet. Three wagons, sturdy and loaded with crates, rolled along the road. Each was flanked by a guard, their armor catching the light in dull silver flashes. The sigil of Myrdathis, a star encircled by a ring of laurels, adorned their breastplates. Their faces were obscured by helms, but their postures spoke of weariness, of duty-bound men simply following orders.
Mira narrowed her eyes at the passing convoy, her gaze locking on the sigils etched into the guards’ breastplates. “They're not Khadradorian,” she said sharply. “That’s the crest of Myrdathis. They're Myrdath.”
Brahn stepped slightly in front of her, his hand hovering near his sword. “No, they want you to think that.”
“What?” she turned to him, incredulous. “Brahn, that’s not the Khadradorian symbol.”
“It's a disguise,” he growled, eyes fixed on the convoy. “Khadradorian scouts have done it before. Borrow the colors, wear the sigils. It’s a trick to get close, to pass unseen.”
Mira exhaled through her nose, sharp and controlled. Doubt flickered through her head, but she didn’t step back. “You’re sure?” she asked, voice low.
Brahn didn’t look at her. “As sure as I’ve ever been.”
That was enough to clear her doubts. She nodded once, jaw tight. “Then we do it clean. No blood”
Tharion crouched, drawing a quick diagram in the dirt with his knife. “We set a trap. A tree downed across the road, nothing too obvious. When they stop, we create a distraction.” He glanced at Mira, a question in his gaze. “You’re an excellent shot. Can you light a fire with a bow?”
Mira nodded, her mind already rifling through her pack. A small flask of oil and a set of arrows fletched with dark feathers. “I can."
Brahn interjected "And if you add a bit of powder to the oil, it’ll burn hotter. The smoke will be thick. Give us cover.”
“Perfect.” Tharion’s knife moved again, sketching out positions. “We’ll take out the rear guard first, quietly. When the smoke hits, they’ll panic. We knock them out,bind them, and take the wagons.” Brahn considered, his face a unmoving. Then, slowly, he nodded.
Mira let out a breath. She reached for Tharion’s hand, her fingers brushing against his, before he took her hand and squeezed. Quick, reassuring. They had a plan. And they could do this without bloodshed.
