Page 55 of Unravelled
The words landed cold. Mira felt her stomach dip, the air catch. She’d known it was coming and had told herself to be ready. Their chambers. Tharion was across from her, still and quiet. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, look at him. Miller’s gaze swept between them with a subtle crease forming between her brows. She didn’t speak, just reached for the pot and began ladling stew into another bowl, giving them the moment without making it a spectacle.
Mira inhaled slowly, then pushed back from the table. Her chair scraped softly against the floor. “We should go, then.”
No one moved right away. The kitchen, moments ago, filled with the scent of bread and the low hum of comfort, now felt suspended, held in the pause between one breath and the next. Mira’s fingers tightened briefly against the edge of the table before she let go. Across from her, Tharion shifted slightly, the movement small but sharp in her periphery.
Torvyn said nothing else, just stepped back toward the door. Mira offered Miller a faint smil and nod, gratitude tucked beneath it like a folded note. Then, without looking back, she followed her brother out into the corridor.
The walk through Seacliffe’s winding halls was silent, save for the muffled echo of their footsteps against the damp stone. The air was thick with salt and the humid bite of moisture. The ever-present scent of the ocean seeping into every corner of the stronghold.
Torvyn led them up a narrow, spiraling staircase, the walls rough-hewn and slick where the sea had left its mark. Unlike the grander sections of the keep, this part of Seacliffe Stronghold was quieter, more private. Built for a purpose rather than luxury.
Finally, Torvyn stopped before a heavy wooden door, iron-banded and reinforced. Their room. He pushed it open and stepped aside. The space was small but practical, crafted with Seacliffe’s usual unforgiving efficiency.
Thick wooden beams stretched across the ceiling, their surfaces smoothed by time. The walls, carved straight from the cliff side, bore faint scars from centuries of salt and wind. At the end of the room stood a single, double-sized bed, the sheets simple but clean, the blankets neatly folded at the foot. Mira’s chest tightened. There was nowhere else to sleep. But before that thought could settle, her gaze drifted past the bed, to the far wall, where an arched window opened to the sea.
The room was built into the cliff, the stone hollowed out to frame a breathtaking, uninterrupted view of the horizon. Mira wandered toward it, drawn by her curiosity.
Beyond the carved ledge, the ocean stretched endlessly, its deep blue surface shifting beneath the darkening sky. The wind rushed in, carrying the tang of salt and open water against her skin. Waves rolled in steady rhythm, their white crestsdissolving into the jagged rocks below. Mira closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. It felt like a memory.
Torvyn’s voice broke the silence. “It’s not much, but it’s private. And the view’s not bad.” Mira forced her expression smooth as she turned back to him. He was watching, not just her, but her and Tharion. Gauging the space between them.
Then, with a flicker of earnestness, he added, “And it’ll mean something for Seacliffe, too. The supplies will help. Folks have gone without longer than they should have.”
“But that’s not what you need her here for, is it?” Tharion’s voice was low, deliberate. Mira turned to him, surprised. Of course, Torvyn had told him. He already knew that this was more than dropping off supplies. Hearing it from Tharion, realizing how much they discussed without her, landed strangely. Not a betrayal. Just... distance. That old and familiar ache.
Torvyn straightened, shifting back to the matter at hand. “Brahn will be here in an hour.” Mira caught the slight tension in his stance. That wasn’t what this was about. Her stomach twisted. “But, we have wind of a Kharador officer who’s infiltrated Seacliffe.”
Mira froze. The words hit like a dropped blade. “What?” She didn’t mean to whisper it, but it came out thin, her breath catching behind the syllables. A Kharador officer. Here. In Seacliffe. It was impossible. This coast was a world away from the Kharador border, across their kingdom. The farthest reach.
Tharion stiffened beside her. “How did he get this far across the kingdom?” His voice was low and clipped, each word edged in disbelief and alarm. His eyes cut toward
Torvyn, already parsing the logistics, the implications. “This border is patrolled,” he went on, jaw tight. “It’s watched. Quiet. Nobody slips through unnoticed.”
Tharion stared directly at Torvyn. “Unless someone let them.”
Mira’s memory clicked, sharp and clear. The old coastal maps, the trading routes, the jagged cliff paths and narrow coves that no longer saw merchant sails.
“He wasn't let in,” she stated. “Sail around the continent. Land in Seacliffe. Then make their way back through the kingdom.” The words hung there, stark and heavy.
Torvyn nodded, grim. The truth of it settled like cold iron between them. This wasn’t a breach. It was a strategy. A test. Mira’s pulse thudded louder in her ears. The implication hadn’t been said aloud yet, but it hung in the air like smoke, thickand inescapable. Tharion had remained completely still beside her. She could feel it, the way his muscles had coiled beneath his armor, the weight of his silence.
“So you need Mira to do something to him?” he asked, voice low. Controlled. But Mira could hear the edge beneath it. The warning. Torvyn hesitated. That alone said enough.
Torvyn's voice was, colder, or trying to be. His gaze shifted toward Tharion, then dropped, like he regretted even looking. “There’s a bar in Seacliffe,” he said, the words slow, careful. “Well-known among the sailors. It also…” He hesitated, throat working. “Also serves as a pleasure house.”
Mira didn’t flinch. But behind her ribs, clenched.
Torvyn cleared his throat, straightening just slightly. “This wasn’t my idea, Mira. Brahn asked for you specifically. Said he was impressed by your work with Lord Asric.”
Both Mira and Tharion flinched.
“We don’t mean for you to sleep with him,” Torvyn stammered. “Just ply him with drinks, keep him distracted, and slip the movements we need him to know into conversation.” Mira stared at Torvyn. A Kharador officer. False troop movements. A pleasure house. The room felt smaller, as if the walls themselves had tightened around her.
She swallowed hard. “You can’t be serious.”
Torvyn sighed, his voice quieting. “Mira… Brahn has trusted no one else with this.” He met her gaze, steady, unreadable. “But if you don’t want to do this, I can try to convince himthere's another way.”
Mira didn’t answer. She just stood there, eyes fixed on Torvyn like she might steady herself. Her breath came slow, deliberate, but her chest felt tight, like pressure building before a storm.
