Page 80 of Unravelled
She swallowed hard. “I should’ve seen it. He had no interest in me. I just didn’t want to believe it.”
Torvyn brushed a thumb beneath her eye, wiping away a tear. “Sometimes we see what we need to. And sometimes people are better at hiding than we think.”
Her gaze dropped to the floor. Torvyn was quiet for a long moment. Mira just leaned into the warmth of him, grateful for the steadiness she had never questioned. His comfort didn’t erase the hurt, but it gave it a place to rest.
“Stay here tonight, Brahn is away tonight, so I was going to stay here anyway” he said. “You don’t have to be alone.” She nodded, her throat too tight to speak.
He guided her to the settee and draped a blanket around her shoulders, then moved to fetch another for himself. He settled beside her. A fire somewhere nearby crackled softly. The silence between them was thick, but gentle. Safe.
Mira curled deeper into the blanket and beside her, Torvyn read in silence. The steady rustle of pages the only sound. She leaned into him, her head resting against his shoulder. He didn’t stop reading, but she felt the subtle shift as he adjusted to hold her weight as she fell asleep.
???
Mira sat on the cold stone bench outside Queen Danlea’s chambers, her hands folded in her lap as she stared straight ahead. The air was still, caught in that breathless space between night and dawn. A faint chill pressed through the thin fabric of her dress, raising goosebumps along her arms.
She had tried to sleep, tried to close her eyes and find peace, but dreams came fractured and strange, threaded with voices that didn’t belong to her and accusationsthat echoed long after she jolted awake. Quietly, she left the library, leaving Torvyn sleeping, his hand on an open book. She hadn’t woken him. Only whispered a silent apology and crept into the night-dimmed halls, her footsteps barely a murmur on the stone.
Now she waited. The door to Danlea’s chambers stood closed before her, ornate and unmoved. When she’d knocked earlier, lightly, uncertainly, there’d been no answer. Mira leaned her head back against the wall. The stone was cool against her head, a small, steadying relief.
She couldn’t stop retracing the past few months, every conversation, every withheld truth. The lies she’d told Tharion. The truths he’d never given her. Ren’s lineage, hidden in plain sight. And above it all, the stolen memories, once dismissed as mere consequence, now stood clear in her mind as something else entirely. Not chance. Not accident. A calculated theft.
The door opened. A sliver of light spilled into the corridor. Queen Danlea stepped into the threshold, framed in the glow of flickering candles. Her silver hair shimmered like frost, and her eyes, milky and unreadable, settled on Mira with calm intent.
“Mira,” she said, her voice gentle and unwavering. “Come in.” Mira rose slowly, her bones aching in a way that had nothing to do with sleep.
“What about Nerra?” she asked, her voice hushed but even.
“She is not needed today,” Danlea replied.
Inside, the room was cloaked in quiet. Candles flickered in their glass bowls, their silver flames muted, casting a gentle luminescence over the room. Mira stepped in and closed the door behind her, leaning back against the wood as if she needed it to hold her upright. Her heart beat too loud in her ears. The world was too quiet, too still. Her eyes adjusted slowly, herbs arranged on table, a small ceremonial blade catching the candlelight.
She moved toward the table, reaching for the herbs. But before she could touch it, a hand closed over hers. Cool. Steady. Final. Mira flinched at the touch, drawing her hand back with more force than she intended. The herbs scattered across the table, spilling into a mess of dried petals and crushed stems.
“There’s no need for that,” Danlea said softly.
“Then what do you want me to do?” Her voice cracked, sharp and brittle. “You asked for help with the preparations?” Danlea didn’t move. Her expression was as still as the candles, but her presence filled the room like a tide.
“I said what I needed to...” she replied, “to ensure you would be here.” Mira blinked, stunned. The anger surged too quickly to catch.
“To bring me here?” she repeated, voice low and shaking. “Why?” She stepped back, her heel catching on the edge of a rug. Mira steadied herself, eyes falling to the floor.
Danlea regarded her, calm and composed, but the stillness in her gaze only stoked the fury burning in Mira’s chest. “There are many paths, Mira,” she whispered. “You chose one lined with thorns. I wanted to make sure you had what you needed for what's ahead.”
Mira let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Meant to? I needed this?” Her voice cracked as it rose. “You think I needed to be lied to? To be betrayed? To fumble around in the dark?”
Danlea didn’t flinch. Instead, she watched Mira with an unreadable calm, as if waiting for something to pass. It didn’t. The silence stretched until Mira couldn’t bear it any longer.
“Say something,” she snapped, though her voice faltered at the end. “Tell me why.”
Danlea moved to the bed, her pale hair catching in the candlelight like strands of moonlight.
"You needed to grow roots strong enough to hold through the storm. Not for what’s passed, but for what’s still coming. You’ll need that strength. And you’ll need those who can stand beside you.” Mira opened her mouth, but the instinctive answer died on her tongue. A hollow ache bloomed in her chest.
Danlea’s voice gentled, barely above a breath. “Mira… you’ve been fighting so long, you don’t know how to stop.” Mira looked away, jaw clenched. But Danlea stepped closer, slow and unthreatening.
“This isn’t another battle. Not here. Not with me.” Mira’s shoulders trembled. Her breath caught.
“I didn’t bring you here to test you,” Danlea said. “I brought you here to rest.” Danlea reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind Mira’s ear. The gesture was light, reverent.
