Chapter 704: You're Shameless

“Let them drift,” Veylara replied, her already cold voice falling into that dark, melodic timbre that held the absolute authority of a predator at the peak of the mountain.

She drained her cup in a single swallow, setting it down with a firm, solid thud. “By the time anyone from the far south gathers the courage to cross the borders, our palisades will be fortified with stone, our storehouses will be bursting with tributary resources, and our spears will be too sharp to test.”

She rose from the bone seat, her crimson leather tunic settling snugly around her waist as she stretched her lithe, powerful body.

The lingering fatigue from working all night was gone, burned away by the surging, pristine essence circulating through her newly widened channels.

“Where are you going?” Zephyra asked, tilting her head toward the footsteps heading for the side chamber.

“To check on the situation outside,” Veylara answered, her lips twitching with a faint, wicked smirk that the shaman couldn’t see, but could certainly sense. “And to see if our idle Supreme Spear has finished his rest.”

Out in the central yard, the afternoon sun had burned away the forest haze, bathing the busy dirt roads in a rich, amber glow.

The foreign envoys had already fled through the main gates like hunted hares, kicking up small clouds of dust that drifted across the sky.

Word of their total surrender had swept through the tribe in minutes, carried on the boisterous shouts of the perimeter guards.

The Veynar warriors worked with even lighter steps now, their laughter ringing out over the sound of wood-planes and stone-chisels, puffed with the fierce pride of belonging to a tribe that had just claimed multiple tributary clans without notching a single flint blade.

Near the central lumber piles, the scene was considerably more peaceful.

Sol had finished his third or maybe fourth pear. The carved bone knife was tucked neatly into its sheath at his hip, and he had migrated from the timber stack to a broad, sun-warmed stone bench beneath the sprawling shade of an ancient elm.

His legs were stretched out lazily before him, his back resting against the rough trunk, hands folded behind his head as he watched the drifting autumn clouds through half-lidded eyes.

Beside him, Kira sat cross-legged on the stone, her wooden inventory tablet resting on her knees.

Her bone dagger lay flat beside her thighs as she meticulously used a sharpened charcoal stick to cross out line after line of conquered storehouse ledgers.

Her forehead was creased with intense, youthful concentration, the dark braid resting over her shoulder twitching every time she shook her head at an uneven count.

“The Zerith left behind seventy barrels of rendered dire-bear tallow,” Kira muttered, her nose wrinkling in mild disgust. “Half of it smells like it was boiled two winters ago, but the hunters say it’ll burn fine for night lamps. And the Marauders…”

“Kira,” Sol murmured, his eyes still closed against the warm breeze.

“What?” she asked, her charcoal stick pausing mid-stroke.

“You’ve been frowning at that piece of bark for three hours,” he drawled, the gravelly husk of his voice deep and relaxed. “The tallow isn’t going anywhere. The Marauders aren’t rising from the dead. Put the stick down and let the sun do its magic.”

Kira puffed out her cheeks, glaring at him with mock severity, though the fond, warm light in her dark eyes betrayed her.

“Some of us actually have work to do, you know. Just because Mother gave you a grand title and permission to lounge like an overfed panther doesn’t mean the rest of the tribe runs on fresh air. Someone has to make sure the storehouses don’t get moldy before the frost.”

“An overfed panther, huh?” Sol opened one neon-crimson eye, a lazy, dangerous grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Careful, little hunter. Talk like that might make me feel like earning my keep, and you know how messy I get when I have to move.”

A sudden flush bloomed along Kira’s cheeks as her mind flashed back to the state her mother had returned in from the pond… disheveled, marked with bruises, and smelling unmistakably of his essence.

She hastily snapped her eyes back to the wooden tablet, clearing her throat with an exaggerated cough.

“You’re shameless,” she grumbled, pressing the charcoal stick down so hard the tip nearly snapped. “Completely and utterly shameless.”

“I hear that a lot around here,” Sol chuckled, closing his eye again and letting the warm autumn wind rustle his dark hair.

Suddenly calm and unhurried crunch of footsteps came along the gravel path,

Zeyra, who had been leaning against a nearby drying rack sharpening the tip of a hunting spear with a flat river stone, immediately stood straight, lowering her weapon in silent respect.

Veylara stepped out from the shadow of a nearby tree.

She walked with an effortless, smooth stride, her crimson tunic catching the amber sunlight, her dark hair flowing loose over her shoulders.

The icy, untouchable majesty she had worn on the bone throne was gone, replaced by the relaxed, confident grace of an apex ruler walking her own domain.

Her sapphire gaze swept over the square… from her daughter’s flushed cheeks to Zeyra’s face… before finally settling on the beast of a man sprawled out under the elm tree.

“I see the Supreme Spear is defending the tribe against the terrible threat of falling leaves,” Veylara said, stopping three paces from the stone bench, her arms folded over her chest.

Having already sensed her from afar, Sol didn’t open his eyes, but his grin broadened.

“Tough work, Chief,” Sol replied, his voice a low, teasing rumble. “Those leaves are relentless. One almost landed on my knee. Had to give it a stern look to back it off.”

Kira couldn’t help letting out a soft, breathy snort of laughter, quickly hiding her mouth behind her wooden tablet, while Zeyra shook her head with an amused sigh.

Veylara’s lips twitched, fighting down the smile that threatened to break her stern countenance.

She stepped closer, the edge of her leather shoes brushing right against the sole of Sol’s foot, looking down at him with an expression that carried both the pride of a sovereign and the possessive, hidden hunger of a woman.