Kaelen Vance slipped smoothly out of the hemp hammock, his bare feet touching the warm volcanic sand.
The cavern air smelled faintly of burnt sulfur and damp moss.
At the center of the lava tube, Barnaby Holt was already sweeping away loose basalt pebbles with a stiff broom of dried reed grass. Linnea followed behind him, spreading a wide, clean woven straw mat across the flat flagstones.
“Young Master,” Barnaby said, keeping his voice to a hushed murmur. “The scout team has returned. The hound-masters are sleeping in the cistern, and our purse has thirteen thousand stones.”
“Good,” Kaelen said, rolling his shoulders to work out the last knots of sleep. “Count out two thousand Mid-Grade Spirit Stones.”
Sera Thorne blinked, looking up from her open leather ledger. Her fine bronze brush paused in mid-air.
“Two thousand stones?” Sera asked, her gray eyes narrowing with sharp accountant suspicion. “Are we bribing Krahl’s entire garrison? Or are you buying a private pleasure barge on the Red River?”
“We’re building a breakfast table,” Kaelen replied with a faint smile.
