Chapter 170 Nothing Left to Fear

Chapter 170 Nothing Left to Fear
Mira's POV
The grand dining hall at the Ranges was alive with noise, warmth, and the chaotic, wonderful joy of a large family gathering.
Long oak tables were laden with platters of roasted venison drizzled with berry glaze, fresh hearth bread, steaming bowls of seasoned root vegetables, and large pitchers of sweet spiced wine. Heavy iron chandeliers hung from the high vaulted ceiling, casting a rich, golden light over the assembled crowd. Outside, the autumn rain beat steadily against the heavy glass windows, but inside, the massive stone fireplace roared with pine logs, keeping the mountain chill far away.
Across the table from Caelum and me sat Wren and Soren. They were constantly fussing over their sixteen-year-old son, Jax, who possessed his father's sharp, dark eyes and his mother's irrepressible, wicked wit. Jax was currently trying to hide a small silver object under his cloth napkin, using his fork to distract his mother.
"Jax, put that dagger away at the dinner table," Wren scolded, though she could not hide the affectionate grin tugging at the corner of her mouth as she reached over to steal a piece of warm bread from his plate.
"It is not a dagger, Mother," Jax protested smoothly, slipping the small steel blade up his sleeve with a speed that perfectly mirrored Soren’s old scouting moves from his youth. "It is a balance-testing tool for my practical mechanics class at the armory."
"It is a throwing knife," Soren corrected flatly, taking a slow sip from his wooden goblet. "And your wrist angle was two degrees too high on the third draw this morning during practice in the yard. You are snapping your fingers instead of releasing cleanly from the palm."
"See? Father understands technical mechanics," Jax grinned, winking at Ilaria, who sat beside him. "He knows it is an art form that requires constant calibration."
"I know it is an art form that will ruin your mother's finest linen tablecloth if you drop it," Soren added dryly, though his own eyes danced with quiet, deep pride as he adjusted his posture.
The heavy double doors of the dining hall swung open with a resounding thud, and Kestrel walked in, wearing her formal Ashveil traveling coat dusted with road grime and rain. She dropped all royal protocol the moment she crossed the threshold, tossing her wet leather riding gloves onto a side table before stepping up to the head of the table to throw her arms around Caelum and me in a tight, breathless embrace.
"The roads from the capital are absolutely atrocious," Kestrel announced, pulling out a heavy oak chair and sitting down with a long, exhausted sigh. "Theron's trade ministers spent four full hours arguing over three miles of drainage ditch near the border. I thought I was going to have to throw two of them into the ditch myself just to get them to agree on the proper depth."
"Welcome back to paradise, Kestrel," Caelum laughed, pouring her a large cup of sweet red wine. "We were just discussing administrative trade tariffs before you arrived."
"Do not speak to me of tariffs," Kestrel groaned, drinking half the wine in one long gulp and setting the wooden cup down with a hard thud. "If another minister asks me to sign a timber charter this week, I am going to assign them to sentry duty in the northern crags for the entire winter."
As the evening progressed, the dining hall devolved into easy, affectionate laughter. Caelum, leaning his elbows on the wooden table, began relentlessly interrogating Ilaria about potential romantic suitors at the Citadel, a teasing smirk spreading across his face.
"So," Caelum started, raising an eyebrow with mock seriousness as he looked at our daughter. "What about that young lord from the southern province? The one with the fancy horse who sent you three long letters last spring?"
"Dad, please," Ilaria groaned, burying her face in her hands as her cheeks turned bright red under the warm candlelight. "He sent those letters to ask for help with his political history coursework! He is sixteen years old and completely terrified of Master Vane!"
"He had very neat handwriting, Ilaria," Lyra chimed in from down the table, a wicked twinkle in her eye as she set her silver fork down. "A young man with clean penmanship and a nice horse is a rare commodity these days. You should not dismiss him so quickly."
"I am not interested in penmanship or horses, Aunt Lyra," Ilaria laughed, shaking her head as she uncovered her blushing face. "I am interested in passing my tactical trials without dying of utter embarrassment."
"Your father was embarrassed once," Soren remarked with a wide smirk, looking across at Caelum. "When your mother disarmed him in front of his entire squad during their first formal duel."
"That was a tactical choice," Caelum insisted, though he grinned broadly at me across his cup. "I was letting her win to build her confidence before the campaign."
"You were flat on your back in the mud, Caelum," I reminded him dryly, holding up my wine glass. "And you stayed there for two full minutes looking at the trees."
"I was admiring the scenery," he claimed, causing the entire table to erupt into loud laughter that rang off the high stone rafters and echoed through the corridors.
Across the table, Ilyana and Nyssa were openly chuckling from the head of the dais, enjoying the young girl's complete embarrassment and the familiar, warm banter that filled the room.
I sat back in my chair, resting my hand comfortably in Caelum's lap beneath the table. His fingers immediately entwined with mine, warm, strong, and solid against my skin. I watched my family laugh together under the warm candlelight: Wren teasing Soren, Jax showing Ilaria a coin trick under the edge of the table, Kestrel arguing good-naturedly with Caelum about border taxes, and Ilyana sitting in peaceful warmth beside her sister.
I mentally contrasted this vibrant, loud, beautiful room against the bleak, cold halls I had grown up in, the dark war rooms where every conversation was a calculation of casualties and every smile carried a hidden, painful price.
We had bled for this room. We had fought through a hundred cold, desperate nights to build this table and keep it safe. And as I looked at the bright, clear smile on my daughter's face, I knew in my heart that no matter what subtle shadows were beginning to stir beyond our borders, this family was a net that would never break.