He wasn't cheering, nor was he joining the other elders in rebuking Sol. He was just standing there, his hands resting on his belt, watching the scene unfold with a cold, almost bored detachment.
He isn't surprised by any of this, Sol realized, the pieces finally clicking together in his mind with absolute, terrifying clarity. Thorne's confident posture earlier… could it be he knew the Zharun were going to march here? Sol shifted his gaze to Warchief Veylara.
The savage leader was standing perfectly still. She hadn't joined the elders in praising Vane, nor had she explicitly agreed with Sol's dismissal.
She looked deeply conflicted. Her warrior's instinct, honed by decades of survival in the Orrath, was screaming the exact same warning as Sol's logic: The Zharun are too clean, and their timing is too perfect.
But as a Chieftain responsible for the survival of her entire bloodline, the sheer, crushing weight of the Coalition army marching at their backs was forcing her hand.
