Page 31 of Captive
But through his haze of hunger and humiliation, Sebastian caught a flicker of distant resonance, not the Heart Tree's magic, but something familiar. The resonance beacons. Their vibrations traveled through the ground, felt rather than heard. Search patterns changing as his people hunted for their missing prince.
And the child's face, still waiting in the citadel with her wooden doll, became a focal point through the hunger and pain. Whatever he was becoming, whatever price survival demanded, Sebastian would endure it. He had to.
For her.
Chapter Fourteen
The underground springs were sacred spaces, open only to the council members and other high members of their society. Boarstaff sank deeper into the warm, mineral-rich waters, letting the heat work into his tense muscles. Five hours since he had performed the binding ritual on Sebastian, and the weight of what he had done lingered despite the soothing waters.
His hands kept remembering the feel of the sacred bindings, their cool energy as he had placed them on Sebastian's changing body. The way the old magic had sparked through them, hunting down every bit of brass still in the vampire's flesh. The sounds Sebastian had made. Some memories did not wash away, no matter how long he soaked.
More troubling was his reaction to Sebastian's transformation, the fascination he felt watching brass flow like water beneath the vampire's skin, the strange pull he experienced when their gazes met across the chamber. Something he had not felt in a long time.
Blue-green light from rare crystals danced across the water's surface, casting strange shadows on the cavern walls. These waters had flowed since before vampires and orcs became enemies. People said the pools helped clear the mind of distractions. Boarstaff needed that clarity more than ever.
"Thought I would find you hiding down here," a deep voice called from the entrance. Oakspear's broad silhouette blocked the torchlight as he approached, ritual scars catching the crystal glow, particularly the one curving from his collarbone to his ribs, a scar Boarstaff's fingers had traced countless times in the darkness after battles. A scar they shared, mirror images from the same vampire blade when Oakspear had pushed Boarstaff out of the way during a border clash with House de la Sang three summers ago.
"Found me like you always do," Boarstaff replied, a softness in his voice that few others ever heard. That raid had marked the beginning of what grew between them, Oakspear pulling him from the path of Zarek's blade, taking the wound himself, then treating Boarstaff's lesser injury after with surprisingly gentle hands for such a powerful warrior.
"Northern settlements holding up?" he asked as Oakspear pulled off his leather vest, revealing more ritual scars mapping years of fighting. Muscles shifted as he bent to unlace his boots, a warrior's body hardened by decades of border fights. Boarstaff remembered the first time he had seen those muscles without armor between them, after the raid where they had lost seven warriors. When comfort had turned to passion neither had expected to find.
"Good as they can be with vampire scouts pushing closer every day." Oakspear slid into the water across from him, ripples spreading between them like things left unsaid. "Though their machines keep breaking down when they get too deep in our territory. Small mercies."
The warrior moved with the easy grace that had first caught Boarstaff's eye. They had spent three summers fighting side by side, sleeping back to back on border patrols, understanding each other without words across battlefields. In the quiet after skirmishes, they had found something neither had sought but both had needed, connection beyond the weight of leadership and war.
"Heading back north tomorrow?" Boarstaff shifted to make room, remembering nights when they had shared space much more intimately than this. How Oakspear's laugh felt against his skin in darkness, how his hands knew exactly where old wounds ached after long patrols.
"After the council meeting." Oakspear settled closer than strictly necessary, close enough that their knees brushed underwater. "The one where we talk about your vampire prisoner and what you are planning to do with him."
Typical Oakspear, straight to the point. No political games or fancy words. Just raw honesty that made him both valuable in council and challenging to be close to. It was what had drawn Boarstaff to him from the beginning, that unflinching directness, the way he spoke truth regardless of rank or station.
"You heard I used the ancient bindings." Boarstaff watched howthe crystal light caught in Oakspear's dark eyes. Eyes that had looked at him with so many emotions over the years, respect, desire, sometimes frustration when Boarstaff's caution conflicted with Oakspear's more direct approach.
"The sacred bindings." Oakspear's laugh was hard, but his fingers found an old scar on Boarstaff's shoulder, tracing its length with familiar ease. "The ones our grandparents warned should only be used when nothing else works. And you used them on a de la Sang heir."
The touch stirred memories of quiet nights after border patrols, when Oakspear's fingers had mapped every mark on his body with reverent attention. Boarstaff wanted so much to forget everything else and give in to him now.
"He did not give me much choice." The memory of Sebastian lunging for his throat was still fresh, that raw hunger that broke through all his noble manners. Yet even in that moment of danger, Boarstaff had noticed something beyond the predator, the grace in Sebastian's movements, the surprising vulnerability in his eyes when the hunger passed. "He showed what he truly is beneath all that controlled exterior."
"Did he?" Oakspear moved closer, water swirling around the crystal formations growing from the pool's floor. "Or did you just want a reason to test your theories about him?"
That hit harder than Boarstaff expected. The water seemed to heat up between them, and not from the springs feeding the pool.
"He talked about a child in his fever dreams," Boarstaff said, shifting to safer ground. "A human girl waiting to be turned into one of them. If we could find a way into their territory..."
"You would risk our warriors on the rambling nightmares of a vampire?" Oakspear moved closer, smelling of sword oil and forest herbs. His hand found Boarstaff's shoulder under the water, resting there with the comfortable familiarity of a touch shared hundreds of times before. "One who has not shared a single real detail about his father's defenses?"
The touch reminded Boarstaff of all they had been to each other. How after the raid on House Silvervessel, when he had returned with the weight of those children he could not save, Oakspear had been the only one he allowed to see his grief. How they had spent the night notin passion but in simple presence, Oakspear's steady heartbeat against his back the only thing keeping nightmares at bay.
"Or perhaps you think I am just jealous?" Oakspear dropped his voice even lower. "That I’m upset that your attention has gone elsewhere?"
"Aren't you?" The words slipped out before Boarstaff could soften them, old familiarity breaking through his usual careful speech. They had not named what existed between them, had never needed to. But they both knew something had changed since Sebastian's arrival.
Oakspear laughed, catching Boarstaff off guard, a real laugh, not bitter. "Always thinking you know what is in everyone's head." His hand stayed on Boarstaff's shoulder, thumb tracing an old scar left by Zarek's blade years ago. "We have fought together too long for that. I have watched you lead our people through impossible odds. I have seen you make hard choices that saved lives. I know what kind of leader you are."
His gaze held Boarstaff's with the same unflinching directness that had first drawn them together. "That’s why I’m worried about a leader who is so fascinated by a vampire that he cannot see the danger any other warrior would spot right away. It’s not what we share that concerns me. It’s what might happen to you, to all of us, if this transformation is not what you hope."
The pools' magic stirred around them, crystal light shifting as ancient power recognized truth. Boarstaff had spent more time thinking about what Sebastian might become than about protecting his warriors, the very thing Oakspear had always valued most in him.
