Page 48 of Captive
Sebastian sighed, watching as Boarstaff ascended the worn stone stairs, leaving him alone again with only the gentle hum of the crystals for company.
Chapter Twenty
The Wall of Names held no answers that night. Boarstaff's fingers found his brother's name among thousands - another life ended by vampire raiders, another body left displayed at the border. The knife he'd used to cut his brother down still hung at his belt, its weight a constant reminder.
"I thought I'd find you here." Moonsinger's aged voice carried through the Heart Tree's depths. She settled beside him with the fluid grace that had earned her name in younger days.
"Do you recall him?" Boarstaff didn't need to specify which name his fingers traced.
"I remember a boy who laughed too loud during ritual songs." Her smile held ancient sorrow. "Who questioned everything, even when answers brought pain." She touched the wall gently. "Much like someone else I know."
"The prisoner unsettles everything we thought we knew." Boarstaff turned from the endless names. "His transformation follows patterns I've only heard of in my grandmother's teachings."
"The old stories trouble you." Moonsinger's eyes held knowledge earned through decades. "Tales of what vampires were before they chose their current path."
"The nobles chose their path from fear," Boarstaff said quietly. "But what if there was another way?"
"You've changed since bringing him here." Moonsinger's voice held no accusation. "The council notices how you handle him."
"He fights to remember what his kind lost." Boarstaff thought of the way brass responded to his touch now, changing its nature. "He faces what they buried generations ago."
"And that changes how you see him."
"It changes everything." The admission came easier with her. "What he becomes. What grows between us."
"Just be careful, old friend." Moonsinger rose and made her way to the entryway. "The scouts probe deeper each day. Change comes, whether we're ready or not."
Boarstaff remained alone with the ancient carvings - marks that spoke of choices made before fear drove vampire nobility down their current path. Of possibilities that had been lost, but might yet be found again.
The night air carried hints of coming frost as Boarstaff emerged from the Heart Tree's depths. Wind stirred through the settlement, making shadow-patterns beneath a red moon. His feet knew the path home, but a figure waited where darkness pooled deepest near his door.
Oakspear stepped into the moonlight, battle scars catching silver across his chest where his hunting vest lay open. A recent raid had etched new stories onto his skin. Tales of valor that Boarstaff had once traced with calloused fingers in the quiet after fighting. The warrior carried himself with a confidence that had caught Boarstaff's attention three summers ago, when they'd stood shoulder to shoulder against vampire scouts.
"I thought you might want company tonight." Oakspear's deep voice carried memories of shared victories, of comfort sought between warriors who understood the battle's aftermath. His hand rested on the spear that had earned his name - oak-hafted, simply adorned, like the man himself. "The border brings dark news."
"Not tonight." Boarstaff kept his voice gentle. They'd shared too much for him to be cruel.
"The scouts found three more nests," Oakspear said, ignoring the rejection. "Mechanical parts piled like offerings. The vampires adapt faster than expected." He moved closer, moonlight revealing the fresh scar along his jaw. "We lost two warriors to their traps."
Boarstaff felt the weight of leadership press harder. "Who?"
"Youngbranch and Riverstone. Good fighters, but inexperienced with vampire tricks." Oakspear's eyes darkened. "The kind of tricks your prisoner might know much about."
The observation carried no accusation, but the connection wasunmistakable. Every hour spent with Sebastian was an hour away from preparing his warriors.
"The village whispers, you know." Oakspear's words carried no judgment, only concern. "About how you handle the vampire prisoner. The time you spend below." He paused, studying Boarstaff's face. "The way you touch him."
The words struck closer than Boarstaff expected. Oakspear had always seen too clearly. It was part of what had made their arrangement work. No pretense, no complications. Just two warriors taking comfort in each other's strength.
"There are more important things to consider than village gossip."
"More important than this?" Oakspear's fingers brushed his arm. A touch heavy with history. The warrior brought with him the scent of wilderness and leather, familiar hints of nights without complications. "Than what your body needs?"
"My needs aren't what concern me now." Boarstaff stepped back, though it cost him. Comfort would be easier than the strange tension growing between him and Sebastian. Safer than possibilities that challenged everything he thought he understood.
"They used to be," Oakspear’s voice dropped low enough that only Boarstaff could hear. "Remember after the border raid last summer? When we didn't leave my bed for two days?" His fingers traced the pattern of scars along Boarstaff's forearm. "You said it helped you forget, just for a while."
The memory hit with physical force. Those endless hours when duty and worry had melted away, replaced by simple pleasure and connection. Oakspear had always understood exactly what he needed after the harshest battles.
