"Counsel is offered, not demanded." He studied her face, reading the micro-expressions that even mechanical perfection couldn't fully suppress. "But you're not wrong about the timing. We send Cassius tonight. The wedding proceeds in two days regardless of his success or failure. Marcus and the others will see our unity, our strength." His voice dropped. "And Sebastian will see that his time has run out."
A servant appeared at the doorway, bowing deeply. "Lord Cornelius, Lady Elisandra. Lord Marcus of House Sanguinaireawaits in the diplomatic chamber. And the artificers report the wedding modifications are proceeding ahead of schedule. They could be ready in two days rather than three."
"Excellent." Cornelius gestured toward the door. "Shall we demonstrate our united front for our ally?"
Elisandra moved toward the exit, pausing at the threshold. She rubbed her wrist once more where his grip had bruised the flesh beneath her brass components. "For what it's worth, I do hope Sebastian surrenders. Reconditioning would send a more powerful message than execution."
"But you'd prefer execution."
"I'd prefer certainty." She met his gaze one final time. "One way or another."
After she departed, Cornelius returned to the broken display. He pulled up Cassius's file, a capable warrior, loyal to House de la Sang, but lacking the tactical brilliance of his terminated sons. Perfect for a mission that required obedience over innovation.
He began composing the orders. Cassius would deliver the message: surrender and face reconditioning, or refuse and face termination. Simple. Clear. Final.
If Sebastian had any fragment of rationality remaining, he would recognize the impossible position he'd created for himself. Would understand that his temporary alliance with primitives could never stand against the combined might of vampire nobility. Would make the calculated decision to submit.
But if he refused...
Cornelius's fingers paused over the display as he considered that possibility. If Sebastian refused, if he'd truly chosen permanent degradation, then he would die. But not quickly. Not cleanly. The ancient weapons in his armory would ensure Sebastian understood, with perfect clarity and exquisite agony, exactly what his choices had cost.
The broken display flickered, and for a moment Cornelius saw his own reflection multiplied across the fractured glass. Dozens of versions of himself, split and scattered.
He swept his arm across the display, shattering the remaining intact sections. Glass cascaded to the floor in a musical rain of destruction.
Then he turned and walked from the war chamber to prepare Cassius for his mission.
Three days until the wedding. Three days until the allied houses saw their united strength. Two days until Sebastian learned that even in degradation, even among his chosen primitives, he remained his father's property.
And property that refused to function served only one purpose, to demonstrate the cost of malfunction to all who might observe.
Alone again, Cornelius allowed himself a moment of unregulated fury. His components whined with the strain of containing it, brass joints clicking rapidly as control systems struggled to maintain composure.
Three more days. Then the ceremony. Then the gathering of forces. Then Sebastian would learn the true cost of betrayal.
He pulled up reconnaissance reports again, studying the blurred images captured before scouts were destroyed. The settlement's defenses had expanded. Natural barriers supplemented with crude fortifications. And somewhere within those walls, Sebastian continued existing in his degraded state.
Continued choosing primitives over perfection.
Continued proving that even the most sophisticated improvements could fail when faced with organic corruption.
But disruption was temporary. Correction was eternal.
And Lord Cornelius de la Sang had centuries of experience in permanent corrections.
The display's damage would be repaired. The allied forces would be gathered. Sebastian would be returned to proper regulation or permanently terminated. Order would be restored.
Three more days of patience. Then the real correction would begin.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Boarstaff stood before the sealed entrance to the Heart Tree, the night air cool against his skin. Five days had passed since their return, five days since Sebastian had disappeared into the ancient wood, the tree sealing him inside. Five days of preparation for the vampire attack that would surely come. The attack should’ve already come. Where was it?
The village hummed with activity even at this late hour. Torches lined the newly reinforced walls where warriors stood watch. Hammers rang against steel as the forge worked through the night. Every able body had been pressed into service, preparing weapons, renewing defenses, gathering supplies and intel. The scouts reported increased vampire activity at all borders. Strange markings had appeared in the northeastern forest; signs of vampire magic that made the animals flee. The forest itself seemed to hold its breath, waiting.
Boarstaff pressed his palm against the smooth bark of the Heart Tree entrance. His ribs still ached from the fight at the citadel, but Ochrehand's ministrations had healed the worst of his injuries. Sebastian had received no such care. No one had seen or heard from him since the door had sealed behind him.
The morning's council meeting played through Boarstaff's mind. The elders had argued over strategy, allocation of resources, whether to call for aid from the nomadic desert tribes who owed them a debt from three seasons past. But on one point, they had found rare agreement.
