"Probably," Boarstaff agreed, unconcerned. "Which is why you should stay in my quarters instead of this cave."
Sebastian pulled back slightly, searching Boarstaff's face. "Ah yes, because nothing says 'trust the vampire' quite like him sleeping with your leader."
"The council doesn't decide where I sleep," Boarstaff countered. "Or with whom."
"The council barely tolerates my presence as it is," Sebastian said. "I doubt finding me in your bed would improve their opinion."
"Their opinion isn't my concern."
"It should be." Sebastian sharpened his tone. "You have responsibilities beyond whatever this is." He gestured between them.
Boarstaff's expression hardened slightly. "I know my responsibilities. Better than most."
"Then you understand why I need to stay here," Sebastian said. "At least until they see me as something other than a necessary evil."
"And what am I supposed to see you as?" Boarstaff asked, his voice low.
Sebastian hesitated, then offered a truth he rarely acknowledged aloud. "Whatever you want. That's the problem."
The admission hung between them, more revealing than Sebastian had intended. Boarstaff studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Your choice. But the offer stands."
"How generous of you," Sebastian replied, retreating to sarcasm to mask the vulnerability he'd just exposed. "Next you'll be offering me my own chair at council meetings."
"Don't push your luck," Boarstaff said, but his expression had softened again. He shuffled toward the entrance, though Sebastian noted his reluctance to leave. "You made progress today. With Thornmaker. With the warriors."
"Small steps," Sebastian acknowledged. "Though if Thornmaker's frown deepened any further, I fear his face might permanently collapse."
Boarstaff laughed, the sound unexpectedly warm in the cool cave. "Rest. The dwarves will be even more suspicious tomorrow."
"Wonderful. I do so enjoy being interrogated by people half my height with twice my stubbornness."
Boarstaff's hand brushed Sebastian's once more, a private gesture of affection. "I'll see you at dawn."
After Boarstaff departed, Sebastian settled onto the stone ledge, the sardonic mask he presented to the world slipping away in solitude. The weight of the settlement's scrutiny, the tentative connections forming with Thornmaker and Ochrehand, the complex bond with Boarstaff that both anchored and unsettled him, all of it pressed upon him in the silence.
A beginning, nothing more. But perhaps that was enough.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Thunder cracked overhead, jolting Sebastian awake. Lightning flashed, briefly illuminating the eastern cave's interior where he had been resting on his simple pallet. He sat up, orienting himself as rain began to drum against the stone outside. Another flash lit up the cave entrance, followed almost immediately by a boom that seemed to shake the very mountain.
The storm had come suddenly, as they often did in the hills. Sebastian walked to the cave's opening, staying just beneath the overhang where rain couldn't reach him. Rain streamed down, casting silver patterns across the stone floor.
Hunger gnawed at him, a persistent ache that had returned despite feeding from Boarstaff just a few hours ago. His body's healing after removing so many components required more sustenance than usual, and he'd taken less than he needed, unwilling to weaken the warchief when so many depended on his strength. The hunger had returned more quickly than expected, a reminder that his transformation was still demanding resources his body couldn't provide on its own. Without the regulated feeding systems of the citadel, Sebastian was learning his limits through uncomfortable necessity.
The rainfall intensified, bringing with it the earthy scents of soil and vegetation. Sebastian's senses registered each distinct note… moss growing on stone, pine resin loosened by water, distant wood smoke from the settlement hearths. His sense had grown with the latest transformation, and he managed tojust barely catch laughter drifting across the distance despite the downpour, children playing in the central clearing, warriors telling stories beneath the Heart Tree's shelter, rhythmic songs accompanying daily work.
Life continuing in all its messy, unprocessed glory.
The metal at his throat warmed slightly as he leaned against the stone wall, watching rivulets carve temporary paths down the hillside. His father would have despised this unregulated chaos, this natural disorder. Would have processed it into something controlled, something safe, something dead.
"I wonder what they're doing now," he murmured, knowing full well that speaking to himself was yet another habit his father's enhancements would have deemed inefficient. His gaze drifted in the direction of the settlement, where wisps of smoke rose above the trees despite the rain, where life continued without calculated precision.
A soft ache had settled in his chest - not physical pain, but something his transformation had awakened. Loneliness, perhaps. An emotion his mechanical regulators would have carefully filtered away, deemed irrelevant to noble purpose. But since his transformation, with those components changed into something neither fully brass nor entirely organic, emotions flowed unchecked through his awareness.
"Stop it," he chided himself, pushing away from the wall. "You knew the conditions when you agreed to stay."
Appropriate distance. Careful restraint that acknowledged both his nature and their justified caution. The arrangement made perfect sense, to his rational mind, at least. The rest of him, the parts awakened by unprocessed blood and ancient magic, found the isolation increasingly difficult to bear.
