He made his way towards them, nodding to the guards scattered along his path.As he reached the table, the heat of the nearest fireplace chased away the cold clinging to his fingers and toes.
“When this is over,” Nesrin was saying to a young boy, “you and your father will be taken care of.You have my word.”
Her attention lifted to Bastion, and the boy turned.It was Rowan.
Loose curls the color of wet sand floated around his head, giving him a permanently windswept look.Bathed and dressed in clean clothes, he resembled the son of a wealthy merchant or lesser noble.
He’d been hunched in his chair, as if no warmth could reach him, but his eyes lit up when he saw Bastion.He leapt to his feet and lunged, throwing his arms around Bastion's waist.
Bastion stood there, stock still, with his arms out like someone had thrown a bucket of water on him.Then, slowly, he let them drop to Rowan’s back in a light hug.
Rowan looked up at him through wispy curls, his sky blue eyes bright with concern.He whispered, “I thought you died.”
“What?”Bastion asked.“Who told you that?”
“Ulla.”
“How?”
Rowan pulled back and slapped his hands against his skull, his expression serious.Bastion’s heart sank like a ship at sea.He forced a smile onto his face.
“I’m hard to kill,” he told the boy.
“Rowan,” Nesrin said softly.“Why don’t you go see if Mistress Rose needs any help?”
The boy tucked his chin and stuck out his bottom lip, his eyes disappearing beneath a fringe of hair.Nesrin tilted her head.“Go on.”
He looked at Bastion, who nodded encouragingly.“I’ll see you later, okay?”
Slowly, Rowan slumped and made his way across the room to the kitchen.Bastion watched him go, breathing through the lump that had settled in his throat.
“You’re the first person he’s spoken to.”The words snapped Bastion’s focus back to Nesrin.“I’ve been trying to get him to open up all morning.”
She went to the nearest table and tossed Bastion an apple with a grim smile.Bastion caught it, pressing his palms against the smooth, cold skin.He couldn’t help but remember how a similar apple had looked in Ulla’s hands, before everything went to shit.
“Come on,” Nesrin said.“Let’s get you armed.”
He stuffed the apple into his pocket and grabbed a couple of biscuits before following her.
They walked in silence while he ate, leaving grander halls for narrower ones devoid of decor.Moonwatch should have been bustling with activity. Instead, the emptiness made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, as if the keep were haunted.
Down a smoky, torch-lit hall, Nesrin stopped before a heavy oak door, banded in iron.
“Help yourself,” she told him.“I’ll see you up top.”
She turned on her heel and strode away.
A dozen or so men startled as he entered the armory.They had the look of townsfolk, their weathered faces tanned, their clothes worn and faded from sun and salt.A cloying scent hung in the air.
Fear.
It put him on edge.Bastion nodded to the bored-looking guard supervising the room and went to the nearly empty walls.There were slots for swords, spears, bows, daggers, maces, and axes, but the lack of selection told him everything he needed to know.
Aware of the men watching him, Bastion reached for a long knife.He didn’t necessarily need one with Taro’s sheathed at his waist, but he didn’t want to give it up.A macabre part of him wanted to keep the blade that had almost killed him.Like a trophy.Something that proved not only his words to Rowan, but his eerie proclamation to Buck.
Thinking of the pirate captain gave Bastion pause.Trophy or no, more than one blade would come in handy.He slid the long knife into his belt.
He went to the swords next.The attention of the men bled down his spine.The weight and tang of the blade he picked up were so foreign in his hand that he grimaced.Bastion swung it, testing the heft.It was shorter than he was used to, but not enough to hinder him.
