Page 32 of Astarion

“Perhaps it has something to do with his dinner guest the other evening,” Aurelia said, breaking into his thoughts.

Astarion considered this. “I don’t know that that would be a good thing.”

“No,” Aurelia said somberly. “No, neither do I.”

—

They entered the great hall together, which from Aurelia might be a subtle show of solidarity or simply the fact that they had both arrived at the same time. Cazador’s throne was empty. Violet was already there, sitting upside down in a chair with her legs draped over the back. “ ’Starion!” she crowed in her grating little-girl voice. “Aurry!”

Aurelia inclined her head a fraction of an inch in what might have been acknowledgment. Astarion ignored her completely.

“Wine,” he observed quietly, “but no food.” He did not need to say that it was a bad sign. Lack of food meant that Cazador was not planning a normal family evening, and that very rarely boded well.

Violet sat up. In a much more normal voice, she said, “I saw that, too.”

Aurelia picked up one of the goblets of wine and sniffed it, then dipped her tongue into the burgundy liquid. “If it’s drugged, I can’t tell.”

The three of them drew together, animosity briefly abandoned in the face of their common enemy. Violet may be a wolf in spoiled brat’s clothing, but she understands what might happen next. He had a vivid memory of Violet gazing down at a pile of her own severed fingers, her face dead white, her lips trembling. It was Yousen who had coaxed her into laying her mangled hands flat on the table and who had set the fingers next to their corresponding stumps, Yousen who had held a cup of blood to her lips until the healing power could take effect and knit together bone and flesh.

She had never forgiven Yousen for helping her, and poor wretched Yousen would never understand why.

“Do you think he’s come up with something new?” Violet asked quietly.

Aurelia turned her burnt-garnet eyes on the other vampire spawn. “We thought perhaps it was related to his guest the other evening.”

“You spent more time with him than the rest of us,” Astarion said.

Violet shot him a brief burning glance. “Jealous?”

He feigned a yawn. “I can’t say I was terribly impressed with his technique.”

Violet started to reply hotly, but Aurelia set down her goblet, the clink of metal on marble ringing like a shout. Violet and Astarion watched the tiefling prowl around the throne, eyes narrowed, looking for clues.

Perhaps it shamed Violet, or perhaps she simply realized how little time they had left until someone else arrived. “He was in service to Mephistopheles, but that was all he could say. Apparently, Mephistopheles and Father are conducting…negotiations.”

Aurelia’s head came up at that. Her face was still as calm as ever, but her slit pupils expanded until her eyes were nearly black. “That is not welcome news.”

“You know of him?”

“A high lord of Hell.” She shrugged, and Astarion might have been fooled by the casual gesture if her eyes had not still been dilated into obsidian. “Any bargain he makes will come with a heavy price.”

Violet swallowed hard, and Astarion guessed she was only now realizing that it might not have been wise to come to the attention of one of the archdevil’s minions.

A wash of cologne heralded the arrival of Petras. Violet immediately rounded on him, smiling her girlish smile. “Petras! Have you come to play?”

“Save it.” Petras stalked into the room, trailing a cloud of cologne after him. Of course it would be sandalwood and musk. How very cliché.

“A new scent, brother?”

Petras picked up a cup of wine. “What if it is?”

“It suits you.”

The spawn frowned slightly, clearly trying to find the insult hiding in Astarion’s words. “It’s from the perfumer in the Temples District.”

“I shall have to make note of them.” And avoid them like the plague.

Petras took a swallow of wine and picked nonexistent lint off his sleeve. “I take it no one else could leave, either.”