Page 33 of Astarion

“I couldn’t,” Yousen said, materializing seemingly out of the wall. It was one of the rock gnome’s more annoying habits. Astarion wondered how long he’d been there. Of course, I’d avoid being alone with Violet, too, if I were him.

“I wonder what Father has planned,” Petras said.

“We have been wondering that, too.” Astarion drifted across the room, seemingly at random, to a position that put Petras between him and the throne.

The spawn stood in gloomy silence for a moment. Then all five lifted their heads, almost in unison, and turned toward the door.

“Most excellent,” Cazador said, striding in. “You are all here. I have the most marvelous plan for you.”

Dalyria followed him, carrying a small chest. Astarion watched her expression closely. He was expecting a grim set to her lips, but she looked oddly…pleased?

“Set it down there, my dear.” Cazador gestured, and Dalyria placed the chest on the marble table that held the wine, flipping up the lid. Cazador reached in and pulled out an empty glass tube.

“It has occurred to me,” the vampire said, turning the tube between his fingers, “that it has been a long time since I have made a new vampire.”

Six sets of eyes were immediately riveted on him. Astarion ran his tongue across the points of his fangs. Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t this.

“But you are all so dear to me, my children. How can I choose who shall be first among you?”

“Me!” squealed Violet, clapping her hands. “Oh, me, me, me, Father!”

“Patience, daughter.” Cazador smiled indulgently. “I cannot possibly choose among my children. But dear Dalyria”—he leaned over and ran his fingernails up her throat, as if stroking a cat—“has given me a perfect idea.”

Astarion switched his attention to Dalyria. She wasn’t looking at Cazador. She was looking at the empty vial he held with the same expression of desire and fear of disappointment that she had worn when Astarion delivered the unicorn blood. The same look Sebastian had worn, more than a century ago, when Astarion sat down at his table and smiled—

Stop that. You can wallow in self-pity some other time, when the old bastard isn’t talking about making someone a vampire.

“What unites us?” Cazador asked, beginning to pace back and forth in front of his throne. “What force is it that brought us together as a family?”

You, you sadistic old goat. Fortunately, this appeared to be a rhetorical question, because Cazador turned suddenly to face his spawn, his cloak flaring dramatically. “Blood, of course. It is the blood that brought us together and made us what we are. And thus, it is the blood that will decide who among you will be the first to become a true vampire.”

The room was so utterly silent that Astarion didn’t think his fellow spawn were even breathing.

“Ah…” Cazador said, clearly enjoying drawing out the suspense. He picked up a goblet and drank from it, lips stained sanguine. “Delicious, of course. But so familiar. I have tasted virtually every vintage that Baldur’s Gate has to offer. Elf, orc, human, dwarf…They all begin to blend together. What I long for now is something new.”

He brandished the vial in his hand, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Each of you will take a vial from this box. And in…hmm…let us say five days’ time, you will return it to me, filled with blood. The enchantment upon the vials shall keep it as fresh as when it was taken from the vein.” His smile grew, showing his fangs. “Bring me the most precious blood that you can. I want to taste angels, unicorns, kings. The bearer of the most exquisite vial…” Cazador spread his hands. “Well. I think I have made myself clear, have I not?”

Dead silence reigned for an instant, then the spawn scrambled for the wooden box. Violet tried to snatch up two vials, and Astarion’s hand closed over her wrist like a vise. She snarled at him, and he bared his teeth. “Dear sister, you simply must learn to share.”

He plucked the extra vial from her fingers and released her, pleased to see the livid marks he’d left behind. She rubbed her wrist and glared. “There’s no point in Yousen having one,” she muttered. “Or Dalyria. What are they going to do, walk down the street and beg for handouts?”

Astarion half suspected she was right, but he certainly wasn’t going to let Violet have multiple chances at true vampirehood.

Yousen and Dalyria had grabbed their vials from the box while Astarion tackled Violet, and they were rapidly fleeing for the door. Astarion glanced around and realized that he and Violet were in danger of being left alone with Cazador, a situation with a great deal of potential, all of it dreadful. He sauntered toward the door, turned, and swept his most dramatic bow to the vampire lord. If he’d been wearing the ridiculous hat he’d taken from the bard, its feathers would have brushed the floor.

And then he was through the doorway, and the only things standing between him and freedom were five siblings and a source of exotic blood.

—

Blood. Where to get living blood to tempt the jaded palate of an ancient vampire? Astarion racked his brain. Perhaps the Guild would have some leads? Or Rat’s Run…hmm. There was a rakshasa associated with Rat’s Run, but Astarion did not see that conflict ending well. Unless I could convince her to simply donate a vial…“Pardon me, my tiger-headed beauty, but may I just open a vein for a moment?” He didn’t see that going well, either. I’ll leave that as a last resort.

His thoughts were interrupted by a hesitant knock on the door. Caution kept him from simply throwing the door open. It would be just like Violet to decide to hamstring the competition. She couldn’t enter his room without permission, but she could certainly throw a knife in, or a vial of acid.

“Who is it?”

“Dalyria.”

Astarion opened the door, making sure the wood stayed between his body and the hallway. When nothing happened after a moment, he looked around the edge and saw Dalyria and…Yousen?