Page 34 of Astarion

“May we enter?” Dalyria asked, glancing nervously over her shoulder.

Astarion was fairly certain that the two of them together would present no challenge for him. “Freely and of your own will,” he said, stepping aside. The elf and the gnome crowded inside, and he shut the door behind them.

Dalyria seemed to relax once the door was closed. “We…ah…have a proposition for you.”

“Darling, I’m flattered, but is this really the time?”

Yousen flushed, but Dalyria only rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. This contest. We—Yousen and I—have no hope of winning. We know that.”

Astarion happened to agree with this but felt it would be impolitic to say so. “Go on.”

They exchanged a glance. Then Dalyria said, all in a rush, “If he makes the winner into a true vampire, we’d rather it was you.”

Now he actually was flattered, if only slightly. “Better me than Petras or Violet, you mean? And what about Aurelia?”

“Gone,” Dalyria said. “We tried her room first. Sorry.”

That startled a laugh out of him. “I can hardly fault you for that. But you realize that it’s probably moot? This is bound to be a trick. He’s never going to actually make one of us a vampire.”

“Probably not.” There was a suppressed fire behind Dalyria’s eyes. “But are you willing to take the chance that he’s serious and someone else will win the prize?”

The doctor might not have a good grasp of people, but she obviously knew Astarion well enough. “No. No, I am not. But if you’ve simply come to deliver your well-wishes, I am grateful but rather busy.”

“We can help you.”

He raised an eyebrow at that. Dalyria’s connections as a doctor might well prove useful, but Yousen would bolt at the slightest hint of danger. “Can you, now?”

Dalyria met his eyes, as she so rarely did. “I know where to get the blood of a god.”

Astarion’s breath hissed between his teeth.

Yousen piped up in his thin voice. “And I’m the one who can get you there.”

—

“So let me see if I have this correct. Yousen is going to lead me through tunnels below the Undercity to an undead cult, who are worshipping an artifact that Dalyria happens to know is the blood of a dead god.”

“Right,” Dalyria said.

“Mask, god of thieves and shadows, specifically.”

“Right.”

“But the blood is still alive.”

“So my sources say.”

“How do your sources know that?”

Dalyria studied the ceiling for a moment, clearly debating how much to tell him. Astarion folded his arms. “I know that it doesn’t come easily to any of us, my dear, but if you want me to take part in this wild-goose chase, you will simply have to trust me.”

She nodded to him, or possibly the ceiling. “You know that Cazador has me sourcing his various ingredients and reagents.”

“Indeed.” Astarion gestured for her to continue.

“I put it out some years ago that I was particularly interested in exotic bloods. That’s why that fool wizard kept trying to sell me his unicorn scab. Another, more reliable source informed me of the cult, but I had no real way of reaching it. You, however…”

Astarion massaged his temples. He felt a headache coming on. “If you two want to kill me, I must say, this is excessively elaborate.”