Page 35 of Astarion

“We don’t want to kill you,” Yousen said earnestly. “We want you to win.”

“You realize that I can’t turn you, even if I’m a vampire. You’ll still be Cazador’s spawn. His blood is the only thing that can change you into a true vampire.”

“No, of course not,” Dalyria said. “But if you win, Violet and Petras lose. And I find the notion of you with power far more congenial. You, at least, have been supportive of my experiments.”

That was true enough. Astarion tapped a manicured fingernail against his lower lip. And why have you been making such an effort to befriend her, if not for moments such as this? Yousen, granted, was a contemptible little wretch, but even he might prove useful, if only as the source of an extra vial.

“We’ll say that, provisionally, I accept your explanation. What is bothering me the most is that apparently there has been an undead cult under the city for decades and no one has bothered to mention it.”

Yousen looked surprised. “You didn’t know?”

“You did?”

“Where did you think all those skeletons in the sewers kept coming from?”

“I assumed that people bought them when they were small and cute, and then, when they grew up and became difficult to control, their owners dumped them down the privy.”

Yousen at least laughed. Dalyria just looked blank.

Astarion was mildly appalled to realize that he was actually considering taking them up on it. It’s not as if you have any better ideas. And if this ends up as a wild-goose chase, you can always stroll into the Rat’s Run and ask the rakshasa for a donation to the cause.

“There is one thing,” Dalyria said.

Here we go. Astarion was actually rather relieved to hear that she had an ulterior motive. He would have assumed she had one anyway, and this meant he didn’t have to keep wondering what it was.

She held out her vial. “Take two samples of the god’s blood. I’m not going to give mine to Cazador. I want to experiment on it.”

“The unicorn scab didn’t work? How shocking.”

“It taught me a great deal. If I had a live unicorn willing to transfuse its blood directly into my veins and accept mine in return, it might well be able to cleanse the vampire taint over time.” Her lips twisted sideways in a scowl. “Or possibly it would cross the other way, and we’d end up with a vampire unicorn enslaved to Cazador.”

Astarion rubbed his temples again. “That would certainly be…novel.”

“It is, at any rate, moot, since I lack a live unicorn willing to help me proceed. Sadly, I do not believe that its healing power would function if it was an unwilling captive.” Dalyria sighed, clearly annoyed by the world’s lack of available scientifically minded unicorns. “Nevertheless, I have high hopes for the living blood of a god. There is no magical cure for vampirism, but if we posit that a god is a being of a miraculous rather than a magical nature—”

“I’ll go,” Astarion said, holding up his hands to forestall the lecture. “I’ll at least investigate this cult you claim exists.” He looked over at Yousen. The gnome squared his small shoulders and met Astarion’s gaze unflinchingly. “Give me twenty minutes to prepare, and then I shall meet you at the entrance to the eastern passage. And do try not to trip and fall on Violet’s knife on the way.”

—

The eastern passage led to a secret door that came out in a tunnel that connected to the storm drains. It was not terribly useful for luring back victims—even the most besotted individual tended to wonder why you were leading them through a sewer grate—but it was conveniently close to an entrance to the Undercity, and thus to the Guild. Astarion trusted Dalyria more than some of the other spawn, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to verify her story.

“And if it turns out that this is a trap, my dear Yousen, I will cut you into chunks fine enough to drop through the grate into Violet’s bedroom.”

“It’s not a trap,” Yousen assured him, hurrying to keep pace with Astarion’s longer stride. “I want you to win.”

“Why?”

The gnome mumbled something.

“I didn’t catch that.”

“Because you’re nicer!”

Astarion’s hand shot out, quick as a striking snake, and picked Yousen up by the collar. “I. Am. Not. Nice,” he said, punctuating each word with a little shake. “Understand?”

“Grg!”

Astarion dropped him in a heap. The gnome rubbed his throat, coughing, and climbed slowly to his feet. “Compared to Violet—” He began coughing and tried again. “At least you leave me alone. If I help you win, at least Violet won’t be a true vampire.” Yousen shuddered at the thought.