Page 88 of Astarion

“I would rather he feel like a jilted lover than a mark.”

Her dark eyes were entirely too knowing. “And which one is he?”

Astarion gave her a rueful smile but didn’t answer the question. “I suppose the smuggler’s door in the cellars is still there?”

The goliath nodded. Astarion bowed and swept out of the room.

Lief picked up the note he’d written and read it again.

I didn’t want to be the one to break you.

—A

—

The smuggler’s tunnel came out at a cove west of the city. Astarion waited there until night had fallen, then made his way up the steep hillside and began the long slog back to Szarr Palace.

No one bothered him. He knew that a few people saw him, but they were presumably smugglers and had their own reasons for keeping hidden. One or two footpads drifted after him, but they were smart enough to recognize a bigger predator and eventually went off in search of easier marks.

He chose less traveled paths, even though they took him somewhat out of the way. The fog was beginning to creep in, cutting down visibility, and by the time he reached Bloomridge, the streets were quiet. The cafes had closed, and the district was too genteel to host taverns like the Rat’s Run.

He made his way along the staircases on the lowest terrace, with only a stone wall between himself and the sea. Not much farther to Szarr Palace now. He almost felt like whistling, except that he was skulking, and obviously you couldn’t whistle during a skulk.

Possibly that was why the throwing knife that hit the cobblestones in front of him came as such a shock.

Astarion wasted a precious second looking down. There were so many things it could have been—the contents of a chamber pot, a rock falling off a roof, an owl pellet—that it wasn’t until he saw the glint of steel that he knew he should have been diving for cover.

“Turn around, brother,” Violet said from behind him. “Very, very slowly.”

—

Astarion turned around.

Violet always looked a bit feral when she wasn’t doing her little-girl act for Cazador’s benefit. At the moment, however, she appeared one step up from a stray cat stalking rats in an alley. Her bloodstained clothes looked as if she’d been sleeping in them for days. Gray wisps of hair darkened by moisture glued themselves to her forehead, and her eyes glittered feverishly underneath.

The crossbow she had slung from her shoulder, however, was in perfect shape, and the steel point—gods, please let it be steel—was aimed directly at him.

“Violet,” Astarion said, in much the same tone as one might say ringworm. “What are you doing here?”

“Following you. Obviously.” She gestured with the tip of the crossbow, and Astarion controlled a flinch. “Give me your vials.”

“Vials? Whatever do you—”

“Don’t play coy with me, brother. I know Dalyria gave you hers.”

“Or what?” Astarion put his hands on his hips, a gesture that allowed him to drop a dagger from his forearm sheath. “You know you can’t kill me outright. The old man forbids it.”

“A bolt through the crotch won’t be fatal, though, now, will it, brother?” Violet’s smile was as thin and pointed as a cactus spine. “And once you’re down and screaming, I can cut off anything I like and toss it to the fishes. Good luck growing that back.” Her eyes gleamed. “Now give me your vials.”

Astarion knew Violet well enough to know that she wasn’t bluffing. He also knew that he would risk a bolt rather than give up the prize he’d worked so hard to earn. Fortunately, there were still options.

He sighed heavily and moved toward the stone wall overlooking the bay. Violet’s crossbow followed him there. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“They’re in my boot,” he lied, leaning against the stone. “I don’t think you want me to fall over and break them.”

He reached down with his left hand, letting his right brush casually against his jacket. Violet was still watching his left hand when he turned slightly and thrust his arm out over the water.

“And now,” he said pleasantly, showing her the vials, “if you shoot me, I’ll drop them, and no one will get any blood.” He glanced over the edge of the wall and saw dark winged shapes, presumably bats, swirling above the river. “My, what a lot of running water.”