Page 93 of Astarion

It was on Astarion’s lips to say, “Are you really a human?,” but he realized that she would lie to him again, and he did not think he could bear it. He closed his eyes, rolled over, and pretended to go to sleep.

—

Two days later, something attacked them on the road. Bajia was riding a length or two ahead of him, and all Astarion saw was a wave of claws erupting from the woods beside the road.

The primeval owlbear slammed into Bajia’s horse, knocking the animal sideways. Bajia herself vanished in a welter of sharp beak and flailing legs.

Astarion’s horse screamed and reared, and he fought to keep his seat. His only coherent thought was that Bajia was dead, and his great-grandmother was dead, and in a moment he, too, would probably be dead. How unbelievably stupid that it should come to this.

And then massive wings shot out to either side of the monster’s head, huge and metallic. For an instant, time hung suspended, and Astarion saw the sun gleaming off each individual scale as something vast and reptilian appeared in the space where Bajia had been.

Oh, he thought.

The copper dragon opened its mouth, and acid poured out. Astarion caught a glimpse of flesh melting away from the owlbear’s skull, and then his horse had had enough and turned and ran.

Bajia found him before long. He saw copper wings circling overhead, but they dropped below the tree line before his horse could go berserk with dragonfear. Perhaps a quarter of an hour later he saw her, human-shaped again, walking down the road with her long, easy stride.

She stopped a few feet away and held her hands up as if to reassure him. It would have been more reassuring had he not known that she could bite him in half. “Astarion?”

“I’m fine,” he said. “Just coming to terms with the fact that at the age of twelve, I had a crush on a giant reptile.”

She winced. “I’m sorry. I should have told you.”

He shrugged. She had never told him that she was human, so there was no reason he should feel so betrayed. No reason. None.

Ironically, if she had told him when he was twelve, he would have thought it was amazing. Now, at twenty-seven…

It turned out that however good you were at finding loopholes in the law, you couldn’t find them in your own emotions. Gods, he’d actually propositioned her! He didn’t know whether to be horrified or horribly embarrassed. She was probably more than a thousand years old. He must have seemed like a precocious toddler.

No wonder she’d stayed in service to his great-grandmother. She’d probably been the only person old enough to provide decent conversation.

“Astarion…”

“I’m fine,” he told her again, even though they both knew it was a lie.

With the exception of Dalyria, the spawn had drifted to the hall long before Cazador appeared. Astarion had been the first to arrive. He’d handed the pitiful remains of his offering to Dufay, then gone to the hall to work very hard on getting drunk. It wasn’t easy when you were a vampire spawn, but he was willing to try.

Aurelia was the next to arrive. “Are you all right?” the tiefling asked as Astarion slammed down a glass of blood and chased it with a glass of brandy.

“Dalyria stole my vial of blood for her experiments.”

Aurelia winced. “I’m sorry.”

“I assume you’ll win now.”

“Possibly.”

“You’re far too modest, darling.” Astarion dropped into a chair and gazed moodily into his brandy. “You can’t tell me that you haven’t sourced something exquisite and arcane.”

“For all that may matter. If he does plan to turn one of us into a vampire, you can’t tell me he hasn’t already decided who.” She reached out and stroked the air above his arm, close enough that he could feel the coolness that poured off her cold skin but not so close as to actually touch. “It may be that nothing any of us does will change the outcome.”

“Hmmph.” If she was right, and Astarion had gone through all that for nothing, he was going to…to…

Do absolutely nothing, of course. What other option do you have?

He took another slug of brandy. At least I had a paladin suck my cock. Not everyone can say that.

He was spitefully glad that he hadn’t dragged den Suriel back to the palace. If Cazador didn’t make someone a vampire, there was no point in wasting a really spectacular victim.