Page 97 of Astarion

Aurelia shrugged. “I called in a favor.”

Astarion was about to ask if the favor involved a woman named Bajia, then throttled the question. The name hardly mattered when a copper dragon was involved. And if there wasn’t at least one somewhere in Baldur’s Gate right now, playing at being human, he’d eat the fabulous hat that was still somewhere in his bedroom.

“And where did you get the blood of a god?”

Astarion set down his now-empty cup and wondered if he should get another. He wanted one, but he had almost managed to become inebriated. Much more, and Violet could follow him down the hallway and make sure he tripped and fell on something pointy and silver. He had no illusions that Aurelia’s truce would hold for long.

“Astarion?”

He blinked blearily at Petras. “Right, right. The skeletons in the sewer were worshipping it.”

“Oh, them,” Aurelia said.

“Why does everyone say it like that?”

“There are skeletons in the sewer?” Petras looked mildly appalled. Astarion took some comfort in the fact that at least Petras hadn’t known about them, either.

“I had to break into a menagerie,” Violet said sourly, “and kill two zookeepers and a bear.”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t at least taste the bear on the way out,” Petras said.

“Oh, I did. It was amazing. But you can’t believe how that thing smelled.”

“Don’t talk to me about smells.” Yousen shook his head gloomily. “I had to burn my clothes after the otyugh.”

“How did you manage that, anyway?”

“A tannery just outside the city uses one as a garbage disposal. Do you know how bad something has to smell if it makes the tannery smell better by comparison?”

The other spawn grimaced.

“Really, though,” Violet said, “even you can’t have thought he’d like otyugh blood.”

Yousen shrugged. “I thought he might not have tried it. And he said he was tired of normal blood.”

“No one’s that tired of normal blood.”

The gnome sighed. “I suppose not.” He scratched absently at his chest. Astarion could see the edge of a bruise showing above his collar, in a curious shape, almost like a cloven hoofprint.

Did he…?

No. No, tonight is horrible enough without picturing that.

They all sat in silence, staring at their respective drinks.

“Do you think he’ll ever make one of us a vampire?” Petras asked finally. He tried to sound cynical, but it came out plaintive instead, like a small child asking if he would ever grow up.

“He says he will,” Violet said uncertainly.

“Why would he?” Astarion looked at Aurelia as he spoke. “When he’s got all of us doing exactly what he wants, whenever he wants it? What use is another vampire to him, compared to an immortal slave?”

The tiefling’s eyes flickered at his words. Even through the haze of wine and disappointment, Astarion knew she agreed with him.

“Why do any of us bother trying, then?” Petras asked bitterly.

“Dear brother, how do any of us have a choice? You know what happens if you don’t go along.”

Another silence, this one longer and bleaker. Petras reached out and snagged another cup of wine.