Page 98 of Astarion

“Everything under the sun dies eventually,” Aurelia said. “And everything changes, one way or another.”

“Was that meant to be encouraging?” Astarion got unsteadily to his feet.

“Merely an observation.” The tiefling rose and pushed back her chair. “You should all go to bed before you pass out on the table and Dufay uses you for a centerpiece.”

“Yes, Mother,” Petras said snidely. Aurelia gave him her cool red gaze, and he looked away, unable to meet her eyes.

Astarion picked up a last cup, saluted her with it, and went to bed while he still knew where to find it.

—

If Mask’s blood had not bought him vampirehood, it had certainly bought him grace. Astarion found himself moved into the favored consort chambers next to Cazador. He did not appreciate that, but he pretended to, both so the old man would not become irate and because it made Violet mad as fire.

When Dalyria finally emerged from Godey’s kennels, she walked with a limp. A day later, she tapped on Astarion’s door.

“If you’ve come to apologize, darling, don’t bother,” he said. “I wouldn’t believe you, and I wouldn’t forgive you if I did, so there’s no point in wasting our time.”

“Actually, I was wondering if you’d like to break my leg.”

He put an eyebrow up at that. Dalyria pulled up one trouser leg to reveal a calf that twisted grotesquely halfway down. Astarion made a noise of mild disgust.

“Godey made certain it healed up like that,” Dalyria said. “I have to break it and set it properly now.” She sounded more annoyed by the prospect than anything else. “At any rate, I know you’re angry with me, so I thought I’d offer, in case it would make you feel better.”

Astarion stared at her for so long that she looked away. “You can say no,” she said.

“No. Get Yousen to do it.” He massaged his temples wearily. She hurt me, so she thinks that if I hurt her, we can go back to the way things were? He wondered if there was any point in holding a grudge against someone who clearly understood so little about anything outside her laboratory.

Perhaps there wasn’t, but he didn’t feel like letting that grudge go just yet.

Dalyria no longer had a limp the next day. Astarion noticed this as he sipped wine in the alcove where he was least likely to be discovered. Cazador probably noticed as well but didn’t see fit to comment.

It was another evening like so many thousand evenings before, then suddenly it wasn’t. Dufay entered the room, moved toward the throne, and bowed. Cazador looked up. “Yes?”

“Someone is storming the gate, my lord,” the chamberlain announced in his dry, dusty voice.

“Storming…the…gate,” Cazador repeated slowly. He marked his place in his book and set it aside. “Dufay, I was not aware that Szarr Palace currently had a gate that one could storm.”

“Perhaps it is more accurate to say that he is storming a small side entrance, my lord.”

A knot of dread suddenly pulled tight in Astarion’s stomach. Surely it wasn’t…but who else could it be?

How did he find me? He can’t possibly have followed me from the Rat’s Run. Did someone tell him? But who would have done that?

“Go and see what he wants, Dufay.”

Astarion drained his cup of blood and leaned against the wall with studied nonchalance. None of the other spawn seemed to be paying much attention.

The chamberlain returned some minutes later. “He is a paladin of something called the Argent Badger, my lord. He wishes to—and I quote—‘pull your den of wickedness down around your ears.’ ”

Cazador shook his head. “Paladins. They would almost be a nuisance if they were not so foolish. Very well, have him killed and drained—”

“Wait!”

Astarion briefly wondered who had said that until he saw that every eye in the room had fixed on him.

Oh.

Oh, I see.