22
It wasn’t the first time that Astarion had been pinned to the ground with a man’s hands clamped over his wrists. It wasn’t even the tenth time. It was, however, the first time that the other party had been wearing plate mail while he did it.
“What are you?” den Suriel snarled, voice dropping into that strange ringing register. “Ghoul? Wight? Lich?” He was kneeling on Astarion’s chest, and every time he shifted his weight, one of Astarion’s bruised ribs sang a painful sonata.
“Bite your tongue. No lich has skin this good.”
“You can’t be a vampire, or you’d have turned into a bat by now.”
There no longer seemed to be any point in dissembling. Some undead might require dramatic measures, but decapitation would work just as well on Astarion as it had on the mummies. “I’m a vampire spawn. I couldn’t turn into a bat even if I wanted to, which I don’t. I am never turning into a bat.”
“Child of darkness,” the aasimar growled.
“Oh, I like the sound of that.” Astarion smiled up at him, trying to ignore how fast his heart was beating. “Much nicer than spawn.”
Den Suriel’s grip tightened on his wrists, gauntlets digging into the skin. “I should kill you now.”
“Probably.” He lifted his head until they were almost nose to nose. “Of course, you did swear to protect me with your life and soul.”
The paladin flinched violently. Dear sweet Tymora, I take back everything bad I’ve ever thought about you. Astarion pressed his advantage, running his tongue along dry lips. “All you have to do is…break your word.”
The paladin cursed and flung himself backward. Astarion saw a glimpse of naked terror on the man’s face before he was on the other side of the hallway. Interesting.
“That’s why you wanted me to swear,” den Suriel said bitterly.
Astarion sat up, rubbing his wrists. “Can you blame me? Locked in a cell with a sworn slayer of undead? Of course I wanted some protection.”
The paladin gave a short, humorless laugh. “You don’t understand. You’ve already destroyed me, vampire.”
“You’re looking rather undestroyed to me.” Actually, Astarion thought he was looking rather lovely. Those cheekbones even made misery look good. He put his chin in his hand and admired the picture the aasimar made, the way those full lips pressed together, the hint of resolution in his despair.
I could parade him through town like that, and every maiden in a three-mile radius would show up to offer to soothe his tormented brow. Gods, I could charge admission.
“I cannot allow one of your ilk to survive,” the paladin said grimly. “Not when I could stop you. It is a violation of the oath I took to the Order. Thou shalt not suffer the undead to walk free. But I cannot kill you, or I am forsworn. No matter what I do, I will be an oathbreaker.”
“Yes, yes, how terrible for you.” Astarion climbed to his feet. “Are you certain you want to have this conversation in the middle of a hallway that could be flooded with skeletons at any moment?”
“At least if they kill me, I die with my oaths intact.”
Astarion told himself that he wasn’t going to strangle the paladin. “You haven’t broken your oaths yet. It’s possible that there may still be a way.”
* * *