36
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.
Unfortunately, Violet arrived before he could make much of a dent in the alcohol supply, and his sense of self-preservation kicked in to stop him from going further while she was there.
She was clad in a dress with little puffed sleeves and bows that made her look much younger than she was.
It made him want to kick her out a third-story window, but so did everything else about her.
“Awww. Are you pouting, ’Starion?”
“Sister dear, I would not dream of it. Your failure more than makes up for my mere lack of success.”
She smiled sweetly at him. “I should have shot you in the groin, like I planned.”
“Who’s getting shot in the groin?” Petras asked from the doorway.
“Don’t worry, Petras, you’re perfectly safe. Violet can’t hit that small a target.”
“You think you’re so amusing.” Petras rolled his eyes and picked up his own goblet of blood. “How much longer do we have to wait?”
“As long as he wants us to wait,” Aurelia said, folding her hands in her lap.
“I was afraid of that.”
Fortunately, for all their sanity, Cazador arrived ten minutes later. Dalyria came in behind him. When she saw Astarion, she straightened her back and tried to snap her usual cool, imperious expression back into place.
So that’s how you’re going to play this. I see. Astarion, for his part, simply pretended she wasn’t there. If I am successful, you will pay, dear sister. And if I’m not successful because of you, you will pay even more.
“My children.” Cazador was in an expansive mood tonight, his hooded eyes bright in anticipation of the feast. “I do so look forward to your gifts. It will be interesting to see what you think that I would like…and what you are capable of acquiring.”
Dalyria hid her flinch well, but Astarion saw it and was pleased.
Dufay entered the room holding the small velvet-lined box and presented the vials to his master. There were five of them now, shining like jewels, except for the nearly empty one in the middle. Dalyria hadn’t even thought to smash the other vials when she stole his. Damn the woman.
Cazador stroked his fingers across the glass. “Lovely. Such colors…mostly.” He tapped the nearly empty vial and frowned.
“If you will leave mine for last, Father, I will explain all.” The words flowed smooth as honey off Astarion’s tongue. It was possible he might still pull this off—if three drops were enough, if no one else had stumbled across an even better offering, if the old man was in a good mood, if, if, if.
“A mystery,” Cazador said. “How…intriguing.”
Astarion bowed slightly and prayed hard. Since he had given up on the gods, it was more of a nonspecific cry into the void. Please, please, let this work!
“Very well. You shall be last, then.” The vampire lord picked up the first vial. It was an intense oily green, and when he broke the seal, the smell of rotting garbage flooded the hall. “Gaah! What is this?”
“Otyugh?” Yousen said hopefully.
“Why in the Nine Hells would you bring me the blood of a creature that feeds on filth?”
“I…erm…thought it might be interesting…? I couldn’t try it because they’re sort of intelligent, you know…”
“It smells foul.”
“So do some very good cheeses? Sir?”
Cazador put his hand to his forehead in clear despair. “Only because you are my beloved son, Yousen, would I do this.” He touched his fingertip to the open vial, then, very tentatively, licked it.
His expression said more than words. Yousen faded into the wall. Cazador resealed the vial and held it out. “Take this somewhere and burn it, Dufay. And fetch me something to kill the taste.”
Dufay shuffled out of the room and returned a moment later bearing a golden tray with a single jeweled goblet on it. “The blood of an elven child, my lord, mixed with some of the Ironfell Eighty-Four.”
Cazador took a long drink and sighed with pleasure. “That’s more like it. I trust that none of the rest of you have any such surprises in store?”
The other spawn murmured denials. It occurred to Astarion, very belatedly, to worry about the taste of Mask’s blood.
The next vial was an ordinary crimson. Cazador sniffed, rolled the blood around his tongue, then drank it down. “Ah,” he said. “Winged kenku, yes?”
“Yes, sir,” Petras said, clearly trying to hide his disappointment. “A priestess of Quorlinn.”
“Respectable, if somewhat pedestrian.” He set the vial down, clearly dismissing it from contention. Astarion, despite being a bundle of nerves, took a moment to revel in the set of Petras’s lips. After all, if you can’t enjoy seeing your rivals humiliated, why even let them live?
“Now, Violet, what have you brought me?” Cazador lifted another crimson vial.
Violet shot a dagger-edged look at Astarion, then clapped her hands together in her best little-girl impression. “You’ll love it, Father, I’m sure.”
“An animal, I see.” Cazador sniffed. “Is that…bear? Owlbear, perhaps?” He frowned slightly and tasted it. “No, just bear.”
“But it’s a very special bear, Father. It had a moon on its chest, and it was kept in a very expensive menagerie.”
Cazador sighed. “I’m afraid that no matter how exotic it is, bear still tastes like bear, my dear.” He set the mostly full vial on Dufay’s tray.
Violet bared her teeth. “It would have been better, but Astarion wouldn’t work with me.”
“You dropped a thunderstone on my head. If that’s your idea of teamwork, it’s no wonder you were always picked last for games in school.”
Astarion had no idea if that was true, but by the way Violet glowered at him, he knew he’d hit the mark.
“Oh my. You were, weren’t you? Even after the children who couldn’t throw a ball and the ones who ate worms? How utterly unsurprising.”
“Children,” Cazador said, caressing the penultimate vial. “Don’t make me send you to your rooms.”
Astarion bowed slightly and moved away from Violet. Violet made a rude gesture at him when Cazador wasn’t looking.
Aurelia’s vial was red-gold, with brilliant highlights that seemed to drift beneath the glass.
The tiefling stood, calm and silent, as Cazador unsealed it.