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Music lifted the chatter into the cool air. It was a warm summer night and after the sun had finally sunk behind the sandstone palisades of the city, the party had overflowed out onto the dark lawn. The band played on the stoop and a dozen young noble gentlemen were trying to set up a croquet match on the dew-wet grass.
“The Chief Inspector said that was the last of them, my Duke,” Lord Fairburne said. His champagne glass was empty, but he kept lifting it to his eye as if to check. “And they were a sorry lot anyway, just a couple of teenagers with one knife for the six of them.”
“Every enclave’s the last enclave, according to the Inspector,” Grand Duke Wyll Ravengard said. He sighed. “It’s been five years since the Absolute was defeated. They must have been children when the city was taken over.”
“They’re late adopters,” Fairburne said. “All they know is it was a very powerful force. They can see the cracks in the foundations of the Wyrm’s Rock Fortress and think — I would like to have the ability to do something like that.”
“Destruction,” Wyll murmured, darkly. “People think that’s all that power is. If only they knew how easy breaking the world is, and how meaningless.”
There was a bubble of commotion on the stoop, and the Duke’s head turned. A figure staggered onto the dark grass, laughing hysterically. His messy white hair glowed in the gloom. He darted towards the Duke.
“Yoohoo~!” Astarion waved an arm. “Darling!”
“Heh. I’ll leave you to your drunk lover,” Fairburne murmured. He peeled away.
Astarion staggered over to Wyll and fell into his arms, dropping more weight into him than Wyll expected. The Duke’s boots slid on the grass. “Not like you to get pickled. Is everything okay?”
“I’m not drunk,” Astarion leaned heavily on Wyll’s arms. Up close, his skin was twinge greyish and his eyes were wet. “I’ve been poisoned. I feel like I’m dying.”
Wyll felt cold. He gripped Astarion so tightly that rivets formed in Astarion’s velveteen jacket. The Duke’s expression grew black with anger.
“Don’t make a scene, darling,” Astarion murmured.
“How could someone— is it someone at the party? Did you see someone put something in your drink?” Wyll hissed. “Your drink is supposed to be separate— what did it taste like?”
“Can you help me walk to the healers?” Astarion wheezed.
Wyll pulled him close to his side. He kissed Astarion’s sweaty brow. Together they crossed the dark grass and entered the mansion through a side-entrance, wet boots sounding across spotless stone. Wyll set his half-empty champagne flute down on a side-table and took most of Astarion’s weight. Still, the walk down to the healer’s chambers was excruciatingly long.
Finally, Wyll could hammer on the healer’s door. After a moment, the healer opened it. She was a stocky dwarf woman with thick black hair. She ushered them in.
Wyll set Astarion down on one of the sloped lounge chairs.
“Thank you, darling,” Astarion said, breathing heavily. Dull sweat sparkled on his yellowish temples. “You can go now.”
Wyll stopped short. “You can’t be serious. I can’t just leave you.”
“I’ll be fine,” Astarion said. He smiled. “Just go back to the party.”
“I can’t!” Wyll pressed his hand to his chest. “You can’t honestly think there’s anything out there more important than being here with you.”
“Get out!” Astarion snapped. “Out, now! I’m telling you to go!”
Wyll drew back. He looked, for a moment, totally crestfallen. He lingered in the chamber there, among the piles of supplies and furnishings, reflected in the many mirrors of the healing chambers. His fine fabrics and embroidered panels were ill-fitting and out of place here, like a peacock in a mausoleum.
Finally, the Duke turned and left. The door shut quietly behind him.
*
Twenty minutes later, Karlach pushed the door to the healing chamber open. She stretched, her guardsman armour clinking together.
“Okay,” She said, “what’s the issue, drama queen? You better have a good reason for making my lovely Duke cry.”
Astarion was lying on the healer’s couch. He had changed into lighter clothing, and they hung large from his weak frame. His wrists were thin and brittle and his collarbones rose from porcelain flesh.
“Have you lost weight?” Karlach asked, growing serious.
“No,” Astarion pulled his clothes tighter around him. He turned his head away. “I didn’t ask Wyll to send you. I don’t need gawkers.”
“You have,” Karlach knelt at his feet. “A lot of weight. You’re almost as skinny as when you joined our camp way-back-when. You were so proud of all the weight you’d put on, what happened? Don’t tell me you’re dieting.”
“Of course I’m not fucking dieting,” Astarion hissed. He faded slightly, ears low. He looked askance. “I don’t know what’s happening, Karlach. I can’t eat.”
Karlach searched his face. “You can’t? Why?”
“How should I know!” Astarion howled. He pressed his hands into his face. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. Any time I try to drink blood, it’s like my stomach turns into a knot. I can’t bring myself to sip it.”
“Oh, baby,” Karlach murmured. She pulled Astarion down, into a hug. He folded himself into her, arms tight around her shoulders. He pressed his face into her neck and started to shake apart. Tears blurred his vision.
“I don’t know what to do,” Astarion sobbed. “I don’t want to starve again.”
Karlach stroked the back of his head and murmured softly to him. She said nothing for a long time, letting him sob into her shoulder. Eventually, the tears subsided and Astarion was breathing thickly and wetly.
“How long has this been going on?” Karlach asked.
“Um,” Astarion wiped his face. “About a year.”
“A year?” Karlach exclaimed. “And you never said anything?”
Astarion bit his lip, ears low.
“Is this why you two stopped having sex?” Karlach asked, gently. “Because you didn’t want Wyll to find out that you were losing weight?”
“Not just that,” Astarion said. “I’ve been… getting more and more tired. No amount of trancing will fix it. And my knees and elbows hurt all the time. I thought the only benefit of being a Vampire is the healing — but now I don’t even get that.”
“Do you think you’re being poisoned?” Karlach asked. “Or is someone remotely suppressing your Vampiric powers… I mean, is something like that even possible?”
“Gods, I don’t know,” Astarion whined. “I don’t know. I was hoping it would just go away on its own.”
“Well, you have to tell Wyll,” Karlach said. “He’s worrying himself to ribbons over this. And he has the resources to help you, with whatever you may need.”
Astarion grimaced. “I… I don’t want to.”
“Why?”
“It’s just… I don’t know. I only just started to give back to him,” Astarion said. “He’s done everything for me and I’ve been a weight around his ankle. I don’t want to add to that.”
“But he would never judge you,” Karlach said. “And besides, he likes helping.”
“It isn’t just that,” Astarion murmured. “I’m so sick of being a fucking spectacle.”
Karlach’s eyes were soft.
“And I really have been being poisoned, darling,” Astarion said. “I’ve found residue in my wine glass. Something was crushed up. So we can just find the culprit, kill them, and then everything will go back to normal and Wyll and I will be happy again.”
“Fine,” Karlach said. “For now, we can do it your way. But if it gets really dangerous, I am going to tell him. Do you have any leads?”
“I know a doctor who owes me a favour,” Astarion said.
There was a clatter behind them, and the healer stepped back into the chamber. She brushed her hair behind her shoulder. “I have your diagnosis, Lord Ancunín. Severe anemia.”
Karlach groaned under her breath. She shared a glance with Astarion. “Let’s get a second opinion.”
*
The night was deep cobalt blue and the moon was high and brilliant white. Stars studded the heavens. Karlach helped Astarion limp along through the dark streets that woven down towards the docks. The sea wound and unwound against the black rocks.
Karlach headed on and then realised her friend was not following her. Astarion had stopped under the awning of a closed bakery. His hand was fisted into his shirt and his body had a terrible, tense stillness to it. It looked like electricity was coursing through him, leaving him as tight as a steel knot.
“Astarion!” Karlach cried. She picked him up and felt the awful hardness of his over-tensed muscles. “What’s wrong?”
Astarion suddenly relaxed and sagged into her. He sucked air into his lungs with a wheeze.
“What in the Hells was that?” Karlach asked. “Was that a seizure?”
“I’m fine,” Astarion gasped. “It’s just that sometimes my chest clenches up and I lose consciousness. But it passes.”
Karlach grimaced. “So it’s not just nausea and fatigue, it’s seizures too? Is there anything else?”
Astarion shifted. He pulled a thin smile. “Well… Mild hallucinations… Just out the corner of my eye, nothing scary, darling.”
Karlach squeezed his shoulder and helped him to his feet. They slipped along the rain-slick alleyways as the stairs led down and down. Shadows collected over shadows. The air was wet and cold.
Astarion darted ahead and pulled a sheet aside and turned the handle on a hidden door. It swung open into darkness. The air dropped a few degrees as they descended. Under the streets of Baldur’s Gate, the stairwell opened up into a large subterranean chamber lit by hanging emerald lights. Magic shimmered across the ceiling. Their footfalls echoed loudly.
The underground room was almost as large as a ballroom, with a long, thin table, a hearth with a crackling green fire, and thinning rugs stretching across wet black stone. The air smelled of moss and standing water.
“Well, you could have called ahead,” a long, thin elven woman said from beside the green-flame hearth. “What if I wasn’t ready for guests?”
“Dalyria,” Astarion said. “This is Karlach. You remember her?”
“A little,” Dalyria said. She peered at the tiefling. “To be honest, you looked taller in the ritual chamber. You’re actually not that big.”
“Must have been the lighting?” Karlach suggested.
“How charming,” Astarion said. He produced the champagne flute from inside his cloak. “But this isn’t a social visit. Dalyria, someone has been poisoning me. I brought you the wine glass with the residue, I need you to—”
“Oh, I don’t need to test it,” Dalyria said. “I’m the one who’s been spiking all your drink. But it isn’t poison.”
Astarion froze. His eyes were wide. He set the wine glass carefully on the end of the table. He lowered his hands and they disappeared back inside his cloak. “Okay. So what is it?”
“Why don’t you take a seat?” Dalyria said, sweeping an elegant hand towards the long table.
Astarion looked back at Karlach, who shrugged. The two of them took seats at the table.
Dalyria picked up a woven basket which was covered with a picnic blanket. It hung from her long fingers. She swung it lightly around her hips.
“The additive in your drink is beneficial,” Dalyria said. “It’s an extract of thirty vital vitamins and minerals that you are clearly missing, dear brother. Did you really think I could watch you grow thinner and thinner and simply stand by and let it happen?”
“I’m not going to thank you, darling,” Astarion drawled. “But if you’re not poisoning me, why am I sick?”
“Well, you aren’t sick,” Dalyria said.
Astarion rolled his eyes. “It’s finally happened. You’ve lost your fucking marbles. I’m glad I’m not one of your paying clients.”
Dalyria swung her weight from foot to foot. The covered basket dangled from her fingers.
“He’s fatigued,” Karlach said. “He’s lost weight, he’s hallucinating, he’s having seizures in his chest.”
“Seizures in his chest,” Dalyria repeated. “You know, your muscles know how to move. Your heart was beating long before your lungs ever inflated, before your brain sparked with electric life.”
“Listen to yourself, you old bat,” Astarion said. “My heart doesn’t beat!”
“And these hallucinations,” Dalyria continued. “That you catch out of the corner of your eye, flickers of light, something moving where it shouldn’t be. Something you see in a reflective surface. Am I right?”
Astarion fell utterly silent. He was motionless. “No…”
“And this awful weakness and fatigue,” Dalyria continued. “This dizziness, this hunger, losing all this weight…”
She pulled something gleaming and orange from the basket in her hands. It seemed to glow between her fingers. She tossed it onto the tabletop.
The orange globe rolled to a stop in front of Astarion.
He stared down at it.
The little clementine was sunshine bright and ripe as a summer morning. It looked like something that had fallen in from a softer world.
“When you killed Cazador, you broke the cord,” Dalyria said. “Your deathlessness evaporated. And slowly, slowly, your body began to regain the skills it had once known. The tasks it used to perform effortlessly.”
Astarion start down at the fist-sized ripe fruit, unseeing. His mind was wide and empty, rushing like a waterfall. It felt like his thoughts had been cleaned away. He breathed softly.
Like an automaton, Astarion picked the clementine up with his claws. For a moment, he was irrationally afraid of it. His hands shook. More fear pumped through him than he had felt in months. He wanted something so badly, hated himself for wanting it, for believing that he could have it, and yet he wanted it so badly he couldn’t help but believe in it. He felt sick. Vertigo swam before his eyes.
Astarion pushed his shaking thumbs into the clementine and peeled back the waxy orange skin. Inside, white strands furred the fruit. A puff of citrus lightened the air.
Astarion peeled a segment from the clementine. He placed it onto his tongue and closed his mouth. His ears were so low they brushed his collar.
When he bit down, a trickle of pleasant juice sang on his tongue. It was sweet and fresh and holy.
Astarion couldn’t help it. He burst into tears.
*
Just before morning, Astarion crept into his own bedchamber. It was calm and dark. The fire still glowed red as the last lights guttered.
Wyll was asleep in their large marriage bed, his horns curling upwards. It was clear he had been crying. Astarion shook him gently, and then a little less gently, until he coughed and stirred. He peeled his red eye open.
“Astarion,” Wyll rasped. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Astarion said. He shook slightly and felt at once very breakable and very strong. “Actually, I… I have some very good news.”