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Astarion drenched the baroque doors in firewine, then tossed the empty bottle inside, where dozens of smokepowder barrels lay stacked in the darkness.
He stepped back, glancing at Tav once. Neither spoke. He faced the doors as she raised a hand. Heat unfurled from her palm with the whispered incantation, swelling into a fireball. It struck the wood. Flames caught, licking greedily at the doors before the barrels erupted.
Within minutes, Szarr Palace was one vast bonfire. Smoke climbed into the bleak skies above Baldur’s Gate.
It was over.
Tears he thought had dried slipped down Astarion’s cheeks once more.