Astarion's Arc

Chapter 2 of 5

Astarion took Wyll's hand and let the hunter pull him up. The ritual was safe for now. But the sky to the east had already paled to gray. Dawn was coming, and the circle needed darkness to set. One ray through the branches would finish him before the magic did. "I can't work here," Astarion said. He pointed at the thinning canopy. "When the sun clears those trees, this clearing becomes my funeral. I need a roof. Stone walls. No windows." Wyll frowned at the brightening sky. "There's a cottage not far from here. Small place, covered in moss and flowers. The windows glow at night, but nobody answers the door." "Flowers," Astarion said flatly. "You want to hide a vampire in a flower garden." "I want to keep you alive until you're useful." Wyll was already moving. "Come. We don't have long." They ran. The gray sky turned gold at the edges. Astarion felt the heat before he saw the house. Then the cottage rose through the trees, small and bright, its roof thick with green moss and climbing blooms. Wyll shoved the door. It held. He put his shoulder to it and the wood gave. Inside was impossible. The door opened onto a hall far longer than the cottage could hold. Candles lit themselves along the walls. Astarion stepped in and the first spear of sunlight struck the doorframe behind him, inches from his heel. "Shut it," he hissed. Wyll slammed the door. The light vanished. Astarion stood in cool dark, whole, laughing with relief. Then a voice came from deeper in the hall. "Guests. How rude of them, not to knock." A man lounged in a tall crimson chair at the end of the room. His hair stood in sharp blond spikes. His eyes burned the same red as Astarion's. A dark cape pooled around his boots. He did not rise. "You know this place is mine," he said. "I let the mortals think it empty." He smiled without warmth. "Jareth. You may have heard the name screamed, once or twice." Astarion straightened. He knew a predator wearing good clothes when he saw one. "Charmed. I need your lightless walls for a day. Nothing more." Jareth rose at last and crossed the hall. He studied the herbs crusted on Astarion's hands. "Blood magic. The sun-walking rite." His smile sharpened. "I tried it myself, long ago. It costs more than you think." "Then help me pay it," Astarion said. "Perhaps." Jareth's gaze moved to Wyll, to the hunter's charm and blade, and his tone cooled. "But I don't share my roof for free. You'll finish your little ritual here, vampire. And in return, you'll come with me to Mireveil Castle. There's a debt there I mean to collect, and I need hands that can't die in daylight soon enough." Astarion had his lightless room. He had also traded one owed hunt for a second. The door behind him was warm with the sun he still could not face.