These Cursed Hands (Touch Me With)

Part 17

Astarion watched his companions celebrate from the corner of the room. A group of Harpers joined them at the bar, making boastful claims about their success in defeating the Absolutist caravan. Oliver and Thaniel were reunited, a moon lantern had been acquired, and progress was finally being made in the fight against Ketheric Thorm. But Astarion couldn't celebrate, not when Raphael hadn't paid him a visit since they first made it to the inn. The devil was out there, somewhere in the shadow-cursed lands, waiting for him. The only person who could tell him about the bloody carvings etched into his back. He still hadn't told her the full of it, his druid. Hadn't told her the gorey details of that night, of how Cazador relished in his sweet screams. He didn't want to degrade himself in front of someone like her. But he needed to know. He didn't care about stopping the Absolutists. If anything, he wanted to control them. The power he felt when people deferred to him as a true soul made his skin buzz with delight. He hadn't told her that either. He knew she would take it the wrong way. He could picture the look on her face. She didn't understand that with that kind of power no one could hurt them ever again.

He recalled her earlier confession, about how she too had been locked away, forced to serve her maker. He assumed it'd been her mother, based on how she phrased it. The idea of the druid he knew now ever being trapped inside made him feel sick to his stomach. And she'd been a child. The idea haunted him even more, making him recall the faces of the kids he'd lured into Cazador's trap. He assumed they were all dead now. He hoped they were. The alternative would be far worse.

A drunken Harper stumbled into him. A halfling female with tan skin and bright eyes. She laughed, patting his arm as she looked him up and down. The familiar sight made his skin crawl. At another time, in another inn, she would've been his mark, lured away by him to be food for Cazador. He peeled her off him, leaving the shadowed corner to head upstairs in search of his druid. She'd dipped away at the start of the party, claiming she needed a fresh pair of clothes. But it'd been nearly an hour, and Astarion couldn't help but worry. He slid into her room, calling her name as he looked around. She was nowhere to be found, but he heard a clattering of tile from above and surmised she was on the roof. An irrational fear took hold of him as he remembered her words. 'I did not feel the touch of grass until I leapt from the roof in desperation for that freedom you think I always had.' He knew the jump from the inn was not enough to kill her, that at worst it would leave her with a few broken bones, but the imagery of her, swaying up there alone in the darkness, pushed him to the balcony. He jumped, easily hoisting himself over the edge as he crawled onto the roof.

"Astarion?" He breathed a sigh of relief as he found her sprawled out in a starfish position, hair unbound and face quizzical as she lifted her head to look at him.

"You said you were just going to change," he commented, flicking the hem of her nightgown as he crawled over to sprawl out beside her. She swatted his hand, a vibrant blush coloring her cheeks.

"I did change. To go to sleep. You know I'm not one for parties." Astarion rolled on his side, propping himself up on an elbow as he looked down at her.

"Was your intention to sleep on the roof?"

She turned her head to glare at him. "No, I was stargazing. Or would be, anyway. I was already up here by the time I realized you can't see them in the forsaken place." He chuckled at her genuine disappointment, pushing himself up to a seated position.

"What use would you have for that when you've got the brightest star right here?" He smirked, bringing a hand below his chin and wriggling his fingers with a flourish.

"You?" she scoffed, laying on her side to get a better look at him. "Why, because your name's A-star-ion?"

He shrugged, leaning back on his hands as he smiled at her. "Not too bad, no?"