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Chapter Text

Rhea thought she knew what falling felt like. When she was ten, she had fallen out of a tree near her bedroom window when she had tried to climb it while stargazing. The scar above her brow and a broken arm that still twinged, especially in the cold and damp, served as a trophy of that stunt. The night she escaped her family home—valuable relics shoved haphazardly into a rucksack for her to sell as soon as she was far enough away—the stones underneath the window of her father’s study had been slick with rain and she had slipped. She had only fallen a few feet but still bore a sprained ankle and a jarred knee.

And then there was falling from the Nautiloid.

She had tried to hold on to the fleshy surface of the ship. There was a moment where she almost grabbed onto a Mind Flayer’s tentacles as they whipped close to her face, but there was a little voice in her head that told her she might lose a hand, and then she was bucked from the ship with nothing to grab onto. Fear tunneled through her chest, cold and hot at the same time, panic and a sense of listlessness, hopelessness. Rhea grasped at air. Freezing cold wind rushed past her face. She had never gone this long without solid ground.

This time, when she found it, she would die.

Rhea closed her eyes. She’d rather not see what was coming. With any luck, she would die instantly rather than suffer for minutes until her body finally gave out.

This isn’t fair.

She had been so close this time. Freedom had been within reach. A life she wanted. Something that was finally hers for once. The Mind Flayers had ripped that away in seconds.

Tears slipped free. Floated up and away from her.

Warmth blazed over her skin. Wrapped her in a cocoon. Her eyes flew open. Blinding light curled around her but she hadn’t summoned it. Was this a trick? Had the Mind Flayers done something to her?

Sandy shore rose up to meet her. Rhea flung her hands in front of her face as if that would stop the immovable earth from pulverizing her skull. A jolt wracked her body. She stopped inches above the ground, hovering for a few seconds, and then she was eating a mouthful of damp, clump sand. Rhea coughed, expelling the grit from her mouth and sucked in a lungful of air.

She was alive.

How? She didn’t know and didn’t care right now.

A hysterical laugh fell from her lips and quickly turned into a sob. She clamped her lips together. No. No crying. She was alive but she wouldn’t be for long with this thing in her head. And she had to search for survivors. Had to find Lyra—

The strong smell of burning flesh and muscle made her gag. She spat up what little bile gurgled into her throat. Fingers sank into the shifting sand as she crawled to the gently lapping water. She didn’t smell brine or salt. She scooped some into her hand and raised it to her mouth. Fresh water soothed the burn of acid on her tongue.

“Thank the gods,” she murmured even though she didn’t really mean it. The gods could rot for all the cared. But she let the slip pass, thankful that there was drinkable water. That meant there had to be a settlement nearby. Hopefully, a friendly one.

Her knees wobbled as she stood and surveyed the damage the crashed ship had wrought. Nearby trees burned, leaves turning to ash. The sand underneath the ship had turned black. She saw stone ruins in the distance. A few steps forward and she saw a body. Blood and gore coated the ground underneath them. That could’ve been her. Almost was.

Rhea offered a whispered apology as she crouched and rifled through their pockets, searching for anything useful until she pulled out two gold coins. Money wasn’t useful in this situation, but it would be eventually. She tucked the coins into her pocket and kept going.

Another body further down the shore, this one looking less bloody and broken, made her stop. Sand speckled Shadowheart’s cheeks. Her braid lay in the sand, looking like a snake waiting to strike. The relic she coveted was a foot away. Rhea could snatch it. Try to figure out its secrets while its owner slept.

Instead, Rhea gently nudged Shadowheart’s hip with her boot. “Are you still alive?”

Shadowheart groaned and blinked, raising her hand to shield the blazing sun from her eyes. “What happened?”

“I was going to ask you.”

The woman looked at her, the slow dawn of recognition in her eyes turned to suspicion. That didn’t bother Rhea. They were strangers thrust into a situation where they had to rely on one another for a brief moment.

Shadowheart pushed herself to her feet, ignoring Rhea’s offered hand, and brushed sand from her armor. “Thank you for getting me out of that pod.”

“I’d hate to be trapped in one myself,” she said. “Seen our Gith friend?”

“I’d hardly call any Gith a friend.”

“She helped us well enough on the ship. That’s good enough for me.” Rhea rested her hands on her hips.

While she wouldn’t call Shadowheart a friend either, there were in a unique predicament where multiple minds trying to solve a problem were better than one. Rhea was better off searching for survivors and people who want the same thing she did. Get this fucking parasite out of her head so she could go about her life, that fact that it was in shambles notwithstanding.

“You’re right,” Shadowheart relented, trying to shake the sand from her braid. “We should look for others and hope there is a healer among any survivors.”

Neither of them wanted to be the first to step back onto the ship but there was no other way to exit the shore. Rhea could see the jagged openings of the ship and the smoldering wilderness on the other side. The only other way to go was a locked door and Rhea was absent her usual lockpicks, and lacked the energy to attempt kicking it in. Exhaustion sunk its teeth into base of her neck but they didn’t have time to stop or rest. Who knew how long the parasites would take to turn them?

There were more bodies. More loot. Some coins, a dagger in case she needed to slit any throats, a necklace she kept for bartering purposes, and a short bow she held onto even though she hadn’t properly used a bow in years. Shadowheart trailed behind her, making soft noises of disgust in her throat that Rhea ignored. She wasn’t interested in picking a fight about morals.

These people were dead. They wouldn’t need these things.

“How would you feel if someone took the clothes off your corpse,” Shadowheart finally said when Rhea peeled leathers off of what looked like a guardsmen and pulled them on over her own thin tunic.

“Well, personally, I’d be more upset that I was dead in the first place.” The leather was loose but would make it harder for a blade to sink into her chest. “I’d like to stay alive and the Mind Flayers didn’t snatch me up in full armor.”

Shadowheart touched her cuirass and sighed. “Let’s keep moving then.”

The crawling brains unleashed a smoldering rage in Rhea’s chest. Their tinny voices shrieked in her head as she stomped them, brain fluid splattering her boots. Shadowheart incinerated the one that came after her, adding to the powerful stench of burning flesh.

Rhea peered into every pod they walked past. There were more on smoldering platforms or across gaping chasms she couldn’t cross.

“I don’t think anyone’s survived in those,” Shadowheart softly murmured.

“We won’t know unless we look,” her answer was gruff.

Shadowheart didn’t respond.

The Nautiloid was hot, oppresively so, as it burned. Rhea thought they might find relief when they reached the other side, but the air was too thick. She wiped the sweat from her brow. To the left was more water and a broken dock that she somewhat felt bad for as if the crash had been her fault. The exhaustion talking.

Are you sure? You have a habit of fucking things up.

She splashed her face before they turned to trek up the hill instead. A flash of white in the tall grass made her pause. Her fingers closed around the dagger strapped to her hip but she didn’t draw it as they neared a man crouched on the path. Shadowheart trailed behind her, hand on the pommel of her sword.

“Quick! I have one of those brain things cornered,” he called to her over his shoulder, waiting until she was closer to turn and lock his red eyes on her. “Over there. In the grass. You can kill it like you killed the others.”

Interesting.

Rhea frowned. She had a feeling he was well-equipped to handle a “brain thing” and yet he was calling her for help. A trap maybe.

“You look like you can handle it,” she called back, unwilling to risk her neck for someone who looked as if they might bury a knife in hers.

“Ah, I was hoping for a kind soul, but not to worry.”

Cold steel pressed against her neck. She threw herself back into him. The ground was hard against her back. Her hand wrapped around his wrist to keep the blade from nicking her skin but he was strong and she was losing.

“I saw you skulking about the ship. What did you and those tentacled freaks do to me?” he hissed, the tip digging into her throat.

A bead of blood rolled down her neck.

“I haven’t done anything to you yet,” she grunted, raising her elbow to smash it into his face when the parasite in her brain wriggled and pulsed.

Fear spiked through her. Not of the knife or of dying, but of the sun, of being found. A name lingered on her tongue but it disappeared in an aching hunger deep in her marrow.

They gasped in unison and rolled away from each other.

“What was that? What’s going on?” He held his head in his hands, gritting his teeth against the pain of their brief connection.

Rhea sucked in a breath through her teeth, pain pulsating behind her eyes and threatening to split her head open. She needed food. Sleep. Things to stop killing her. “The worm. It connected us.”

He straightened, dagger loose in his hand, and eyes surprisingly sad. “The worm. Of course. That explains things. Somewhat.” He looked away briefly and when he turned back his eyes were crinkled in amusement and the corner of his mouth quirked into a sardonic smile. “And to think, I was ready to decorate the ground with your innards. Apologies.”

She doubted he was sorry at all, but she couldn’t fault him really. If the shoe were on the other foot, she would’ve done the same. Lashing out at anyone perceived as an enemy.

“No harm done I supposed,” she said, swiping at the blood on her neck. “Probably would’ve done the same.”

His eyes lit up. “Ah. A kindred spirit.” He gestured to himself. “My name’s Astarion—“

Little Star. Cute.

“I was in Baldur’s Gate when those beasts snatched me.”

“Rhea,” she said simply, gesturing to herself, not interested in offering anything more than necessary. These people didn’t need to know anything but her name and the fact that they were in the same boat.

He waited with a raised brow until he realized she wasn’t going to say anything else. “A pleasure. So, do you know anything about these worms?”

“Well,” she drew out the word with a sigh. “They’re going to turn us into Mind Flayers. Eventually.”

The rush of emotions on his face made her dizzy. Disbelief. Fear. Anger. Mirth. “Turn us into…” he trailed off into laughter. The kind not born from amusement but sheer disgust at how life just kept fucking everything up. “Of course, it’ll turn me into a monster. What else did I expect?”

He didn’t look at her as her heart twisting, knowing well the gamut of emotions raging in him. The same echoed in her but she couldn’t fall apart. Refused to fall apart. She had been torn apart many times over the years. This was no different. Another problem. Another hurdle. She wouldn’t let it take her.

“It hasn’t happened yet,” he rationalized, more to himself than to her. “If we can find an expert—someone that can control these things—there might still be time.”

“I elect for removal, personally,” Rhea huffed.

He waved his hands in mild annoyance. “Well yes, of course. But first things first.”

“We’re searching the wreckage,” —she gestured to Shadowheart who hadn’t been all that helpful when Astarion was holding a knife to her throat but she would let it slide for now—“for survivors. A healer hopefully. You should come with us. Strengthen our odds if we’re lucky.”

Astarion made a show of contemplating her offer. A performance of weighing his odds alone versus traveling with them. Rhea appreciated how he tried to play to his audience. She knew it well and couldn’t fault him for trying to suss out his potential companions before agreeing to let them too close.

“You know, I was ready to go this alone, but maybe sticking with the herd isn’t such a bad idea.” He leaned towards her. “And you seem like a useful person to know. Alright. I accept. Lead on.”

Herd. As if he saw them as livestock. Sheep. He probably did deep down. Rhea let it roll off her. She didn’t have the time or interest in untangling how he viewed others, that was his burden to bear.

“He tried to kill you,” Shadowheart mumbled in her ear, perhaps trying to keep him from overhearing. “Are you sure it’s safe to bring him along?”

“Thanks for the help by the way,” Rhea snapped.

“You seem more than capable of taking care of yourself. My question still stands.”

“I’m not sure you’re safe to bring along. I don’t know you either, but I’d rather deal with someone who’s already shown their hand. He will do what is necessary to protect himself and survive. I can trust that if nothing else,” Rhea answered, finding another opening into the ship and climbing inside. “You are much less trustworthy to me.”

Shadowheart scoffed. “How?”

“Too polished, too pretty. Usually means you’re hiding something.”

Astarion chuckled a few steps behind them.

Shadowheart opened her mouth as if to argue but they all stopped short. A Mind Flayer—somehow still alive—was sprawled across the ground. Orange eyes glared at her. Tentacles wriggled pitifully.

“It’s dying,” Shadowheart murmured.

“Best leave it. It’s dangerous,” Astarion chimed in.

But her feet were rooted. She wanted answers. Wanted to know why her, why them? What did these things want? Rhea took a step closer and the hateful eyes flashed. The tadpole squirmed in her mind sending a lance of pain through her skull.

She loved this thing in front of her. It was her master. The holder of her leash and she loved it. Worshipped it. Should kneel before instead of standing over it, her legs quaking as she fought the urge to stamp her boot into its skull. Why would she want to kill her lover?

No.

No.

This thing wasn’t her lover. It did not laugh in a way that made her heart soar. Had not given her the band around her forefinger, the promise weighing heavier than the metal. This thing had taken her lover. And now Rhea didn’t know where Lyra was. Was she still trapped in a pod? Or had she slipped free and hit the ground, limbs broken and splayed at wrong angles while her internal organs leaked onto golden sand.

Not knowing was the worst.

The tenuous bond snapped. Rhea raised her gore-covered boots and smashed into the Mind Flayer’s head with a loud squelch. Once. Twice. Three times. It didn’t even twitch.

“Dead,” she declared, stepping over it.

“It would have died eventually,” Shadowheart sighed.

“Yes, that but that was far more satisfying.” Rhea didn’t look back at them. “Let’s go. We’re losing daylight. There has to be others.”

They found Gale, unfortunately also not a healer, with his hand waving outside of a swirling vortex of magic ready to explode. A spell gone wrong. The smell of burnt sugar remained in her nose even as she pulled him through—the other two helping her heave him out—and steadied him on the other side.

He shook her hand vigorously, making the bones in her wrist rattle, as he introduced himself and thanked her for pulling him out. Disappointment flashed in his eyes as he realized he had not found a healer among them either.

“Suppose we should stick together. Birds of a feather and all that,” he said, joining them without her having to ask.

They walked further down the beach while he prattled on about the tadpoles and what would happen. He ran down the list of symptoms, each of them adding to the pit of despair in her stomach. They were going to die. She was going to die. Everything that made Rhea would be lost as she sprouted tentacles and a gaping maw of teeth. She shuddered.

“I will say it is odd, we should be showing the symptoms by now. Headaches. Memory loss. I haven’t noticed anything. Have you?” Gale asked.

Rhea stopped, hands on her hips and head tilted towards the waning sun. “No. Nothing.”

“Mine spoke to me. Said I would make a beautiful weapon,” Shadowheart admitted. “I do not know what it means.”

“Oh dear, mine was rather silent,” Astarion said. “Does that mean I didn’t make the cut?”

Gale looked at Rhea and she shrugged. “We crashed shortly after I got mine. I didn’t hear anything but the attack.”

“Just a hypothesis, but our tadpoles may be…different. Modified. Perhaps we have time,” Gale said hesitantly. “I wouldn’t wager on it, but it’s possible.”

While he could be wrong, she grasped at the idea that they could stop. Sleep. Eat. Rhea had barely eaten in the days leading up to her abduction. She was surprised she hadn’t fallen on her face by now.

“Should we make camp then?” she asked. “Rest tonight and continue searching tomorrow.”

“It’s not a terrible idea,” Astarion said.

Gale nodded. “A rest would do us good. Clear our minds.”

“Shouldn’t we keep going? There might be a village nearby or a camp. They could help us,” Shadowheart protested.

“That’s only if they’re friendly,” Rhea said. “If we have to fight, we’ll need our strength.”

And they had none. Exhausted and battered as they were. Shadowheart reluctantly agreed and they settled on a spot largely free of debris and scattered bodies. Rhea used one of the many daggers she had pilfered to dig out a pit for the fire while the others gathered rocks and wood. With a snap of Gale’s fingers, the fire roared to life.

“Does anyone know how to fish?” Gale asked, eying the water.

“With what exactly? Our bare hands?” Astarion rolled his eyes.

“Ah, right.” Gale reached into his pocket and produced a handful of small shiny red berries. “No matter. I found these. They’re not much but I’m happy to—“

Rhea smacked them out of his hands before he could raise them to his mouth and he stared at her in shock. “You’ll shit yourself to death if you eat those,” she snapped. “Don’t just eat things you find in the wild.”

Gale stared at the scattered berries in mute horror. “Right. Thanks.”

“I’ll be right back,” Rhea said, leaving the three of them at the fire to search through the nearby woods.

It had been years since she had to forage for anything, she was pleased that her knowledge had remained intact. She easily identified edible mushrooms and berries. Unfortunately, she didn’t have anything to carry them in.

“Good save. Almost lost our wizard to a terrible death,” Astarion’s voice dug into the spot right between her shoulder blades.

“No big deal,” she said.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that. Would’ve been terrible if he had died. He could be quite useful to us.”

He said us as if they were already a team. As if they had each other’s backs even though they had just met. Rhea smirked.

She looked over her shoulder at the man that she had to admit was very beautiful to look at despite the dark circles carved under his eyes and dirt smudged into his cheek. “The smell is bad enough. Not very interested in adding to it.”

He blinked at her for a moment before laughing.

Fake.

“How sensible of you,” he said, pressing his hand to his mouth and she noticed the sharp tips of his nails.

“Is it?”

“I rather think so.”

She hummed. Blackberry juice dripped from her fingers, staining the skin. She eyed the overshirt he wore. Purple. Rich color and gold threading. White peeked out from the collar. “Take off your shirt please.”

“I…you’re rather forward, aren’t you?” He tilted his head to study her. “Normally, I’d be interested but we’re in a bit of a situation and—“

She held up the berries. “I need you to carry these and your hands won’t do.”

“Ah.” His expression faltered for a moment before he smirked. “Try not to ruin it, it’s very expensive.”

“I’ll clean it,” she promised, depositing what she had gathered into their makeshift basket.

Astarion followed her as she scoured the surrounding area. Pickings were slim, another sign there were people in the area, but she found enough to feed them for the night. Not a feast by any means but they would live. Perhaps she ought to set a snare. Catch something heartier for them to eat. Or perhaps whoever else lived in this forest was friendly and willing to trade for a hot meal. Her mouth watered at the thought of a stew with chunks of succulent meat, rich broth, and soft vegetables.

“So,” he finally said, breaking their tentative silence. “What did you do before you were…snatched up?”

“Surviving, I suppose.”

“Oh! An existential answer. Not bad. But I was looking for something more along the lines of profession.”

“What was yours?” she shot back.

“A magistrate. Nothing terribly exciting,” he answered quickly, prepared for her to ask.

“Bureaucrat makes sense.”

“Does it?”

“Your clothes are nice but enough for nobility, and obviously too good for someone impoverished, though you could’ve always taken them from someone’s back.” She crouched to pick mushrooms.

His laugh caught. “And do you have much experience with that?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes it’s necessary.”

“So you’re a criminal. Common thief or…?”

“Does it matter now?”

He sniffed. “No, I suppose it doesn’t, but I am curious.”

“Well, for the sake of your curiosity, I am terrible at picking pockets, decent with picking locks, wearing ill-fitting clothes, and thinner than I’d like to be. You can draw your own conclusions about my criminal prowess from there.”

“Ah. A terrible criminal then.”

Rhea ignored the snarky comment in favor of a shiny red apple on the ground. She looked up at the tree that bore it, blooming with fruit and sighed in relief. Apples would make a wonderful addition in holding them over until they could find something more substantial. Sweet and crisp. She could almost taste them sprinkled in cinnamon and wrapped in flaky pastry. There had been a stall in the square that sold them fresh every morning, she could smell them even when she couldn’t afford them.

Juice dribbled down her chin. She couldn’t wait to get back to camp. Her stomach growled and protested even as she slowly fed it. Each sweet bite revolted against her but she had to get it down. Astarion watched her, with the slightest hint of concern, but said nothing as he followed her up a hill. Voices carried from above and she immediately dropped into a crouch with Astarion following her lead.

“Could be survivors,” she murmured.

“Could be trouble,” he shot back.

“Could be a healer.”

He sighed. “Lead on then.”

“How nice of you.”

He flashed a smile. “You can never accuse me of not having manners.”

Rhea rolled her eyes and slowly crept up the hill, sticking to the tall grasses in case they were meeting enemies. Two Tieflings argued underneath a cage that contained the very Githyanki Rhea was looking for.

Lae’zel narrowed her eyes as Rhea slowly stood—the Tieflings didn’t look like much of a threat—and the tadpole squirmed. “Get. Rid. Of. Them.”

“Should we leave it to the Goblins or…?” one of the Tieflings broke off with a gasp when they noticed their company.

Rhea jerked her head towards the cage. “Gith are dangerous you know. Best not mess with it.”

They shared a look. “You’re right. We best get back to the camp before Goblins come.”

“Camp?” Rhea questioned. “Would your camp happen to have a healer? We have injured from the crash on the beach.” Rhea didn’t specify that they had crawled out of the wreckage.

Suspicion was etched into their features, the furrow of their brows, the downturn of their mouths. She couldn’t hide her Drow skin or the sharp point of her ears. No one trusted her at first glance. One stared into her eyes, but Rhea’s sclera was white instead of black. That seemed to be enough to absolve her of whatever crimes they imagined she might commit.

“There is the healer, Halsin, a Druid. Our camp is a bit North, that way.” One of them pointed. “I’m not sure they’ll let you in though.”

“I would have killed them,” Lae’zel snapped after they left.

Rhea sighed. “Well, when the roles are reversed and I’m locked in a cage, you can do what you like.”

“Get me down.”

“Sure, no problem, you’re welcome by the way,” she grumbled under her breath, and stepped into the small valley between two boulders.

A short bow laid underneath the cage but Rhea couldn’t remember the last time she shot a bow. She’d be more likely to skewer Lae’zel which would not improve anyone’s day. Astarion plucked the bow off the ground with a flourish.

“Allow me.” He winked.

Peacock.

The cage cracked apart as it hit the ground. Lae’zel did not dispense thanks to either of them. Rhea wasn’t even sure the Githyanki knew those words. But there was something about Lae’zel she liked. Abrupt. Straight to the point. The Githyanki wasn’t into subterfuge and Rhea appreciated that.

“We should find the creche and get rid of these tadpoles,” Lae’zel hissed.

“We’re camping for the night. Resting.” Rhea rested her hands on her hips. She wanted nothing more than to pass the fuck out.

“We do not have the time!”

“Nothing has happened that’s supposed to be happening. We can afford a moment to sleep,” Rhea snapped and pinched the bridge of her nose. “But if you want to keep going, feel free. I will be heading back to camp.”

Shadowheart grimaced as Lae’zel walked into camp behind Rhea, looking none too happy about it, but kept her mouth shut. There were no bedrolls to place around the fire and Rhea was too damn tired to care. She washed the mushrooms and berries free of dirt and worms, returning Astarion’s shirt to him minimally soiled, and ate in silence with the others before stretching out onto the sand. Washing it out of every crack and orifice would be a problem for a different her. The her of tomorrow.

If we make it to tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Blood. Metallic and hot in her mouth. She doesn’t know if it’s hers or someone else’s. There’s a bitter taste. Sour. Wrong. She coughs. Wet splatters onto her chest. Someone is speaking. Or chanting. Hot searing pain in the back of her head. She thinks she’s screaming but she can’t tell. She can’t feel anything but the pain boring into her skull.

“S-stop,” she whimpers.

A hand clamps down over her mouth. Claws dig into the soft skin of her cheeks. A tear rolls down her face. She knows they’re going to kill her. Scrape out everything they can’t use to shape her however they like. She’ll be a doll. Perfect. Obedient.

No.

NO.

There is screaming. But it’s not coming from her.

Rhea clapped her hands over her face the minute she woke. Sand ground into her cheeks. Her fingers pressed into her eyes as she drew a shuddering breath.

It was a nightmare. It wasn’t real. You were on a ship. It crashed. Lyra is…probably dead but you’re still alive. You’re still alive and so are others and you cannot look weak. If they think you’re weak, they’ll take advantage. Pull yourself together.

“Bad dream?”

Rhea let her hands drop, her face impassive, and met the glittering red eyes across the fire.

“Perhaps a nightmare about our tentacled friends?” he guessed, keeping his voice low so he didn’t wake the others.

Gods, she hoped she didn’t make any noise but she wasn’t going to ask.

She grunted softly. If that’s what he wanted to think, she wouldn’t dissuade him. Better than trying to wade through the murky waters of her memory and disseminate what was real and what was just nightmare. Difficult when so many of her years were naught but slivers of memories. Glimpses of her parents and her childhood. Running away as they were assassinated. Selling the relics for coin…at least, she thought so. Everything before coming to Baldur’s Gate and making a living for herself was a yawning chasm. Every so often she had a dream or a flash of knowledge in her waking hours that she didn’t understand. Trying to pull the jagged pieces together never helped.

Rhea stopped trying a long time ago.

“I can take over watch. I won’t be going back to sleep,” she murmured instead of giving him an answer. She’d rather he think what he wanted than dump her shattered life into his hands.

No telling what he could do with it.

“Oh, good. I do need my beauty sleep.”

She might’ve had a witty response to his sarcasm if she didn’t still taste the heavy tang of blood in her mouth. She waited until he was lying down, eyes closed but probably not yet asleep, and quietly crept away to the water’s edge in the hopes of washing the taste out. Rivulets dripped down her chin and neck, mingling with the sweat. If they weren’t vulnerable in the open like this, she might’ve tried to bathe. Scrub the ichor and sand out of her skin. Perhaps she might feel clean again.

You’ll never be clean.

Rhea plopped back down by the fire and drew her knees to her chest. Soft snores of her temporary companions kept her company as she tried not to think despairing thoughts of their predicament. Tried not to focus on the unfairness of it all.

Freedom had been right there. Another day or true of lying low and she and Lyra would’ve made their way far enough from the city. True, they would always have to hide but they would’ve been together. Lyra’s ruby eyes—wide and afraid as they were taken—lingered in Rhea’s mind. Triumph turned to terror so easily.

She tilted her head back and counted the stars, begging time to move faster. Sitting and doing nothing could drive her to distraction. She wanted to move. Wanted to fight something. Wanted to thrust herself onto a dagger and let the darkness take her. Part of her wondered why she was trying to find a way to cure herself at all. What was there to go back to? What existed further down the path? Maybe everything. With her luck, nothing. More pain. More of sundering her consciousness from her body so she wouldn’t have to bear the torment of having a body that didn’t truly belong to her.

Wouldn’t dying be better?

Yes, it would. But she was never brave enough to go through with it. There were times she held the knife to her chest but her hands shook, leaving her nothing but shallow cuts over her heart and a welt on her cheek for daring.

Rhea’s desire to die had led her to Lyra. A night stumbling home in the dark, salt dried into her cheeks, and a red-eyed vampire crossing her path. Lyra’s hand had been cold around Rhea’s throat. Teeth sharp against the bruised skin of her neck. Rhea had trembled but not because she was afraid. She had never wanted anything more in her life. Had begged for Death’s kiss.

But Lyra refused.

Pulled away and left Rhea wanting, sobbing in the dark alley. Alone. Alive. Ripped away from the death she craved.

She searched for Lyra in the weeks that followed. Their second meeting happenstance as Rhea found her squatting over a drunkard—blood smeared down her chin—and demanded to know why she wasn’t a good enough meal.

“Such a beautiful broken thing you are. Killing you would be a waste,” Lyra cooed, cold fingers gripping Rhea’s chin. “But I can give you a taste, little sparrow.”

Shards of ice sank into the skin of her breast and she had hissed in pain before she felt the relief of nothingness. Quiet darkness. As if she had laid outside in a snowstorm and simply gone to sleep while her numb body gave out.

She had been addicted to dancing with the void. Toeing the line between life and death as she went to Lyra time and time again. Slowly sharing their lives. Rhea telling Lyra all the ways in which she degraded herself. Lyra sharing the life of a spawn with no master, while trying to avoid slipping into the clutches of another. They had grown close. Fond. Not really lovers but something more than friends.

Running away had been Lyra’s idea. Her plan. Beautiful in theory. Disastrous in the end.

Rhea waited until the edges of the sky grew light, the sun eating away at the twinkling constellations. Shadowheart was the first awake. She shook the sand from her hair and blinked blearily at the rising sun.

“I’m going to search for food. Supplies. I’ll be back so we can find the refugee camp,” Rhea said, stretching her hands over her head as she stood until her spine gave a satisfying crack.

A partial truth. She was going back to ship. Whatever she could glean from the dead, she would bring back. Trinkets would sell if they found a merchant. Perhaps she could trade for better fitting armor and daggers that weren’t dull. But that was the least of her intentions. She wanted to find Lyra if it meant cutting open every single pod in that place. She needed to know, needed to see for herself that Lyra was gone.

***

Red seared Astarion’s vision and he jerked awake, expecting the sizzle of his skin in the bright sun as it rendered him into ash. It didn’t happen. He held his fingers up in the rays of light in awe. This would take getting used to. Doors—long since closed to him so long as he lived in shadow—were flung open wide. He had finally one place Cazador could not touch him. Daytime.

The fire crackled and spit. The strong smell of cooking fish made him wrinkle his nose. He hadn’t managed to go far the night before, finding a squirrel that barely sated his hunger. He had spent some of the night eyeing his companion’s necks and debating if he should take the risk. Any one of them could kill him for trying so leaned towards keeping his condition to himself.

“Hungry?” Gale asked, nodding to the fish cooking over the fire. “Should eat while we have the chance.”

He was always hungry but unless the wizard wanted to bare his neck, Astarion would not be answering that question with anything more than a noncommittal shrug and a wave of his hands. But he did sit up and take stock of his companions in the full light of day.

Gale, a scruffy wizard who might perhaps clean up nice rotated the fish so they cooked evenly. The berries he had almost foolishly eaten and divested himself of his insides in the process, still lay scattered and broken on the sand. Lae’zel, a Githyanki who did not look happy to be there and was currently sharpening her sword while glaring at Shadowheart. Astarion didn’t know what kind of people named their child Shadowheart, but she certainly looked mysterious and…shadowy. She stood in the water up to her knees, washing her hands.

“We are missing one,” he noted, looking around but he couldn’t see Rhea anywhere.

“Ah, yes.” Gale nodded. “I believe she went searching for more supplies though she was already gone when I woke.”

“She’s probably gone back to the ship,” Shadowheart interjected, sitting between them and reaching for a skewered fish. “To loot more bodies.”

“It’s not as if they need any of their belongings anymore,” Astarion said.

“She said the same thing. Sounded better coming from her,” Shadowheart muttered.

“Nonsense. Everything sounds better coming from me,” Astarion scoffed.

“We are wasting time,” Lae’zel snapped. “We should be finding a creche.”

“As if we could trust your people to cure us,” Shadowheart huffed.

Lae’zel opened her mouth to argue but Gale perked up. “Ah, she returns!”

And Rhea had indeed returned, dropping a heap of weapons, armor, and various bits of junk into the sand. She had a clean—ish—undershirt and a leather chest covering slung over her shoulder. Despite the dirt smudged over her cheek, hollowed cheeks, and the dark circles under her eyes, she was quite pleasing to look at. Her violet eyes flicked to Astarion but she quickly looked away before he could read her.

He had watched her sleep. The fear and pain that had crossed her face. The slight whimper that caught in her throat. He was no stranger to nightmares but his were all about Cazador. About the things he had done these last two centuries of being undead. He wondered what hers were about.

“I brought back things that might be useful. If not, I’m sure we can trade them at the camp.” Her voice was tinged with bone-deep weariness.

Gale grimaced at the armor pile. “You want us to wear things that have been on corpses?”

Rhea dropped the clothes slung over her shoulder onto a rock. “In what world you do live in, Gale of Waterdeep,” —she undid the laces of the leathers she wore and peeled it off—“that you can afford to be so picky.”

“I…” Gale trailed off as she pulled her blouse out from the waistband of her trousers and shucked it off.

A band woven around her breasts was stained with sweat and droplets of blood. He could see the faint outline of her ribs pushing up her skin. She was scarily thin. How long had she been starving? Old thich scars, faintly lighter than the rest of her dusky skin, wrapped around the side of her stomach. If Astarion had to guess, a strap of leather taken to her back. Perhaps more than once. She quickly pulled on the other shirt and tucked it into her waistband before he could see any more of her.

“I checked out the refugee camp. It’s a grove,” Rhea said, moving on from Gale’s hesitance. “Hope one of you has some experience on dealing with Druids.”

“We should find the creche—“

“You and the creche,” Shadowheart snapped.

“Maybe someone inside knows something,” Rhea said before an argument could break out. “Right now, getting inside the grove is our best option to finding what we need. Of course, we could stand around and argue all day if you’d like. I’m sure that would net results.”

“You should eat first.” Gale gestured to the fish. “Then we can continue our ill-fated adventure.”

She sat beside Astarion, tucking her legs underneath her, and he watched as she picked the small fish clean far faster than she should have. Same with the apple the day before. She had devoured it, driven by her hunger, and he was surprised her body didn’t immediately reject it. When was the last time she had eaten? Was she a poor, starving soul when she was taken?

Only one skewer was left on the fire. His. The others had started to pick through the offerings she had brought them. Their attention wasn’t on him and Rhea.

He gestured to the skewer. “You should take it. I am…not fond of fish.”

She looked at him, violet eyes piercing his. “I’m sure you aren’t.”

What did she mean by that?

He narrowed his eyes but she didn’t explain as she reached for the skewer. Did she know what he was? Impossible. He was walking in the daylight. No vampire could do that. No one could possibly know what he was unless he told them. Perhaps he misread her response.

But he wasn’t entirely sure.

Oil clung to her lips. She sucked the meat clean off the bone. “Thank you,” she mumbled, only loud enough for him to hear.

“Who can we rely on if not each other,” he said.

Not entirely a lie but it didn’t mean he trusted these practical strangers. They were a means to an end. Once he was either in control or rid of the tadpole, he was back to being on his own. For now, he needed them to believe he was agreeable. Caring, even.

She raised an eyebrow. “Not bad. Did you practice that all morning?”

That startled a laugh out of him. Oh, she was going to be fun. He wasn’t sure who he would have to align himself with yet, but Rhea was a good contender. So far, the others seemed to listen to her. She was practical. Perhaps her other talents would show themselves in time. If he were lucky, they would be useful talents he could make use of with just a little seduction.

Dragging her secrets out of her couldn’t hurt either. They would provide a nice bit of leverage should he need it. And she was chock full of them. He had felt the shadows within her when the tadpole briefly connected them together. If it had been a physical connection, her mind would’ve sliced him pieces. Jagged edges of pain and grief were like shards of glass in his mind. Beneath that…nothing. A void.

Did she know such a thing existed inside of her?

“You’re staring,” she muttered.

“The view is nice,” the practiced words rolled off his tongue.

She made a noise in her throat and shook her head. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Gods no,” she snorted. “You’d do better to find another mark, that’s all.”

“A mark?”

She looked at him, corner of her mouth lifted in a smirk. “No need to play dumb. It doesn’t really suit you.”

He sniffed. “I was playing coy, not dumb, darling. There is a difference.”

“Wholly depends on your audience, and I am not your target.” She stood and kicked sand over the fire. “Not today. Probably not ever.”

He leaned back and looked up at her. Sunlight glowed around her like a halo. Almost making her look ethereal even in her sorry state. Her eyes were tight around the edges. Steel lingered in her gaze. The very image of someone not to be trifled with, and he knew deep down, it wasn’t all for show. Whatever hell her life had been before now, she had survived it. If anyone could survive this, it would more than likely be her.

Unfortunately, that definitely made her his target.

Chapter Text

She wanted those daggers. Curved blades of obsidian and steel. Black pommels inlaid with garnets where blade and handle met. Rhea could imagine them in her hands, blade dragging across a throat and blood spilling onto her hands. They were perfect.

She needed them.

But even with everything she had gleaned from the dead back at the ship, it wasn’t enough. She stared at them longingly until the merchant cleared his throat.

“There’s a ruins down the shore. Locked up tight, but if someone were to find a way in there might be quite a bit of treasure,” he offered. “Perhaps enough to buy these daggers off me.”

“Perhaps I will have to find a moment to check them out,” she said as if she hadn’t already made up her mind to go back to the beach and look. She had bought a lockpick set off of him. Wouldn’t replace her last set—the one Lyra had gifted her—but they would do.

Even as she wandered the Tiefling camp, she couldn’t get her mind off those daggers. There was something familiar about them though she knew she had never had such a pair before. Was it a lost memory? Something wriggling at the edge of the void and begging for her to reach her hand in and search for it. She wouldn’t. She never tried to dig into what she had lost. Some things were better left alone.

She didn’t think they would find anyone in the refugee camp like them, but there was Wyll, looking as if he belonged there teaching the children how to fight and not as if he had crawled out of a crashed ship. Why hadn’t they found him before. Were there more then?

It didn’t matter.

If she found them, they could work together, if not, well…she wouldn’t lose sleep over it. Rhea couldn’t care about everyone. Couldn’t help everyone. She didn’t do altruism or heroics.

She had to care about herself. No one else would.

Wyll had learned more about the plight of the Tieflings than Rhea cared to know, and he made sure to tell her everything as if she could stop the Druids from performing their ritual. She could practically hear Astarion rolling his eyes behind her.

“I’m not sure we can get involved, we have a big enough problem on our hands,” she said.

“Precisely,” Astarion agreed. “No need to go out of our way and get involved in affairs that don’t concern us.”

“If we can help, we should help,” Gale interjected.

Rhea held up her hands. “You can do what you like but I’m going to speak to this Halsin—“

“Didn’t anyone tell you?” Wyll frowned. “Halsin went to the Goblin camp and has not returned. They believe he’s being held captive.”

Great. Just fucking great. Their one hope and he wasn’t there.

Rhea ground her teeth together. “Where is the Goblin camp?”

“Not far. Just past the Blighted Village. Area is crawling with them though,” Wyll answered. “Getting inside will be a challenge.”

One they were vastly unprepared for. Perhaps hoping the tadpole removal would be a swift and easy process was too much to ask for. Nothing in life was ever easy or freely given. How much blood and flesh would she have to give for this?

“I must speak with Zorru,” Lae’zel interrupted. “He has seen Gith nearby. I must question him immediately. If we find the creche, we have no need of this Halsin.”

Rhea wasn’t thrilled about putting her fate in the Githyanki’s hands either.

Wyll sidled closer to Rhea. “Would it be too much to ask for you to speak to Kagha? You helped dispatch the Goblins at the gate. Perhaps she will listen—“

“What are we? Messengers?” Astarion scoffed. “The Tiefling’s plight has nothing to do with us.”

Rhea dug her fingernail into the fleshy part of her palm by her thumb and counted her breaths. “It’s clear no matter what we choose, we’re going to be here longer than we thought. Perhaps you could find a better place for us to set up camp,” —she looked pointedly at Astarion—“and the rest of us can try to figure out a solution to our problem.”

He touched his chest as if he were affronted. “Are you saying I’m a hindrance?” His teasing tone dripped with derision. He was mocking. Baiting her into snapping at him.

She had dealt with his kind plenty.

The smile was easy. Disarming. She had practiced it so many times. Had suffered when she didn’t get it right. Now she was perfect. She could appease nearly anyone with an adoring smile and a few sweet words. Astarion blinked.

“I would never say such a thing, but I do think you are tired and hungry,” she emphasized the word and he narrowed his eyes. “I trust you to find a place for us where we can gather our strength and our minds before we make a decision. Would you do that for me, Astarion?”

His smile was tight at the corners. “But, of course. I would be honored.”

“I will go with him,” Gale offered. “Two sets of hands would be better than one.”

“Lovely,” Astarion bit out.

“I will go with our Gith friend. I do not trust them,” Shadowheart said.

“I do not need your trust, istik” Lae’zel snarled.

“We’ll meet up at dusk,” Rhea interrupted before anyone else could bicker. “We’ll see where we stand and decide our next move. Yes?”

The others nodded, Astarion’s eyes lingered on her for a fraction longer than the others, and they parted ways. Rhea rolled her stiff shoulders and sighed. Why were they listening to her? She wasn’t their leader and yet they were looking to her for delegation. This was a slippery slope she didn’t want to be on. Eventually, she would dangle over the edge and they wouldn’t save her. They didn’t know her. They weren’t her friends. She didn’t have friends.

She didn’t trust.

Rhea would have to steel herself for the journey ahead. Guard her heart against these people. Cover herself in ice even if they thought her heartless for it.

A determination that crumbled the moment she saw the Tiefling child, shaking and sobbing as the snake reared its fangs, and Kagha’s malicious gaze. Rhea had not wanted to get involved, but she was involved now. She had barely contained the shaking rage in her voice as she addressed Kagha, words hissing between her teeth. Wyll didn’t have to convince Rhea to look around the sanctuary, and he stood watch as she climbed behind the not-so-cleverly placed hole by the bookcases. The recently purchased tools came in handy as she carefully picked the lock on the trunk. Kagha was cruel, haughty, and also stupid. The kind born by pride and not lack of intelligence.

Rhea waited until they were nearly out of the Grove before she handed over the note she found to Wyll.

“The swamp?” he asked. “Should we go?”

“Do you even know where it is?”

He frowned. “I can ask.”

“You do that. You can meet us at camp later,” she said, having every intention of finding the ruins the merchant had told her about and bringing back whatever spoils she could find.

But Wyll didn’t turn back to the Grove. He followed her out of the gate.

“I’m going down the beach,” she called over her shoulder.

The “don’t follow me” wasn’t said, but she hoped her tone implied that she wanted to do this alone. Rhea wasn’t much for groups. Too many threads to keep track of. Too many people to twist around her will so they wouldn’t turn on her.

“I will assist you.”

Rhea held in her sigh. Fine. She couldn’t make him leave. And it couldn’t hurt to try and have at least one person in her corner should hostilities arise.

“So, Rhea, where were you picked up by the ship?” he asked as they grew closer to Nautiloid.

“Baldur’s Gate.” She hesitated a moment. “And you?”

“Avernus.”

“Well, I suppose that’s one way to get out of the Hells.”

He chuckled. “I was hunting a devil by the name of Karlach…”

Rhea only half listened as he told her of the importance of finding this devil. She wasn’t all that eager to chase down a devil no matter how close they might be. If they wanted to wreak havoc, that was their business, and if Wyll wanted to stop them, that was his business. Her only goals were: tadpole removal and escape. She would need to get far away from Baldur’s Gate. Lay low for a long time. Hoped she would eventually be forgotten and allowed to live something of a life that she chose.

When they reached the ruins, Rhea dropped to her knees in front of the door and pulled out her tools.

“Do you break into ruins often?” Wyll asked.

“Not until lately, I admit. This is a rather unique circumstance.”

He hovered over her shoulder. “What’s inside?”

“Gold and things that will fetch gold.” The lock clicked. “At least, I hope.”

The merchant had been right. Chests lay untouched within the tomb, though Rhea chalked that up to the traps set up around the room, ready to go off she so much as made the wrong step. She pointed them out to Wyll so he could avoid them as she stuffed trinkets—mostly old jewelry—into her pockets. If she were going to do this more often, she’d need a bag. Perhaps what she found would buy her the daggers and something durable to carry treasures and necessities with her.

Something akin to excitement wormed its way under her skin.

She was on her own. No watchful eyes. No one to drag her back. Sure, she was a ticking bomb with the parasite in her head but she was, in a sense, free. A spring entered her step as they explored room by room.

“What do you need the gold for?” Wyll asked, reading cracked spines of tomes on shelves.

“Everything,” Rhea answered. “I can’t think of a thing that doesn’t require it.”

“Anything in particular?”

She didn’t want to answer him. What if she told him about the daggers and he decided he wanted them for himself? Could she hope to take him in a fight? Probably not. He was heavily armored compared to her. The sword he possessed could cleave her in two before she could hope to stab him with her piece of shit daggers she had stolen from corpses.

“The merchant had some weaponry I’m interested in,” she said. “Daggers. Far better than the ones I have now.”

“And you can use them?”

She almost snapped at him, but her “of course, I can use them” died in her throat. Could she use them? She wanted them but had she ever really wielded a weapon other than a kitchen knife or a cast iron skillet—once—when she needed to defend herself? An itch in the back of her mind told her she could. A rare moment where reassurance slithered out from the void in her mind.

“Yes, I believe I can,” she murmured.

Something glittered on the top shelf of a bookcase. Rotten wood sagged underneath her foot as she tried to use the bookcase as a ladder. She heard the splintering under her weight. She might have to let that one go unless she wanted to bust her ass on the way back down.

“Here,” —Wyll crouched down—“if you get on my back, you can reach it.”

“I…oh…”

She stared down at his back as if it could somehow hurt her. But it couldn’t, right? She carefully swung her leg onto his shoulder, trying to keep perfectly still as his hands gripped her thighs to keep her steady while he stood up. She swallowed down a wave of nausea. This was fine. She was fine. He was just helping.

“Sorry, if I smell. Haven’t bathed since the crash,” she said, trying to keep her mind away from dark corners.

“If it’s any consolation, neither have I.”

She snorted. “Hopefully the others will find a place to camp where we can bathe and clean our clothes. Would be nice to at least have clean underwear.”

“I am loathe to disagree with you there.”

She snatched the necklace from the shelf and added it to her bulging pockets. “You can put me down now.”

Wyll carefully lowered himself back down so she could hop off of his back.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

“Are we done here?”

“I think there’s one more room.”

She expected him to argue but he gestured to the closed door. “Lead on, then.”

They threw themselves against the heavy doors, the wood groaning in protest but slowly opening. The smell of cold, dust, and old rot made her sneeze. She saw the first skeleton lying by the stairs. In the center of the room was a courtyard containing a statue of a god she didn’t recognize. Not just a ruin then. An old temple, perhaps?

Rhea should feel bad about stealing from an abandoned temple, a holy place, but she never cared for the gods or those who worshiped them. She walked along the sides, stepping over old bones. A chest was tucked in the corner. She ran her hands over the top and slid her tools into the rusted lock.

Voices further back in the tomb made her freeze, but the spot in between her shoulder blades itched and she recognized Astarion’s snarky tone followed by Gale, sounding on the edge of his patience. Had they worn each other down over the last few hours?

She popped open the lid and rifled through the tomes and sheaths of paper. Nothing of value that she could tell. The voices drew closer.

“Ah, Wyll!” Gale said as he walked into the room. “We’ve been looking for you and the rather mysterious Rhea. Have you seen her?”

Rhea leaned her elbows on the railing. “You think I’m mysterious, Gale?”

“Quite! But then again, aren’t we all?” Gale answered, waving his hands as he spoke. “Are you almost finished here? We found an excellent spot for camp, if I do say so myself.”

She jumped down into the courtyard through a gap in the balcony, fully aware of the red eyes that followed her every move, dust kicking up around her boots. “Almost. I don’t want to miss anything.”

“How much more can the skeletons be hiding?” Astarion asked.

Rhea shrugged, walking around to the alcove tucked behind the statue. “Never know.” A dust covered protrusion caught her eye. She carefully pulled away the thick webs to reveal a very conspicuous button. Not well hidden probably meant trap.

“Are you really going to press a button in a tomb?” Gale asked, stepping forward with his hand outstretched. “Seems like a really bad idea.”

Her fingers hovered. It was an objectively terrible idea. Who knew what terrible chain of events she could set off just by pressing a simple button. She had enough to buy the daggers now, she was sure of it, and didn’t need to search for anything else. But there was a voice. Small. She almost missed it.

Come. Claim your reward.

“It is,” she agreed. “But I think I might do it anyway.”

No one moved to leave her and her curiosity alone to deal with the consequences, which was as close to permission as she would get. She pressed the button and waited for a trap to activate. Nothing happened.

“Well, that’s disappoint—“

Stone ground against stone and she stumbled back as the wall in front of her began to move. A cloud of dust made her cough. She waved her hand in front of her face. The wall slid up, disappearing into a hollow space. Candles flared to life inside of the room revealed by the button.

“Well? What is it?” Astarion asked.

“A crypt, I think. Not sure why it was hidden.” Her boot touched the threshold and the door leading back out, slammed shut. Bones rattled. Eerie light bloomed to life in the eyes of the skeletons that blocked their path to escape.

Gale sighed. “This is why we don’t press buttons in a tomb.”

Chapter Text

“What is the worth of a single mortal life?”

“Depends on the person, I suppose.”

Skeletons. A dried husk of a wraith locked away in a stone coffin. Rhea thought the worms were the weirdest thing she would be dealing with on this journey but the day taught her to temper her expectations. Withers disappeared, promising to meet her again at the appropriate place—whatever that meant—and she had scavenged the room for coin and loot.

“I don’t know about any of you but I am ready to go back to camp. I could eat a boar,” Wyll said. “Coincidentally, do we have anything to eat?”

“I hope you’re good at hunting, otherwise everyone is going to be living off of mushrooms and berries until we find a way to get rid of the tadpoles,” Rhea answered.

“I’d prefer meat.” Wyll sighed. “Care to help me hunt? Anyone?”

Rhea shook her head. “Not me, I’m afraid. I’m heading back to the Grove and I won’t be coming back to camp until later.”

“Need company?” Gale asked.

“No thanks. Just point me in the direction of camp, though I’m sure the bickering will lead me there, especially if you leave Lae’zel and Shadowheart alone much longer.”

Gale winced. “Suppose we should return soon then.” He gestured in the direction of their camp. “It’s not far whenever you decide to join us.”

Astarion lingered behind a moment as if she might invite him to join her, which she definitely wasn’t going to do. Just because they had to work together to solve their collective issue, didn’t mean they had to go everywhere together.

“Don’t run off now,” he teased the warning for her ears only and she fought the urge to roll her eyes.

She waited until he was further down the path before she sighed. “Where else would I go?”

The merchant’s eyes widened as she returned with her treasures. Perhaps he was surprised that she had managed to do what he suggested. It took her a moment to realize the daggers were no longer displayed with the rest of the weapons.

“Sorry, friend, they were purchased just before you returned,” he said, surprisingly sounding apologetic. “By him.”

Rhea turned her head and made eye contact with a brown-haired traveler with dark eyes. Human. Not one of the Tieflings. One of the adventurers she had saved outside of the Grove? She didn’t recognize him from that group. He smiled and held up one of the daggers, waving it at her. Taunting her. Why would he…?

Oh.

Fury burned through her like a fever.

He winked at her and walked away, further into the Grove and then disappeared down a ladder. How dare he take something she finally wanted for herself? Those daggers were hers. She felt that in her marrow. Nothing had ever captured her attention so quickly as those blades. They belonged in her hands.

And she would have them.

The ladder creaked under her boots. Soft laughter cut off as she walked into the dim glow of a lit torch. They were well and properly hidden behind large rocks, she could barely hear the sounds of the camp above, and the traveler wasn’t alone. Of course he wasn’t. Assholes always traveled in packs.

He sat on a crate, waving the dagger at her. “Beautiful craftmanship, aren’t they?”

Rhea remained silent. She knew what he wanted—what they always wanted—but she waited for him to say it.

“Well worth the gold, I’d say,” he continued, pointing the blade at her. “And I’m sure you are well worth these.”

His friends snickered.

“Are you certain about that?” she asked, keeping her voice neutral just as she had practiced all these years. Never let them know how she really felt. How much she hated them. This. She had run away, tired of being a thing to be used, but here she was again.

“Oh, I have no doubt.”

She tilted her head towards his friends. “Tell them to fuck off.”

He raised a brow. “Why would I do that?”

She shrugged. “If you don’t want my full attention, that’s your choice. A poor choice, but yours all the same.”

His eyes narrowed, dragging down her body and back up again—appraising her—making her skin crawl. “Piss off,” he said to his friends.

“What?”

“That wasn’t the deal.”

“You can have her when I’m done,” he snapped. “Now go.”

Rhea waited until they were alone, until she could no longer hear the annoyed grumbling of his friends, and slowly undid the laces of her stolen leathers. The movement was mechanical. Years of muscle memory. Of knowing that they often liked watching her undress. Watching her shed the layers that hid her body from their lustful eyes. They could do it themselves, but there was satisfaction in knowing she would degrade herself for coin that she was never allowed to keep. That no matter what, she didn’t have any power.

“I knew I was right about you,” he said, standing up from the crate as she unbuttoned her blouse and dropped it to the stone floor. “Such a good whore, knowing what to do without being told.”

He pressed the sharp point of the dagger against the soiled bindings wrapped around her chest. All of her more suitable brassieres had been too fancy for her to wear while on the run and so had left them behind, opting for one of Lyra’s binders—nearly shredded to bits from weeks of use and then the crash. He slid the dagger underneath the fabric and cut it away until her small breasts spilled free.

Great. Now she would have to buy new underthings.

Old leather scratched the soft skin of her chest as he roughly fondled her. Rhea swallowed the bile that rose into her throat and pushed her trousers down her legs, kicking them off. Better to get this over with.

“Bend over the crate,” he ordered, tracing the dagger up the column of her throat.

It was easy to rip herself apart at the seams and step outside of her body. Years of practice. Years of realizing that tears got her nowhere, and sometimes made things worse. They never noticed the difference so long as she moaned when she was supposed to and told them how good they were—how they were the best she ever had.

"Don’t you get tired of it? Not fighting back?” Lyra asked, gently licking the blood away from an oozing cut on Rhea’s thigh.

“Fight back for what? A punishment?” Rhea sighed, arm slung over her eyes.

Lyra was being cruel. Teasing. Slicing open Rhea’s skin instead of biting her. Robbing Rhea of the bliss of dancing with death. She wanted Rhea to beg for it. Cry for it. No fake tears either. Lyra always knew when Rhea was faking.

With a hum, Lyra pressed her tongue into the wound until Rhea gasped from the sharp pain. Death may not come for a visit but pain was nice too. It gave clarity. Drained her turmoil and carved its essence into her skin. Arousal crept through her. A fire smoldering under her skin.

“You could kill them,” Lyra suggested.

“I couldn’t—Ah!”

Lyra dug her claws into Rhea’s thigh, blood welling up from the new cuts. “You could if you weren’t such a coward.”

She said the words without cruelty or malice. It was a simple fact. But it wasn’t as if Rhea hadn’t considered it before. She had thought about it. Dreamed about it. But what would truly come of it? Where would it leave her?

“Kill your captors, my sweet, caged bird,” Lyra purred, teasing her teeth against Rhea’s skin. “Kill them and run away with me.”

“Yes,” Rhea breathed, giving herself over to the cold, embrace of the void.

This man wasn’t her captor, but he was here and she was angry. Tired. He had barely stumbled away, pulling his pants back up over his hips, when she reached for the dagger he had so carelessly set aside. His mistake. Her triumph.

The dagger felt perfect in her hand as if it had been made for her. Balanced. Not too light, not too heavy. She curled her fingers around the hilt and sighed. She didn’t remember how to wield a weapon, but her body did. The blade sank between his ribs, his surprised choke a sweet song to her ears. She clapped her hand over his mouth so he couldn’t scream.

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” she whispered in response to his wide-eyed surprise. “I suppose this is just your bad luck.”

The second and third strikes were not as satisfying as the first. He fell by the second but Rhea couldn’t bring herself to stop. Blood splattered her naked body. Droplets rolled down her skin. He coughed, spraying blood onto her face like a fine mist of rain. Red clung to her eyelashes. Something deep within her, something long forgotten, curled in her belly. A gleeful laugh sprang from her lips.

She froze, the blade sunk in his soft belly.

Dead eyes stared up at her.

Rhea leaned away, observing the bloody mess she had created. There was almost a beauty to it. Her dagger had painted broad strokes of red across the dirt. Viscera spilled from the open wounds. Perhaps she should panic or feel relief. Something more than the creeping emptiness that seeped into her bones. Taking a life should make her feel.

All she felt was annoyance at how she was going to get out of this without being seen.

His friends might come back. Might try to finish what he had started. Could she take them all on? She wasn’t at her best. The dagger felt perfect in her grasp but how could she handle an actual fight? Would she be clumsy? Trip over herself and fall onto a sword. No. When she died, it would be her choice.

She wiped the blade on his pants still down around his ankles and set it aside. Blood seeped through her shirt as she pulled it back on. She didn’t plan on sticking around long enough for anyone to give her trouble over it. Perhaps a quick stop to the merchant for new clothing. Rhea kicked the ladder away from the stone wall as soon as she reached the top. They would find a way down eventually. Find what she had done to their friend. But she would be back at camp by then.

If the merchant thought her appearance and her ownership of the daggers odd, he said nothing as she purchased a few things including a new bag to shove her wares into. She pulled the strap over her chest and sheathed the daggers into the new leather harness strapped around her hips. With leftover gold, she purchased a few things for camp. Couldn’t hurt to endear herself to the others.

And a few rabbits might make it seem as if the blood on her clothes was from a shoddy attempt at hunting rather than a murder.

She sucked in a breath the moment she was free from the Grove. Rough bark scraped against her fingers as she leaned against a tree. She waited for tears to come even though she had stopped crying over such things a long time ago. Maybe killing would elicit a few from her but nothing came but a hot wave of shame.

She wished to be clean. Scrub away her skin as if she could rid herself of their fingerprints. Of their touch.

The walk to camp was short. She heard voices—thankfully not arguing—as she saw the opening in rock. Unfortunately, she also saw who stood off to the side waiting for her.

“Oh dear.” Astarion smirked. “Coming to camp covered in blood. What have you been doing?”

She held up the rabbits. “Thought I’d bring something back just in case Wyll’s hunting venture was unsuccessful.” The lie rolled easily off her tongue.

His eyes narrowed. He could call her on the lie. Tell her that the blood was human and not rabbit, but he would have to tip his hand and she doubted he would.

“How practical of you,” he said instead.

She ignored the sarcasm and descended the stone steps into camp, a sizeable clearing bordered by the cliff on one side and water on the other. Perfect. A bathing and drinking source. And she wanted nothing more than a bath right now.

“Lovely daggers,” Astarion said from behind, stopping at her shoulder before she could turn around to look at him.

“Thank you. They’re mine.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t fret, darling. I wouldn’t dream of taking them. I rather like my neck the way it is.”

She didn’t have time to retort.

“Rhea!” Wyll called from the fire.

He and Gale crouched over the fire, adding things to a pot hanging over the flames. Astarion didn’t follow as she walked over and nearly thrust the rabbits in Wyll’s face. The limit in which she could stand being around other people while being hungry and smelly and covered in blood had been reached.

“Ah, thanks,” Wyll said, plucking the rabbits from her grasp.

“Dinner will be some time yet,” Gale added.

She sighed. “Perfect. I can finally bathe.”

“An idea I think we can all agree to,” Wyll said. “Though I will wait—“

“No need to wait on my account,” Rhea interrupted. “I’m not modest, and trust me, I will be more interested in getting clean than looking at anyone. I’d rather you get it over with than have to smell you while I’m trying to eat.”

Gale chuckled. “An excellent point.”

Rhea pulled the bag from her shoulder and hovered it over a bedroll. “When did we get these?”

“The Grove helped,” Wyll answered. “I may have mentioned that the people who saved them from goblins needed provisions, and they provided us with some bedrolls. Perhaps we will find more supplies to make a more permanent camp.”

“No offense, Wyll, but I’m hoping we won’t. I’d rather get this particular adventure over with and go my own way,” she murmured, pulling fresh clothes from the pack and tossing it onto an unclaimed roll.

“None taken, Rhea. I am also eager to remove the tadpole.”

Gale leaned back on his heels. “I still do not understand why we haven’t changed.”

“Neither do I, but I’m not sure I want to think too hard about it.” She unwound the two braids pinned into a roll at the base of her neck and slowly took them out. Raven hair swung down to her waist.

It would be more practical to cut her hair off but she never could bring herself to do go through with it. Not when it was the one thing she had any control over these days. They could shove a parasite in her brain, but gods helped anyone who touched her hair.

Rhea set a fresh change of clothes down on a boulder and sat down next to them to unlace her boots. She spied Withers hovering near an outcropping of rocks but he couldn’t be less interested in any of them let alone her. The water was freezing cold but she sighed in relief as she sank underneath the surface. When she resurfaced, she wasn’t alone. Shadowheart stood a few feet away looking at the water dubiously while trying to undo the jewelry in her hair but a clasp was snagged on a lock of hair.

“Need help?” Rhea asked.

“I can manage, thank you,” Shadowheart’s dismissal wasn’t malicious, but she sounded unsure.

With a shrug, Rhea leaned her head back and scrubbed her scalp with her fingers. She missed her expensive soaps and oils. Lyra had called her spoiled for them, but Rhea deserved nice things like everyone else even if those things were to endear her to high-paying clients rather than for pampering purposes.

She ignored the splashing from the shore as the others joined. Backs turned to each other, they all took care of their own needs. No different than a bathhouse just much colder and out in the open. Rhea knelt in the water, rocks digging in her knees, and let the water lap at her skin. She closed her eyes. Part of her wanted to drift away on the current. Letting it take her wherever so long as it was far away from here and her problems.

Rhea had been the first one in and the last one out. With pruny fingers, she pulled on her new undergarments—high-waisted smalls in a light blue color and a brassiere in the same color with straps that looped around her neck—and her pants. She slung her blouse over her shoulder, shoved her boots on, and walked back to the fire.

If the others were bothered that she wasn’t full dressed, they said nothing as she plonked down on her bedroll and let the shirt fall into her lap. Silence thrived in the crackle of the fire and the soft boil of the stew in the pot. She turned herself to expose her wet hair to the fire, and ended up facing Astarion who watched her like a hawk.

He wanted something from her but he would have to approach her first.

Ignoring his gaze, she rifled through her bag for a roll of bandages and set them to the side while she rolled up her pants. Lightning-shaped scars scored her skin from the heels of her feet, wrapping around her ankles and calves, and stopped just above the knee. The nerves were thankfully quiet, giving her a reprieve from the near-constant pain. She looped the bandages around her arches and then wrapped them around her ankles, binding and compressing her legs.

“If I may, those are some nasty lightning scars,” Gale said.

“How observant,” Rhea muttered. “I stepped on a lightning rune.”

“More than once?”

“I’m clumsy.”

Wyll snorted. “And how did you manage that?”

She switched to wrapping the other foot. “I’m not sure we’re at the level of sharing personal anecdotes around the fire. Perhaps another night.”

“We all share the same parasites, darling, I think we’re quite past that level.” Astarion’s eyes reflected the fire.

“Why don’t you start then,” she said. “Anything you’d like to share?”

Rhea liked the way the corners of his eyes creased and his mouth pinched whenever she goaded him. She wondered if he’d try to kill her. Would he tear her throat out? No, too obvious. Perhaps he’d take one of his daggers and slit her throat. She’d much prefer a bite. The slow drain of her blood until she grew still and cold. She hoped he wouldn’t waste her if he killed her.

“Oh my life is not at all interesting.” He waved his hand. “How about you, Wyll? Being the heroic type, I imagine you have plenty of tales to regale us with.”

“That I do! If no one minds,” Wyll answered.

No one did because no one wanted to talk about themselves. Rhea rolled down the legs of her pants and stretched out on her bedroll, Wyll’s voice almost lulling her to sleep.

***

Lyra’s hair tickled her cheeks. White fangs glinted in the dying light of the fire. Clawed fingers carefully undid the buttons of Rhea’s blouse. Cold nestled in the hollow of her throat. Lyra leaned down, brushing her nose against Rhea’s.

“This isn’t fair, you know,” Lyra whispered. “I should have been the one to crawl out of that pod. The one to live and thrive.”

Rhea couldn’t speak.

“You don’t even want to live,” Lyra hissed, baring her teeth. “Sweet, scared little Rhea. You don’t even have the will to fight back.”

“I did fight back,” Rhea murmured.

“You mean your little tantrum? Stabbing that poor man to death.”

“He took advantage of me.”

“Stop acting like you don’t want it, Rhea.” Lyra’s hand settled around her throat. “I have seen you for the ugly little thing you are. I know your darkest desires, and how you flourish under their degradation. You hate being a whore but you are so very good at it, my caged bird.”

A tear slipped free and rolled down her skin. “I’m not.”

“You aren’t what, darling?” Astarion’s voice purred in her ear, lifting her limp arm by her wrist. “Ready to die?”

Lyra twisted Rhea’s face to the side, making her stare into Astarion’s glittering gaze as he kissed her wrist. Fangs grazed her neck and she swallowed.

“N-no…”

Not the neck. Marks above the collar make him angry.

“Don’t worry, caged bird. We’ll set you free,” Lyra whispered.

Sharp pain turned into soft darkness. Rhea relaxed between them as the vampires took what they needed, what they wanted from her.

Finally.

Rhea opened her eyes and disappointment curled up into her hollow chest to roost for as long as she still lived. Rays of sun tinged the dark sky red. She held up her hand and brushed her thumb over the ring. She waited. There was nothing. Rhea stood up and dressed while the others still slept.

She was still alive. Might as well do something with her day.

Chapter Text

Rhea had disappeared again but no one seemed perturbed so long as she eventually returned back to camp. Though the rest of them could not agree on one route without her. Lae’zel wished to find the creche, which was not a plan Astarion was fond of, and Shadowheart vehemently disagreed. Gale and Wyll wished to help the Tieflings and rescue Halsin, and Astarion only cared about the latter half of that plan if this Halsin could indeed help them. He watched as Lae’zel stalked out of camp, leaving the rest of them behind. Wyll pulled on his armor and secured his blade.

“Going somewhere?” Astarion asked.

“I’m going to find Rhea. She was going to help me find the swamp,” he answered.

Astarion wrinkled his nose. “A swamp? Sounds like an awful time.”

“I take it you will not be joining us then?”

Of course he didn’t want to go. A swamp sounded dreadful. Muck in his boots. The fetid scent of rot would cling to his clothes and hair for hours, even with vigorous washing. But he needed to stay close to his mark if he wanted her to trust him, and he had to admit he was curious. She had returned the night before covered in human blood but she had held up dead rabbits when he asked about it as if she anticipated he might.

Did she know what he was?

He had to get close to her to find out because if she did, why hadn’t she told the others? What did she want?

“No need to be hasty,” Astarion answered. “I would be happy to help.”

Wyll raised an eyebrow and his mouth twitched but he didn’t bother stating the obvious.

“I will come as well,” Gale said, joining them. “I have a feeling I know where we can find Rhea.”

Astarion kept his biting comments to himself. There was something about the wizard that rubbed him the wrong way. Perhaps it was the air of superiority Gale exuded. An insufferable know-it-all in other words. Astarion had tried to be polite, strike up conversation as they searched for camp the day before, and had been met with Gale’s haughty attitude. Rather soured the whole affair.

They took the dirt path back down to the crashed Nautiloid. Astarion didn’t understand her fascination with the ship. They were lucky to have survived in the first place and yet she kept going back. Perhaps she had not been alone. But even if that were true, whoever accompanied her was more than likely dead. Why bother searching?

Astarion wrinkled his nose at the ever present smell of burning flesh and muscle. Parts of the ship still smoldered. He ducked inside after Gale and Wyll and paused. Pods that had still been closed days before were now broken or cut open. Bodies littered the broken walkways. A wet squelching came from a platform above them.

“Rhea?” Wyll called up, hand already straying to his pommel just in case they had walked into something other than their new companion tearing open the pods. “Is that you up there?”

The sound stopped. Footsteps approached. She leaned over the edge of the platform and looked down at them. A thin smear of gore slashed down her cheek. Confusion flickered in her eyes before her expression smoothed.

“Yes?” she answered.

“I was hoping you still wanted to search for the swamp today?” Wyll asked, posture relaxing. “Unless you’re busy doing…”

Normally, someone might fill in Wyll’s unspoken question but Rhea breezed right past it. “Oh, right, the swamp. I’ll be right down.”

She flicked blood and ichor from her blade and sheathed it with the other. Her legs dangled over the edge as she lowered herself down, boots searching for footholds in the wall. This was a perfect time for Astarion to endear himself to her. He could help her get down without busting her ass in front of them. 

But Wyll beat him to it.

Rhea stared at Wyll’s proffered hand as if it might strike her. A second passed. Another. She finally took his hand and used the other to anchor herself to his shoulder as he lifted her down to their level. Astarion wondered for a brief moment if he had squandered his chance, the dashing knight beating him to the mark, but Rhea quickly stepped away from Wyll as if his very touch burned her. 
They were not close.

“Did you figure out where the swamp is then?” she asked.

Wyll frowned. “Well, that’s the thing. No one can agree that there is a swamp, and none can tell me where it is.”

“So we are supposed to find a swamp that does not exist?” Astarion scoffed. “Wonderful.”

“Seems quite the exercise in futility,” Gale agreed.

“You don’t have to come,” Rhea said. “Perhaps the two of you would rather do something else?”

There were many things Astarion would prefer to be doing but what could he do but follow the herd? Gale’s presence would be better tempered by more company. And Astarion could keep an eye on the source of his vexation.

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt to have a look around,” Astarion said.

A flash of a smug smile disappeared as soon as it appeared and Rhea fixed her eyes on him. “Let’s go then.”

Wyll waited until they were back outside in the fresh hair, nearly halfway to the Grove before he reached into his pack. “Have you eaten?” he asked Rhea.

She blinked at him in surprise, whether it was by the question or the fact that he cared to ask, Astarion wasn’t sure. 

“I…no, I didn’t,” she said. 

Wyll held out a hunk of bread and an apple. “It’s all I have on me, but you should eat.”

“You don’t have to—"

“You’ll need your strength if we have to fight. Starving will make you vulnerable.”

Rhea pursed her lips a moment before nodding. She peeled off the glove on her right hand, careful not to smear the gore onto her skin, and grabbed for the bread first. “Thank you.”

“Why are we looking for a swamp?” Astarion asked. “I can’t imagine there’d be much worth finding amongst the mire.”

“Evidence,” Wyll answered as Rhea chewed. “Apparently Kagha has some secret dealings that might threaten the Grove and the Tieflings. We’re going to find proof of what she’s doing. At least, I hope that’s what we’ll find.”

Astarion wrinkled his nose. “Who is Kagha again?”

Rhea nabbed the apple from Wyll. “Halsin’s second apparently.”

Wyll nodded. “She’s a real—"

“Bitch,” Rhea finished.

Gale coughed.

Wyll chuckled. “Not the word I would have chosen, but not an incorrect assessment of her character.”

Astarion waved his hand. “Yes, yes, but why are we getting involved? Don’t we have our own problems?”

“She almost set a snake upon one of the children, but Rhea managed to convince her otherwise,” Wyll said, puffing his chest out as if he was a proud father as he looked to Rhea. “You are quite charming.”

She shrugged. “A necessary skill in my line of work.”

“And what work is that, exactly?” Astarion asked.

She threw a smirk over her shoulder, her eyes glittering, and bit deliberately into the apple instead of answering.

Infuriating. A woman after his own heart.

They came to a bridge. One Astarion vaguely recognized. Oh dear. His undead heart quivered as they come upon the boar he had managed to tackle and sink his teeth into while it squealed in protest. If he had more strength or care, he would have moved the body somewhere his companions wouldn’t trip over it but here they were. He schooled his face. No need to look guilty now. He could act. He always acted.

Rhea tilted her head as she looked at it.

“It’s quite dead, darling, no need to linger,” he said. “Removing these tadpoles will take forever if you stop to inspect every bit of carrion we find.”

She hummed under her breath, corner of her mouth twitching, and prodded at the two small holes in the boar’s flesh. “I wonder what could have done that?”

Shit.

Astarion heaved a dramatic sigh. “I didn’t want to say anything—"

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and unblinking, and her mouth perfectly still.

“I didn’t want to scare you, but I believe those marks were left by a vampire, a deadly creature of the night” he said, morphing his features into the perfect mask of concern. “But not to worry, I’ll be keeping watch to keep the fiend away from camp.”

Amusement danced her eyes.

Oh. She had to know.

“Our safety is in your hands then, Astarion.” She stood and dusted her hands off on her pants. “Now, let’s find this swamp.”

The village ahead was crawling with Goblins but Rhea turned right before the entrance and led them down a path back into the woods. Astarion was thankful. Killing all those Goblins would take ages and he simply didn’t want to expend that much energy when he had so little. The boar was barely enough and it wouldn’t last long. 

He didn’t know how it was possible, but they had landed in the one place that didn’t have nearly enough game for him to hunt. Perhaps he ought to break some rules. Expand his palette. His eyes strayed to Rhea, to the elegant column of her neck. 

I wonder what she tastes like? Sweet? Sour? No. Sweet.

Hunger flared to life in his gut. Made his teeth ache. He would need to find something sooner rather than later. 

Rhea drew his attention as she knelt in front of a growling dog and gently offered her hand for him to sniff. He caught bits and pieces as she spoke to the dog in low soothing tones, and gave him a small scratch under the chin, earning a tail wag in response. The smell of spilled blood, spoiling in the elements, made Astarion wrinkle his nose. Too bad. He wouldn’t have wasted so much blood as whatever had attacked the dog’s owner.

No use crying over spilled blood.

They left the dog behind, still guarding his owner.

***

Karlach. Tall. Red. Smoldering in more ways than one. Not a devil.

Poor Wyll had an existential crisis but Rhea was not letting him strike Karlach, though it took him a few times to realize he had been lied to. By who, Rhea didn’t know, but Wyll promised she’d find out. Rhea wasn’t thrilled at that. She didn’t much like surprises.

The Paladins of Tyr were another surprise she didn’t like. 

Astarion followed her up ladder to the top floor while the others went through the front door. She waited in the loft, her daggers in her hand but she was nervous. Sweat gathered in her gloves. What if she really didn’t know how to use these? What would she say to the others if she really couldn’t fight?

She tucked her hands close to her thighs to quell the shaking.

“You’re not nervous, are you?” he whispered, lips twitching as if he were trying not to smile. 

“I should’ve had a better breakfast,” she answered instead. There was no way she was going to admit her lack of knowledge about herself and her skills. She would only hope that her body remembered what her mind could not.

Thankfully, an excellent display of skill wasn’t required. Karlach and Wyll kept most of the attention on them with their clanging weapons and Karlach’s loud roar. Gale’s magic moved between ice and fire. In the noise, Rhea slid down the ladder and drove her blade in between armor plates. Blood splattered her gloves as she pulled back. Her own blood roared in her ears. Her heart thundered in her chest. There was something thrilling about killing in a way she couldn’t explain.

In a way that almost frightened her.

Why hadn’t she done it before? What had stopped her from slitting the throats of everyone who wronged her? Or perhaps she would choose a more subtle method. Like poison. Slip the fatal liquid into some wine and watch them choke on their own blood. But then she wouldn’t have the satisfaction of plunging a dagger through flesh and muscle.

“Going to steal from some corpses?” Astarion asked, joining them on the main floor.

Rhea snorted. “I don’t think they’ll mind.”

“We can always sell what we won’t use,” Karlach added.

“Finally. Someone sensible,” Rhea said.

They left with far less spoils than she would have hoped and backtracked the way they came. This clearly wasn’t the way to the swamp that may or may not even exist. Either way she was done for the day. Her stomach rumbled. She wanted to bath and eat and, honestly, do nothing else for the rest of the day. Time should’ve been of the essence but the parasites were quiet, and she wouldn’t mind a moment of quiet.

What the fuck would you do with quiet?

Two goblins blocked their path back to camp, just over the bridge, with their backs together. They cackled, poking at something in the undergrowth with their swords. It wasn’t Scratch who still waited by his dead master. Rhea was curious but more worried that the goblins might try to follow them back to camp. She didn’t want to risk more coming. 

A tiny, high-pitched cry followed by a small hiss made her fists clench in anger. She didn’t bother waiting for the others as she stalked up to the goblins who hadn’t yet noticed her. A loud crack filled the trail as she smashed their heads together. They were probably still alive. Probably. Rhea didn’t really care to check. She crouched and pushed apart thick grasses to find what they were bothering. Two kittens, one grey tabby and the other all black with a speckle of white on their chest, cowered next to their dead mother. Three other kittens, not moving or breathing, lay nearby. The tabby shook behind the black kitten.

“Oh, poor things!” Karlach exclaimed over Rhea’s shoulders. “Should we leave them here?”

Astarion made a noise of disgust in his throat. “Are you suggesting we bring them with us? What would we do with them exactly?”

Rhea didn’t need the consensus of the group for this. She peeled off her gloves and tucked them into her waistband. The black kitten hissed and swiped at her as she reached for them, trying its best to protect its only sibling, but she quickly scooped them up into her hands and stood. She tucked them close to her chest.

They likely wouldn’t survive much longer, but they deserved a chance, and if nothing else, to die warm and loved.

Chapter Text

Rhea sat by the fire, two slightly damp kittens curled up in a blanket on her lap. They had not liked their very brief bath but had enjoyed the meat paste Gale had produced for them and the goat’s milk Karlach had gone to the Grove to get. She watched them sleep, curled around each other for warmth, finger gently rubbing the black one’s head.

Was it too soon to say she loved them?

She had always wanted cats. Or a dog. She loved animals. But life had never seen fit to give her what she wanted. Ever.

“Have you ever had cats before?” Wyll asked, sitting to her right with a knife in his hand and freshly washed potatoes.

Black fur. Green and yellow eyes. A purple collar around its neck that jingled as it wound around her legs. An anguished wail. Blood, hot and sticky, staining her shirt.

She cleared her throat and shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”

He blinked at her.

“I haven’t,” she clarified. “I’ve always wanted one but it just never happened for me.”

“Ah. Well,” —he cut a potato into chunks and tossed it into the stew pot—“you’re very good with them. Though I have to admit, not sure it’s the best idea given the journey we’re on.”

“I’m not even certain they’ll survive,” she admitted. “But if they do, I’ll decide if we can risk keeping them or if it would be better to find a home for them in the Grove.”

He nodded. “Would be nice if we could keep them.”

The black kitten sighed and she heard the barest hint of a purr as she stroked its head. “It would be.”

“What do you intend to do when this is over?” he asked.

“I…” she trailed off, watching the low flicker of flame dancing over the logs. “I’m not sure honestly.”

“Not going back to surviving?” Astarion interrupted, sitting down in his bedroll to the left of Rhea with his hair still damp.

“Well, survival is a must no matter what I intend to do. Would be a shame to die.”

Would it?

Rhea carefully shifted the blanket off her lap and laid it on her bedroll so she could stand. “I should get more wood to last the night.”

Wyll looked up. “One of us could—“

She shook her head. “I won’t be long”

And she’d like a moment alone. The memory of blood still clung to her mind. All these years of not remembering anything no matter how she tried, but as soon as received the tadpole, things were slowly starting to trickle in.

All about blood. 

Nothing concrete. Nothing she could cling to and think “ah yes, this happened and I can remember it clearly now.” Everything had a dream-like quality. As if they were snippets of nightmares rather than memory. Perhaps that’s what it was. Nightmares bleeding into her waking hours.

Which was another concerning problem, if true.

She sighed and leaned against a tree. If Lyra were here then Rhea would have someone to talk to. Someone she trusted with her secrets. Lyra would of course tease that Rhea was possibly losing her mind—what little was left to lose—before carding her fingers through Rhea’s hair and whispering empty platitudes. Rhea rubbed the ring on her finger but it remained quiet. There was no tug anymore. Nothing indicating that Lyra was still alive on that ship.

Their relationship wasn’t one of love, not really. They were useful to each other. Bent on their own survival but knew they survived best together.

Now I’m alone again .

She couldn’t bring herself to take off the ring.

Evening sun illuminated motes as they danced in the air. Rhea took her time gathering wood, enjoying the sounds of nature. A soft breeze tickled the wisps of hair that had wriggled their way out of her braid. She could never capture this in the city. The sense of calm. The loamy soil that sprouted sweet smelling wildflowers. Birds flitting through the air, their song following her as she wound her way around the trees. The city always smelled like…people. Food, sweat, piss and shit, and sex. An assault to the olfactory senses. One that she had grown used to since going to Baldur’s Gate. Sometimes a whiff of perfumed air quelled the stench, but even the sweet-smelling beds she spent her time in never masked the rot for very long. 

Rhea was part of the rot. She often felt it festering within her. Feeding the void in her mind.

A twig cracked behind her. She whirled around, expecting one of her companions searching for her but her heart jumped down into her stomach. Frankly, she should’ve expected this. The man she had stabbed to death had friends. They wouldn’t find their dead friend and just shrug their shoulders, letting that be that. They would want justice. Revenge.

And they were going to collect.

They surrounded her easily, taking advantage of her mindlessness as she wandered the woods. Rhea clutched the bundle of wood to her chest and kept her mask of indifference. She had left her daggers behind at camp, foolishly thinking she didn’t need to be armed at all times. The sticks she had gathered wouldn’t do much in the way of defending herself, but she wouldn’t go down without a fight. And she wouldn’t show fear.

“Did you think we wouldn’t find you?” one spat at her feet, knife in hand.

“You killed our friend.”

“Stole from us.”

“You owe us.”

"I don’t owe you shit,” Rhea hissed.

The one holding the knife grinned, baring his yellow teeth at her as he waved the knife in her direction. “Wrong answer, little girl.”

She stepped back as he lunged, most of the sticks falling from her hands as she tried to clutch the thickest in her fingers. She swung. Wood cracked against his cheek, showering them in splinters. He cursed, stumbling back but another took his place just as swiftly.

Fighting wasn’t really an option. She had nothing. No weapons. If there were only one or two of them, she might have a chance, but there were too many to take on. She needed to run. Go back to camp. Wyll would help her at the very least. Maybe Gale. They seemed chivalrous enough and she hadn’t even begun to use them up until they turned hateful and resentful towards her. Might as well take advantage of their goodwill now.

“Bitch!”

She dodged another grab attempt and darted through the trees. Camp wasn’t too far away. She could make it so long as she didn’t—

A root snagged her ankle, twisting around her skin and sending her plummeting to the ground. She spat dirt out of her mouth. Rhea tried to get up before they were upon her but the root tightened and pulled her back to the dirt. Fuck. One of them was a magic user. 

Fingers twisted in her hair, jerking her head back. She saw the boot in the corner of her vision. Powerless to stop it even as she thrashed in their grip. Hard leather connected with her face. A loud crunch filled the air and blood gushed from her nose. Pain exploded through her cheeks and eyes. She bit back a cry.

They rolled her over. The first one—the only one she had landed a blow against—straddled her waist, knife in his hand. His thick fingers curled around her throat as if to choke her. The blood that slid down her sinuses and pooled in her throat were already doing a good enough job of that. She coughed and blood splattered his face.

He reeled back and she grinned, using her free hands to jab at his eyes with her thumbs. If they were going to kill her, she was going to do her best to take at least one of them with her. 

“Oh no you don’t!”

Another grasped her wrists and held them down to keep her still. The cold blade dug into her neck, burning as it nicked her. She felt the wet slide of blood across her skin. 

“Be a good girl, and maybe we’ll let you live.”

Liars.

“Hey!”

Rhea barely registered that the new voice didn’t belong to either of them until an axe swung into the neck of the one straddling her. Blood sprayed from the wound. Dead weight crushed her and she groaned as his shoulder jarred her face. The weight on her wrists disappeared but she was still held to the ground. Her arms shook as she tried to shove the dead man off of her.

There was shouting. The sound of an axe hitting flesh. Then silence. 

She grunted, trying to wriggle out from underneath him but the weight lifted and the body deposited beside her. Rhea coughed. More blood splattered down her chin. She rolled onto her side and hacked what she could onto the grass.

“Good thing I came looking,” Karlach said, crouching down a few feet away, fire blazing under her skin. “You okay?”

No. She was far from okay. But she was alive. Which she wouldn’t have been if Karlach hadn’t come. Why had Karlach come? Couldn’t have been out of concern, they didn’t know each other. Not really.

Rhea nodded.

“Can you get up on your own? I can’t really help you up without burning you and I don’t feel great about leaving you alone to fetch someone else.”

“J-just need a minute,” Rhea mumbled, lying on her side, blood still oozing from her mouth.

“Alright.” Karlach sat on the ground, axe balanced in her lap. “I’m sure your Cleric—Shadowheart, right—can get that fixed up.”

Rhea let Karlach chatter away, barely paying attention, while she concentrated on breathing through her mouth. Pain ebbed and flowed as she did. The skin around her eyes was slowly swelling up. She could only imagine how she looked. 

“I recognized you, you know?”

That drew her attention.

Rhea’s eyes flicked to Karlach, finally focusing on her. “Oh?”

Karlach’s fingers curled around the handle of her weapon, her jaw clenching. “Gortash hired you a few times. You were the only…the only…well, you know—“

“You can say whore, Karlach, I won’t be terribly offended,” Rhea croaked. “I know what I am.”

Karlach rubbed the back of her neck. “Yeah, that. You were the only one he asked to come back. More than once. Not sure if you even remember—“

“I remember,” Rhea mumbled.

One didn’t forget Enver Gortash. Though she had stopped seeing him a long time ago. He had offered things to her that sounded too good to be true and she knew a trap when she saw one. If he was upset that she stopped taking his coin, he never said or did anything. Perhaps his endeavors had come to fruition and he didn’t care about the slight.

“I was his bodyguard then,” Karlach spat.

“Sorry,” Rhea answered automatically, wondering if Karlach’s tone was because she was upset that Rhea hadn’t recognized her.

Karlach shrugged. “I’d say it’s water under the bridge or some shit like that but, honestly, if I see him again, I’m going to kill him.”

Oh.

“That will be difficult if he’s half the man I thought he was,” Rhea said.

“Probably.” Karlach grinned. “But I like a challenge.”

Rhea hummed, vision blurry now. Exhaustion settled in her. Perhaps a small nap then she would go back to camp. 

“Hey, soldier,” —Karlach leaned close, the heat of her skin almost unbearable—“I don’t think you should fall asleep here.”

“Fine,” Rhea grumbled.

She rolled onto her hands and knees. Slow and steady, she placed her hand on a tree and used it as an anchor to get on her feet. She wobbled, leaning against the sturdy trunk until she was ready to take another step. Her eyes were nearly swollen shut now, giving her only a sliver of what laid in front of her. 

“Here.” The warm wood of Karlach’s axe tapped Rhea’s hand and she jumped. “Grab this and I’ll lead you.”

Oh, Rhea hated that.

“You’ll have to trust me,” Karlach said.

Rhea didn’t trust.

“I’m not going to let something happen to you, okay?” Karlach added. “Either that or I have to leave you here and get someone else.”

She didn’t want to be left alone. What if someone else came? Someone who would want to take a pound of flesh. She gripped one end of the handle while Karlach gripped right under the axe head and they slowly walked forward.

“Step over that log, yeah, there you go,” Karlach gently coaxed Rhea over the obstacles and led her around trees. 

They reached the outcropping of rock that shielded their camp from most prying eyes. Rhea felt the cool stone around the entrance. She tested the first step with her foot, leaning on the wall. Karlach adjusted the handle so it was pressed against Rhea’s belly to keep her from pitching forward as they stepped down together.

“Almost there,” Karlach muttered.

Rhea paused. “Please don’t tell the others.”

“That’s going to be hard considering they’re going to notice the blood—“

“Not about that,” Rhea hissed.

“What? Oh…” Karlach cleared her throat. “I wasn’t going to. Not really my thing to tell.”

Rhea’s free hand balled into a fist. That easily? Karlach wasn’t going to try and blackmail her? Maybe that would come later. Karlach was just waiting for a better opportunity.

“Thanks,” Rhea grumbled.

“No problem. Though in case you’re worried about it, I don’t think any differently of you—“

“I’m not.”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention Gortash in front of the others. Not yet at least. I’d like to get a better feel for everyone before I spill my guts,” Karlach continued as if Rhea hadn’t snapped. 

“Then why tell me you recognized me?”

The handle moved up and down and she imagined Karlach shrugged. “Thought you might realize it eventually and figured I’d get it out of the way. Put us on even ground. Figure if I can trust anyone out here, it’d probably be you. And Wyll.”

Rhea snorted and immediately regretted it as pain shot through her. She groaned and reached for her face.

“But enough about that. We can talk later, when your face is not so…busted.”

“What happened!” Wyll’s voice was the first she heard when they reached the bottom.

The sounds of blades scraping loose from scabbards and the burnt sugar smell of magic made her grimace. They were far too late for all that. Rhea stopped at the last step, wanting nothing more than to collapse where she stood. How many more steps to her bedroll?

“Coming back to camp covered in blood again, darling?” Astarion’s voice was the closest. “I’m beginning to think this is a habit.”

“Some assholes,” Karlach said. “I handled them.”

“That’s a way to put it,” Rhea muttered, tendrils of exhaustion curling in her mind, coaxing her eagerly into the darkness. She just had to hold on a little longer.

Cold fingers gently grasped hers. 

“Lyra?” she whispered.

“Not last I checked,” Astarion answered. “Come now, let’s get you settled so Shadowheart can heal you. This new look does not work for you.”

If her eyes weren’t swollen shut, she would’ve rolled them. She had little choice but to let him lead her to the warmth of the fire. Having Karlach at her back made her feel a tad bit better. Mostly because they both had something on the other and had agreed to keep their secrets close for now. Better than Karlach having something to hold over her. Rhea could have a worse option at her back.

“Should we go make sure there are no more,” Wyll said, his voice close to Rhea’s right as she sat down on her bedroll. 

“I got them all, trust me,” Karlach reassured them. 

“Wonder why they went after you,” Shadowheart said, her knee brushing against Rhea’s and her fingers gently hovering barely an inch from Rhea’s nose. 

“They caught me off-guard,” Rhea mumbled. “I won’t make the mistake again.”

“ Chk , a better warrior would not have made that mistake in the first place.”

“That’s so helpful,” Rhea grumbled. 

“I can’t do much for the swelling but I can mend the bone.” Shadowheart hummed in approval. “Should you bite something?”

“Just do it, please.”

“Very well.”

Rhea’s fingers dug into her thigh and she pressed her lips together. Pain lanced through her skull. Fragments of bone moved under her skin and slowly knit themselves back together. Torn muscles twisted and stretched until they were whole again. Her nose popped back into place and more blood gushed down her throat. Rhea choked, clapping her hand over her mouth and catching most of it in her hand. 

“Here,” Gale said, pressing a wet cloth into her free hand as Shadowheart leaned back.

“Thanks.” Rhea cleaned the blood from her mouth and chin.

The skin around her eyes was still swollen and tender, but at least everything else was back where it was supposed to be. 

“I suppose I will go collect firewood,” Lae’zel said.

“I’ll go with you,” Wyll volunteered.

“Very well.”

Gale whisked the bloody cloth out of her hand, replacing it with a cold one. “A compress. Should help.”

“Thank you,” Rhea murmured, wondering how many more times she would have to thank them and further indebt herself to them. A problem for a later her. She laid down, careful not to squish the kittens somehow still slumbering despite the commotion, and placed the cloth over her eyes. The cold bit into her at first but then she relaxed, letting the tension drain out of her body.

Just a little sleep. That’s all she needed.

***

Astarion waited until they were asleep and quietly slunk out of camp, stalking through the forest to find something—anything—to slake his growing thirst. As a vampire he dealt with a constant hunger that gnawed at him every moment of the day. Never once had he the pleasure of a full belly if that could even happen for one such as him. 

The cooling bodies caught his attention. Rhea’s surprise attackers who had attacked her for reasons unknown. Perhaps they had simply sought an easy target or maybe there was something more. Rhea was full of secrets, any person with eyes could see that. But what would make them come after her? He tilted his head as he stared down at him. They looked familiar. Had he seen them somewhere before?

He couldn’t recall.

Regardless, they weren’t viable meals. All of their blood—what little remained in their bodies—was cold and congealed. Of no use to him. He wrinkled his nose at the pungent smell of old blood but underneath was an undercurrent of something…sweet? He walked a circle around the bodies to find the scent.

A dark patch of soil and grass caught his attention. Green grass splattered with reddish-brown flecks. Rhea’s blood?

Astarion knelt by the patch and leaned down, utterly enticed. Why did her blood smell like that? Before he could stop himself, he pressed his nose into the dirt. Soil clung to his skin. Smearing across his lips and coating his chin. Would she taste as sweet as she smelled? He wanted to find out. He could be quiet. Stealthy. All he needed was a little bite. A taste. The blood could make him stronger. Sharper. 

Thou shalt not drink of the blood of thinking creatures.

Cazador’s voice echoed in his mind and he reeled back with a gasp. No. No, he wasn’t really here. Astarion would’ve known. Would’ve felt him by now.

Damn him. Fuck him.

Even out of his imminent reach, Cazador still had a hold of him as if the vampire were in front of him, cold claws squeezing Astarion’s neck. The tightening of a collar. Astarion’s fingers dug into the dirt until soil pushed under his nails. 

He’s not here. Not yet.

But Cazador would find away to leash Astarion once more. Pull Astarion back to his side. Force him to use his body to lure unsuspecting fools and watch as Cazador fed on them, uncaring that his spawn were going hungry.

Astarion pushed the urge to feed on Rhea to the back of his mind. If he wanted her trust, maybe even her devotion, he needed to tread carefully. Biting her could ruin that. No need to risk it. Not now. Perhaps if he earned her trust, he could talk her into giving him blood here and there. And he would give her what every person desired from him even if he choked on it.

Chapter Text

She had passed out before dinner and slept through the night. No nightmares. No dreams either. Made her wonder if Gale had enchanted the compress with a sleep spell. Not that she would really complain but warning would have been nice. Or maybe the exhaustion of the last days had finally caught up with her.

The rest of camp was already awake. She smelled the meaty stew from the night before and her stomach growled.

“I take it you’re awake then?” Wyll asked.

“I can’t believe I slept so long,” she groaned, slowly sitting up, the compress stuck to her skin.

“You needed it,” Karlach said from somewhere near Rhea’s left.

“What time is it?”

“Late morning.”

“How do I look?” Rhea asked, peeling the now warm compress off her eyes and looking over at Karlach.

Karlach grinned. “Beautiful.”

“Liar.”

“No, no, you can barely see the bruising at all.”

Rhea touched the skin under her eyes and winced. Still tender. “I’ve seen how people look after broken noses. I’m sure I look awful.”

“I’ve seen worse,” Wyll added. “Shadowheart did an excellent job healing you and Gale’s compress kept the swelling down.”

Rhea noticed the slumbering balls of fur curled together in his lap. Good. They had survived the night. And Wyll had probably made sure they were fed when they needed. Rhea didn’t know why their survival brought her a measure of relief but she was glad they had. Glad she had saved something.

Rhea made a noise in her throat. “Do you always heap praise?”

He chuckled. “When I can.”

“He told me I did a good job getting back.” Karlach snorted. “Felt very dad-like.”

“Nothing wrong with being supportive,” Wyll said, lips curved into a smile.

Rhea looked around camp and noticed the others were missing. “Where did they go?” she asked. “I can’t imagine they’d leave without breakfast.”

Well, Astarion might.

Wyll nodded. “Lae’zel convinced Astarion—"

“Bullied, more like,” Karlach interrupted.

Wyll laughed. “They’re cleaning up the bodies. Gale and Shadowheart went to the Grove for more provisions. We don’t quite have enough. They took the loot from yesterday to trade. That should get us enough food for the day.”

“I suppose we should go out again and find more.” Rhea reached up and unwound her twin braids and let them fall down her back. “Never expected that I’d spend my days looting dead bodies for gold and valuables.”

“Is that a positive or negative?” Karlach asked, the question sounding earnest enough.

“I’m not sure honestly. On one hand, I’m…unburdened I suppose you could say. Yet, on the other, I have a parasite in my head that might turn me into a mind flayer. It’s quite the toss up.”

“I’m just glad I’m out of the Hells,” Karlach said. “And the company isn’t too terrible.”

“I think that was a compliment.”

Karlach smirked. “It was.”

“Speaking of company,” —Rhea turned to Wyll—“what of your consequences for sparing Karlach? Did I miss anything.”

Wyll blanched. “No. Trust me the sword will come down, and I’m sure my patron will enjoy watching me squirm. I cannot say more than that.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Rhea asked.

“Can’t.”

Karlach frowned. “Sounds like a pact then. We’ll just have to wait then.”

Wyll neither confirmed nor denied. Rhea figured he couldn’t either way, which might’ve been a confirmation in itself. But she didn’t like waiting and not knowing.

“Chk, quit your whining. What’s done is done.”

Rhea looked up as Astarion—looking rather filthy so early in the day—and Lae’zel descended into camp.

“All I’m saying is, it was completely unnecessary to bury them. Nature will take its course and the animals would have picked them clean,” Astarion grumbled, picking dirt from under his nails with a frown. “No need for such intensive labor this morning.”

“Come now, Astarion, it could not have been that bad,” Wyll teased.

“Then perhaps you should have gone, Wyll,” Astarion snapped, pausing on his way to the lake as soon as he noticed Rhea upright. “Darling,” —his eyes flicked down to her neck and then back up to her face—" you look lovely this morning.”

Rhea’s smile was sarcastic. “Do you really think so?”

“But of course. Bloodshot eyes are a good look for you.” He smirked.

“And the dirt under your nails is a good one for you. There. Now we’re both liars.”

He pressed his hand to his chest. “I’m wounded, darling. I would never lie about how beautiful you are.” He huffed. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to get cleaned up.”

“Bit of a peacock, that one,” Karlach said as he walked down to the shore.

Rhea snorted.

Karlach sighed and pressed her hand against her chest, wincing as she pressed against her skin.

“Something wrong?” Rhea asked.

“Bit hot. Worried I might overheat,” Karlach said. “I’m fine for now but I should find a smith soon. Someone who knows their way around infernal machinery.”

“Dammon in the Grove might be able to help. He’s one of the refugees,” Wyll offered.

“We can go after breakfast.” Rhea tugged the end of her braid. “If you want us to go with you.”

“Yeah, that’d be nice actually,” Karlach said.

“Where are we going?” Astarion asked, sitting down onto his bedroll with clean hands and no dirt smudged on his face.

“To the Grove,” Karlach answered. “Care to tag along?”

“Rather than languish here all day and do nothing? I suppose I could,” he said.

Gale and Shadowheart appeared with food and the volume grew as they cracked eggs into a skillet and sliced a loaf of bread. There was a sense of camaraderie that Rhea wasn’t used to. Even when around others like her, she felt alone. Isolated. She was the odd one out. But this felt different. Karlach and Wyll constantly pulled her into conversation. Gale checked her face and patted himself on the back for how well the compress helped. And then there was Astarion. Always watching. Sometimes a hunger in his eyes that she recognized.

Had he fed at all? On something other than an animal? Was he going to pose a danger?

“Found out the identity of your mystery attackers,” Shadowheart said, sitting between Astarion and Karlach. “Group of adventurers staying at the Grove for a few days. Apparently not well liked.”

“A woman spat on the ground when we asked about them,” Gale added.

“One of theirs was killed at the Grove. They found his body and were furious from what we heard,” Shadowheart continued.

Astarion’s gaze fell on her once more and she felt rather than saw the smug expression on his face. While she would deny, Shadowheart had given him a piece of the puzzle. Enough to deduce that’s why she had returned to camp covered in blood the other night, and why she had been attacked.

“Suppose it’s a good thing Karlach interfered when she did. Sounds as if they were out for blood and you were in the wrong place, wrong time,” Gale said, clapping Rhea on the shoulder.

“How unfortunate for me.” Rhea took a bite of bread. It turned to sand in her mouth.

***

Astarion only tagged along to keep an eye on Rhea. He had pegged her as interesting from the moment they met with his blade pressed against her neck and a fury in her eyes. And he had been right. She had obviously killed someone but he couldn’t figure out why. What exactly would her motive be? Before they had left for the Grove, Astarion had pressed Shadowheart for more detail. She didn’t have much but it was enough for him.

The man had been stabbed several times. Over and over again.

Astarion was practically giddy with this information. Clearly his new traveling companion was very dangerous. And also, quite charming in a way that felt familiar. Could they possible be alike? Was she truly a kindred spirit?

He watched her walk ahead of him with Karlach. They chatted easily as if they were old friends though Karlach did most of the talking. Still, it was the most interaction he had seen from Rhea. Perhaps Karlach saving her life had bonded them together. Shame it couldn’t have been him. He could have used it to his advantage.

They walked through the Grove, Wyll leading them around to where the blacksmith worked without much of a forge. Astarion hung back as Dammon and Karlach spoke, uninterested in the mechanical workings of her heart.

“Something on your mind, Astarion?” Wyll asked, leaning against a low stone wall.

“Nothing in particular. Why?”

“You just looked as if you were thinking very hard.”

He hummed. “I was just wondering.”

“About.”

“I feel as if we are missing information, and I wonder if our new companion is being honest with us,” Astarion mused. He could do this. Plant seeds of doubt, and should anyone turn on her, he could be the one to hold out his hand in alliance. “Seems odd she would be attacked for no reason at all, and then come to find out, one of their own had been brutally murdered.”

“And you believe Rhea responsible?”

Astarion waved his hand. “I didn’t say that, but it is rather suspicious. Don’t you think?”

“While it is possible, I imagine she would have had a good reason to commit such an act,” Wyll said.

“You are very trusting, Wyll.”

“I’m not sure that I am,” Wyll disagreed. “But I do think I am decent at reading people. Rhea is guarded but I do not believe that makes her a volatile murderer.”

How disappointing.

“I suppose you could be right, but I will be keeping an eye on her all the same.”

“Will you?” Wyll raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t even noticed she’s left us.”

“What?” Astarion looked around and sure enough she was gone. “Well, where has she gone?”

“Looks as if your friend is about to be a victim,” Dammon was the one who answered, following Karlach down the steps and pointing down the path.

Rhea stood in front of a child, engaged as the child pressed a ring into her hand and spoke with his hands. She nodded along with a small smile on her face, her arms crossed over her chest, and didn’t notice the other small Tiefling child sneaking up behind her and reaching for her pack. Oh dear. Astarion stepped forward as if he could make it in time to warn her but she reached back and snatched their wrist without even turning her head.

“Perhaps not,” Wyll said, shaking his head with a smirk.

Rhea dragged the child to stand in front of her. Astarion couldn’t hear what she was saying but her face wasn’t unkind. In fact, she was smiling at them. The one who had held her attention rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at the ground. She crouched down. Whatever she said to them had them smiling bashfully. She straightened, holding the ring out with her thumb and forefinger but right as the child reached for it she slipped it into her pocket. As they protested, she ruffled their hair with a gentle smile.

Secretive. Cagey. Possibly a murderer. Good with children.

He never would have guessed.

“Nice to see someone remember they’re children. They’re little shits, but still just children,” Dammon said.

“Until they slip their greasy little fingers into your pockets,” Astarion said.

“Nah. They know better.”

Karlach chuckled.

They left the Grove shortly after, deciding to head back to camp for the day. The swamp—wherever it was—would still be there tomorrow and they seemed to have the time given the tadpoles were quiet. They descended the steps and paused at the sight. Where their camp had just been a fire and bedrolls, there were now tents. Only four so far as Astarion could tell. Shadowheart looked up from where she knelt in front of hers.

“Ask Gale,” she said as way of an answer before going back to fiddling with the artifact she refused to tell anyone else about.

Gale waved from the tent pitched by a boulder, stacking books atop a simple wooden table. “Good news. I thought since we are staying longer than intended, we might make the place a bit cozy. I can only conjure one more today I think, but by tomorrow’s end, everyone can have a place their own.”

Oh good. He wouldn’t have to constantly exist amongst the rabble. Would be nice to have a tent he could steal away too when everything got to be too much.

“I’m fine sleeping by the fire for another night,” Wyll volunteered because of course he would.

“Me too,” Karlach said.

Rhea was quiet. If anyone would make Astarion wait another day for privacy, it would be her. Perhaps she also wanted a place no one could bother her. She looked around at the other tents. Shadowheart’s tucked by the entrance, Gale’s by the outcropping on the opposite side, and Lae’zel’s by the stream and somehow holding the head of a Mindflayer. Had Gale managed to conjure that too or did she just have Mindflayer heads lying around? If that were the case, he wondered where she stashed them.

“I’ll wait until tomorrow,” Rhea said, much to his relief and curiosity. Why would she turn it down?

“Well, I will certainly not turn down my own tent.” Astarion gestured to an empty space that would be perfect.

Gale nodded. “Very well.”

The tent was a lovely shade of red. Reminded him a bit of blood. His only request of Gale as the wizard conjured the tent out nowhere. It was quite a sight to see reality waver and split for a mere moment before the tent popped into existence as if it had always been there. Astarion wasn’t a practiced student of magic but he could appreciate the magnificence of it at times like this. He stole away inside, relishing the quiet but not the dark. Not when the sun was right outside.

“Adequate?” Gale asked, leaning through the open flap.

“Quite.”

“Excellent.”

Astarion didn’t think Gale actually cared if Astarion liked the tent, he just wanted the praise of performing a trick. Despite his apathy towards the wizard, Astarion could appreciate the need for a good stroke of the ego and perhaps a pat on the back. He looked through the opening to wear Rhea stood over the table, flipping through a book, and wondered what it would take to hear praise from her lips. Would it sound sweet? False? Would he preen under her attention? He had a feeling she knew how to manipulate people into feeling good. But was it real?

He wanted to test her. Push her. Find out what made her tick.

The day moved sluggishly as he fiddled with the tent. He didn’t have much save for the bedroll and a threadbare blanket that had appeared with the tent as if the magic had read him and knew he would want it. It wasn’t anything opulent, just one of the only comforts he had in his life. He carefully folded it and placed it on the bedroll.

Rhea stayed by the fire in the company of Karlach and Wyll as the others stayed to themselves. There was no need for forced closeness now. But Astarion now felt as if he were intruding if he made his way over to the fire so he settled for watching her, a book in his lap that he was barely reading, as she played and cuddled the kittens that had surprisingly survived the night. By the time evening rolled around, she was feeding them small pieces of shredded meat mixed with water.

Astarion didn’t creep back to the fire until supper was ready. Not that he ate. He took a few bites—that he would unfortunately have to throw back up in the woods later—so no one would question but left the rest of the food for them.

Silence reigned as they ate, dispersing once more when the meal was done. He laid back on his bedroll and let himself sink into the blissful darkness until he could steal away and hunt later.

The forest was dark and foreboding. Astarion walked through the silent trees feeling very much as if he was being watched. Fog roiled over the forest floor. The damp cold caressed his ankles as he wandered further in, turning this way and that as if he could spot the eyes on him.

“Hello? Anyone there?”

“First,” —Cazador’s voice surrounded him and dread held Astarion still—“Thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking creatures.”

“M-master?” he stammered, hating how he immediately turned into a small boy, cowering under the one who held his leash. “I was coming to find you. I swear, I—“

“Second, thou shalt obey me in all things.”

“O-of course! It’s just that I was kidnapped by a tentacled-faced—“

“Third, thou shalt not leave my side unless directed.”

Old fear turned in his gut and he forced himself to smile. To fake it. He had to make Cazador believe he hadn’t wanted to leave or risk punishment. Astarion couldn’t handle another punishment.

“Fourth, thou shalt know that thou art mine.”

The air grew heavy. Thick. The space in front of him warped. Twisted in on itself with a sound like thunder. Cazador stood in front of him. Red eyes glowing in the dark. Silver staff on his back, glowing crimson. Astarion took a step back. No. He didn’t want to go back.

“Please, please forgive me,” he whispered.

“Pathetic,” Cazador sneered. “As always, but at least you know your place.”

Astarion hung his head in a mimicry of shame, knowing better than to look Cazador in the eye. Not now.

“You are mine.” Cazador’s voice whispered in his ear.

“Forever.”

Astarion lurched from his tent, the food sitting in his stomach barely waiting until he ducked behind his tent. He dug his hands in the dirt as he retched. Trembled in the dark, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Fuck Cazador. He couldn’t control Astarion. Not out here. Astarion wouldn’t let him.

The fire burned low, flame glinting off the crescent moon anchored above her eyebrow. Rhea slept peacefully on her back. One hand rested on her stomach while the other was tucked under her head. The kittens had abandoned her to curl up near Karlach, the ultimate source of warmth. His feet carried him to Rhea. Hunger gripped him until his teeth ached.

Just a little taste. He wouldn’t take more than he needed.

His teeth had barely scraped her neck when the hand over her stomach grasped his shoulder and she used her body to flip them over into the soil. The cold sting of her blade pressed against his throat as she straddled his waist. Her hand clapped over his mouth to keep him from cursing loud enough to wake the others who would surely kill him.

“I was wondering how long it would take you, and I suppose I should be flattered you chose me,” she whispered, the dagger digging into his skin but not enough to draw blood. Not yet. “Now, what are we going to do with you little vampire?”

Shit.

Chapter Text

How unfair to die just because he was starving. Was he not a creature deserving of sustenance like everyone else? It’s not as if he asked for this existence—well, he sort of had—but if he had understood the truth weight of being an immortal vampire, he might have told Cazador to piss off as he choked on his own blood. He had to eat just like everyone else. Surely, someone as reasonable as Rhea would understand the simple need to feed. And if reason failed, there was something he could offer her instead. He could even beg if she liked. Astarion readied both his argument and his charm but as he looked into her eyes, he didn’t see anger, just amusement.

Impossible. Had she been waiting for him?

Rhea leaned down until their noses were touching. “You’re going to want to be very quiet or we’ll wake up camp. I think that’s a bad idea, don’t you?” she whispered.

He gave a slow nod.

“Good.” She peeled her hand away from his mouth.

“You knew,” he hissed.

She rolled her eyes. “Of course, I knew. You’re not entirely subtle though I commend you for trying to act human. Eating food almost had me fooled.”

“So, what now? You stake me and tell everyone in the morning that you saved them from the big, bad vampire?”

“When is the last time you ate?”

The question caught him off-guard. Why did it matter? “Last night.”

“Something substantial,” she clarified.

“I…” he trailed off. He didn’t want to reveal to her that he had never fed on a thinking creature before and the squirrels had barely sated him.

“That long, huh?” She frowned, easing the dagger off his neck and quietly sheathing it. “Come with me.”

“What?”

But she didn’t answer as she stood and held out her hand. He didn’t take it. Turning on her heel, she stalked right out of camp and he had little choice but to follow her out into the woods. Perhaps she meant to kill him in the wilderness. A bad plan considering no one could help her when he fought back. And he would. He hadn’t finally gotten away from Cazador only to die out here. As pretty as her face was, he would shred it to pieces if it meant keeping his hard-won freedom.

Rhea stopped and faced him.

“I won’t die easily,” he warned her. “I may be…what are you doing?”

She had pulled her shirt over her head and stood with her back against a tree, holding the shirt loosely in front of her but not covering her bare chest. “I’m offering. You may feed on me tonight—no more than you need—and perhaps more in the future should the need arise.”

“I…well…” he trailed off, speechless for the first time in a long time. He didn’t even have to convince her. “I’m sure I could have bitten your neck without you disrobing, darling. I’m not that much of a messy eater.”

“Not the neck. Anywhere from collarbone down is acceptable.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Anywhere?”

“From collarbone to waist,” she clarified.

“May I ask why the neck is off the table?”

“You just did.”

“Will you answer?”

“Perhaps another time.”

Astarion hummed, making a show of contemplating her offer. Why was she offering in the first place? It was clear to him she wouldn’t answer. Wouldn’t explain her motivations. He could hardly turn her down given he doubted anyone else back at camp would give him such an offer.

“I suppose a little nibble wouldn’t hurt.”

Her eyebrow twitched. “Suppose not.”

Astarion slowly closed the distance, eyes straying down to her chest and he paused. Tiny marks covered the tops of her breasts. Bite marks. His eyes flicked up to hers, the unspoken question lingering in the air.

“Yes, I have, and no, I won’t answer your questions about it,” she murmured. “This is the offer, Astarion. Take it or leave it.”

“Trust me, darling,” he purred. “I don’t think I could leave it if I wanted to.”

“No?”

“You are very intriguing.”

“Part of my charm, I suppose.”

He leaned closer, the blood pulsing under her skin a siren call. “S’pose so,” he mumbled, lips meeting her warm skin. Instinct took over. Fangs pierced through, her breath hitching, and blood gushed into his mouth.

The moan slipped before he could catch it. Rhea tasted of winter. Of cold and dark sweet berries. Of thick frost that froze the world in place until the sun crept out again. But there was something else. An enticing darkness. A void beckoning him closer and closer, ready to drag him in. He drank greedily. Blood trickled down his chin but he didn’t care. He wanted more. Wanted it all.

“That’s enough,” she said.

But he didn’t hear her. Not when her blood called to him so strongly. Pulsed through him until he thrummed with life. Vitality. This is what Cazador had robbed him of all these centuries. Astarion’s cheeks flushed as did the tips of his sensitive ears. His cock stirred, straining against the seam of his trousers. He groaned, his hand pressing between her shoulder blades to keep her still. To keep her from running. Rhea shuddered.

“Astarion—“

He grunted. He wasn’t done yet. Wasn’t full enough. Hells, he didn’t think he would ever be full. He could drink her dry and it would never be enough.

Her blade dug into his chest, breaking the skin, and he reeled back with a hiss. A drop of his blood lingered on the dagger. Rhea sucked in a breath, her hands shaking as she clutched her shirt. The dark circles under her eyes had grown deeper. She leaned back against the tree. Blood trickled from the new punctures on the swell of her breast.

“A-apologies, I…I forgot myself, “he murmured, touching the blood on his chin and licking the remnants from his fingers.

His chest heaved as if he couldn’t catch his breath even though he didn’t need to breathe at all and he fought every urge to return to the wound and continue. The threat of imminent death kept him away long enough to clear his head, the heady wine of her blood lingering on his palate. How could he possibly go back to rats and flies after this?

She held up her hand. “Don’t let yourself get this hungry again. The last thing we need is you falling into frenzy because you’re starving.”

“Of course,” he said, contritely but he quickly recovered leaning into his usual flirtations. “Don’t worry, darling. If it’s you offering, I think I will be very well fed in the coming days.”

Her smile was tight, unamused, as she pulled her shirt back and partially tucked it into her trousers. “I’ll supplement what you cannot receive from animals, but I also have my limits.”

He nodded, clasping his twitching hands behind his back. “I will wait until you offer to dine again then, my dear. Unless, of course, I have a dire need.”

Rhea leaned against the tree, staring at him as if she were staring through him, and let her eyes flick down until the corner of her mouth twitched. “Do you have a dire need now?”

He followed her gaze to the noticeable tent in his trousers. While he had felt her blood rush to his cock as it coursed through him, somewhere between her dagger digging into his chest and fighting his desire to sink his teeth into her again, he had forgotten. Struck by an uncharacteristic bashfulness, he covered himself with his hands. So many of his erections were the result of his body betraying him, succumbing to physical stimulation rather than genuine desire. Many times when he felt like a toy, molded to bring pleasure to others without truly experiencing it for himself. Now, here he was, cock full and throbbing and he wondered if it would be so terrible to proposition her like this. Rhea was certainly not the worst he had ever done. Fucking her would tie them close together. And she would be the first person he chose for himself.

That alone might make lying with her worth it.

“I could help you with that,” she suggested lightly, but her eyes lacked the twinkle of someone who wanted to be bedded. She looked bored. Or guarded. He couldn’t tell which honestly.

When he didn’t answer, she sighed and reached for him—the light in her eyes faded—and he jerked back. “Don’t touch me!” he snapped, voice hoarse.

He expected a rebuke. Anger. How dare her refuse her advance? Shouldn’t he be grateful? Shouldn’t he give her whatever she wanted even though he didn’t think she wanted this at all given by the relief that flared in her eyes. Rhea withdrew her hand and straightened, giving him a small nod as if she could possibly understand the confusing barrage of emotions assaulting him.

“I’ll go back to camp first then,” she said. “I won’t wait up for you so try not to stumble across any enemies unless you can tear out their throat on your own.”

A perfect statement deserving of a witty retort but Astarion’s well had gone dry. He was practically vibrating from the feeding, feeling as if he could take out an entire camp of enemies on his own, but also wrung out as the thoughts in his brain fired faster than normal, barely giving him a moment to breathe. She was gone before he mustered something to say. Part of him wished she had stayed. That he had allowed her to unlace his trousers and slide her lithe fingers down the front of his pants. Would her hands be warm as she held him? Stroking him from base to tip while he bucked into her hand like a horny adolescent receiving his first handjob. Astarion almost wanted to risk the embarrassment just to know how it would feel like to take pleasure from someone without giving any in return. If she would even let him experience such a thing. No one ever did. Everyone always wanted their pound of flesh. Would Rhea?

Astarion braced his arm on the tree she had been leaning against, the scent of her lingering on his palette, and freed his cock from the tight confines of his breeches. Disappointment tinged the cloud of lust as he grasped himself, the temperature of his hands the same as the rest of him rather than cool or warm. He couldn’t remember the last time he had stroked himself. So used to hands other than his own touching. Fondling. Guiding him to where they wanted him rather than caring for what he wanted. In the silence between conquests, Astarion wanted anything but touch. Even his own.

He leaned his forehead on his arm, gasping as his thumb swiped over the sensitive tip of his cock. Precum smeared over the flushed head and gathered in the small flap of foreskin. He touched himself carefully as if he had forgotten how. Forgotten how his cock felt in his hand. The throbbing vein on the underside that made his dick twitch with every pulse. Smooth balls drawing up, tighter and tighter, the closer Astarion brought himself to finishing. How heavy and thick he felt now that he was full of her blood. He imagined fitting snugly inside of her, cradled by wet heat, and feeding on her then, growing thicker with every pull. Astarion thrust into his hand.

Gods, he should have let her touch him.

He could only imagine that it was her hand he spilled in, cum splashing onto his palm and dripping onto the ground in thick white globs. There had been little relief in the feeling of release though. It felt hollow. An action born of need rather than want.

What the fuck did he even want?

Cazador wasn’t here. Couldn’t compel him. Astarion could have accepted Rhea’s offer to bring him to completion, perhaps he would have enjoyed it more then, but he wasn’t so sure. Despite how eagerly his cock had risen to the occasion, Astarion couldn’t slough off the shame that threatened to choke him as he tucked himself back into his pants and shook what he could off his hand. Part of him wished he had shifted off this burden onto her. What harm could it do? There might be a little awkwardness afterwards, but it wasn’t as if he would have to deliver her Cazador and try to forget she ever existed so the guilt wouldn’t eat him alive.

She wasn’t in her bedroll when he returned to camp. Astarion paused outside of his tent, eyes searching the dark for her until he saw her silhouette cross the log over the river and quietly sneak past Lae’zel’s tent. Their eyes met. The tips of her pointed ears and her cheeks were dark. He traced the flushed skin down to where it disappeared into her collar. The laces of her trousers hung loose and her shirt was untucked. Her chest heaved.

Ah.

Though she had walked away, she had been just as affected. Shame. If she had stayed—if he hadn’t chased her off—they might have found pleasure in each other rather than alone. There was still time. He could invite her into his tent. Surely, he could get hard once more and make the effort to forge this alliance between them now instead of waiting any longer.

But he didn’t offer, and she veered towards the fire and her bedroll without a word.

Astarion ducked inside of his tent. He stretched out on his back, hands relaxed at his sides to trance but he couldn’t slow his mind down long enough to fall into a calm reverie. The flap covering the entrance didn’t close all of the way and he turned his head to stare through the small sliver. Rhea was curled on her side. Even from this far, he saw the fire reflected in her dark pupils. Was she thinking about him? About the moment they could have shared? Or did she regret offering her blood to him?

Why had she done so in the first place?

It’s not as if there were people lining up to bare their necks. Vampires were monsters. He was a monster. Yet, she hadn’t been scared of him. Obviously she had tangled with a vampire before given the evidence of bites on spanning her chest and collar. Did she belong to someone? Was he toying with someone else’s thrall? The thought should disgust him. He despised the thralls that threw themselves at Cazador’s feet, doing his bidding in the foolish hope they would receive the gift of immortality. They never learned that Cazador didn’t want devoted spawns. He wanted ones to torture. To punish. He liked when they fought back or fought each other because then he could make them scream and beg for mercy. Thralls only begged for death and new life. Was Rhea the same? She didn’t strike him as a thrall. What else could she be?

He watched her eyes close. Watched as she rolled onto her stomach and hiked up one knee, folding her arms under her cheek. He absently touched his chest as if she was using him as a pillow rather than her arms. What would if feel like to sleep with someone? Just sleep. Would he hate it? Or worse, would he love it? He curled his fingers around the flap and tugged it closed, hoping Rhea would slip out of his sight and out his mind. But even as he closed his eyes and settled into a trance, he replayed biting her in his mind over and over, searching for a motive in the memory of her blood in his mouth.

Tomorrow. He would find out what game she was playing tomorrow. Then he would decide whether or not he wanted to play along.

Chapter Text

Hot, heavy breath woke her from her slumber. Red tendrils spread from the horizon but it was still far too early for the sun. Familiar eyes peered into hers as Scratch panted over her, tongue lolling out of his mouth. His tag gently wagged when he noticed her wake.

“Good morning,” she mumbled, reaching up so he could butt his nose against her palm. She sleepily stroked his fur and scratched under his ear. 

He laid down beside her with a content huff, leaning his warm body against her stomach, and Rhea—still half asleep—wrapped her arm around his torso and buried her face into his fur. While he could stand to have a bath, she didn’t particularly mind the smell of dirt and dried blood clinging to his fur. He was comfortable. Comforting. Rhea sighed, letting herself drift back off.

“Fuck, that’s cute,” Karlach’s voice woke her again later, trying to be quiet but Karlach wasn’t the quiet type. “Have we always had a dog?”

“We found the dog shortly before you. Suppose he finally realized his owner wouldn’t wake, and followed Rhea’s scent to our camp,” Wyll said.

“Oh, wonderful, kittens and now a dog. How many more animals will be adding to this menagerie,” Astarion’s disdainful tone nearly made Rhea chuckle. 

“As many as I’d like,” she muttered, giving the dog another scratch and slowly sitting up. “Perhaps an owlbear or a displacer beast while I’m at it. Maybe even a boar or two.”

He narrowed his eyes and she smirked.

“Even I would have to draw the line at an owlbear,” Wyll said, winking at her. “Good morning, Rhea.”

“Morning, Wyll. You are quite cheerful this morning.”

“We’re going to find the swamp today. I have a very good feeling.”

Rhea smoothed back the hairs that had escaped from her braids. “About that. What exactly are we to do when we find evidence of Kagha’s misdeeds? We can give the evidence to Rath but what then?”

“Perhaps she will step down peacefully?” Wyll suggested.

Rhea quirked an eyebrow and slowly undid her braids. “Somehow, I’m not so sure she will. Unless of course, she’s a puppet that needs her strings cut, but I wouldn’t bet on that.”

“I ask again,” —Astarion watched Rhea’s fingers—“why are we getting involved?”

“It’s the right thing to do,” Wyll answered.

“Ugh.”

Rhea snorted, moving to her second braid. “Don’t sound so enthusiastic, Astarion.”

“I’m just not so sure we should be putting ourselves in a position to fight more enemies,” he said. “I rather think the parasites and mindflayers are enough. Don’t you?”

Rhea carefully sectioned her hair into two and began to redo her twin braids. “Perhaps, but it is sometimes satisfying to knock someone down a few pegs. It could be fun. A bit of respite before more serious enemies.”

Astarion tilted his head thoughtfully. “Fun, you say? I suppose it could be.”

“Does this mean you’ll be coming with?”

He made a show of looking around camp and sighing. “There is nothing else to do. I might as well.”

“The four of us then?” Karlach asked, gesturing to their group gathered around the fire since the others hadn’t joined yet. 

Rhea nodded, tying off her second braid. “Sounds good to me.”

Karlach pumped her fist in the air. “Yes!”

“It’s hardly that exciting,” Astarion sniffed.

“Are you kidding me? I’m out of Avernus. I get to kick ass with good company. Helps we’re all a good looking bunch too.” She winked at Rhea.

Rhea huffed a laugh. “Fancy yourself eye candy, Karlach?”

“Me, sure, but you, absolutely.”

“Shameless flirt,” Rhea muttered, ears growing hot. 

Compliments normally didn’t fluster her. She had heard it all from the sweet to the lewd, and after awhile the luster wore off. Rhea even knew Astarion’s flirtations were a farce. A mechanism she recognized well. But Karlach was not only loud but exceedingly honest. Rhea felt heat in Karlach’s words as much as she heard them. There was a genuine quality that Rhea wasn’t quite used to, especially when the expectation of sex wasn’t attached. But Rhea still had to be wary. Karlach knew who she was after all. Perhaps it was a move in a game Rhea couldn’t see yet.

Karlach’s laughter rang through the clearing. 

The others finally migrated from their tents to the fire to handle breakfast. Rhea spooned the hot oats mixed with berries and nuts into her mouth while Scratch laid by her legs and fixated his sad, puppy eyes on her. All she had to give him for now was some dried jerky she had procured from the Grove but she promised him a nice, juicy bone when she returned. She finished one bowl and set it to the side only to notice another one beside her. Rhea looked up and Astarion was staring at her, eyes flicking meaningfully between the bowl and to her.

Ah.

The gesture was either to beg her to be quiet and keep his secret, or he was trying make sure his blood source was well tended to. Rhea would bet it was a bit of both. She was of no use to him if she fell incapacitated from blood loss. Not that she would let him take too much. Lyra had trained Rhea to know exactly how much she could spare without getting sick or dying. 

Astarion had stared at her bite marks with curiosity, and it would’ve been the perfect time for Rhea to finally tell someone about Lyra. But how could she when she’d have to reveal how and why they met? She wasn’t ready. She probably never would be. 

You just replaced me with another bloodsucker, didn’t you? Do you want to chase death that badly?

Rhea ate the second bowl, ignoring Lyra’ voice rattling in her head. She wouldn’t feel guilty for this. So what if she wanted a taste of death? Astarion got what he needed, why shouldn’t she? 

Astarion waited to speak to her until the others had gone back to their tents and Karlach and Wyll had gone to bug Gale about their own tents. 

“May I?” he asked as she attempted to roll up her braids and pin them down.

She knew he didn’t truly care to help, but he wanted an excuse to be close. She nodded.

Cold fingers brushed her neck and he took over. “I trust our little getaway will remain a secret? I would hate for the others to get in between us.”

Underneath the flirtatious tone, she heard a glimmer of fear. He expected her to betray him. Throw him to the others and let them render a judgment. 

“They won’t hear about it from me.” She peered over her shoulder at him as he rolled up one braid. “But you should tell them.”

“Should I?”

“I imagine it will come up eventually. Better they hear it from you now, rather than later or from another mouth.”

“But not yours.”

She shook her head.

“Why? Why would you keep it a secret?”

“That’s my secret.”

He pulled her braid taut, the nerves in her head singing as he rolled her hair tight in his fist. The pain spread down her neck and she ignored the waves of arousal lapping at her. “While I appreciate the gift you have given me, darling, I would prefer a better answer.”

“Perhaps later, when all of camp isn’t awake.”

He made a disappointed noise in his throat but relented his grip, pinning the rest of her hair in place and stepping back. “Until later then.”

“Thank you.”

His eyes darted away from her. “How are you feeling?”

“A little tired but that’s all.”

“I see.”

“Worried?”

His laugh was false. “Only that I might have ruined my chance to have your sweet blood again.”

“I wouldn’t worry too hard, darling,” she shot back. “I’m very charitable. Always helping those in need.”

He pressed his fingers to his smiling lips. “How thoughtful of you.”

“Yes, I thought so too.”

Astarion leaned close, mouth ghosting the shell of her ear and she shivered at the light touch. “You have given me a gift, Rhea. I will not forget it.”

He disappeared to his tent before she could form a rebuttal. Interesting. Not many people managed to steal the words from her mouth but Astarion matched her step for step. She was pleasantly surprised. Torn between annoyance that he might flip to tables on her and feeling pleased that someone could actually dance with her. Hard to have a fair dance when everyone else held power over her. Including Lyra.

When they reached the entrance of the village, they chose left instead of right, hoping the rocky outcropping they had to carefully jump down led to the swamp. Astarion stayed close to her. His cold fingers outstretched to wrap around her hand so she wouldn’t lose her balance. As they walked along the grassy paths, he never walked more than a few feet behind her and always stayed on her left side. She wouldn’t have awfully minded if he walked beside her.

Two bodies laid in their way. Blood soaked into the ground around them. Their throats were slashed open. One laid on his stomach while the other looked to the sky with vacant eyes.

“Anything interesting?” Wyll asked as Rhea rifled through their pockets.

She shook her head. “Nothing really. A few coins. That’s about all.”

“Wonder what killed them?” Karlach looked around, fingers flexing to grab her axe.

“Not sure I want to find out,” Rhea said.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

An old bridge had fallen into water but the water didn’t look too deep. Rhea stepped cautiously onto the wood, wanting her feet to stay dry for as long as possible. Astarion caught her elbow right before she stepped into the water.

“You should watch where you’re stepping, darling,” he said, pointing to something hidden in the water.

“Traps. Someone doesn’t want us out here,” she muttered.

Wyll lingered at the edge of the water, waiting for her to finish crossing. “Maybe that means we’re in the right place.”

“I don’t know. Doesn’t seem very swampy to me,” she said.

She made it through without tripping any of the traps, Astarion’s guiding hand on her elbow the entire way. Her fingers trailed through wildflowers creeping up to her waist while she waited for the others to finish crossing. Something shimmered in the corner of her eye. She glanced around. Strange. There was an…oddness she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She ran her fingers through the flowers again. The petals moved, leaving behind trails of color but only for a moment. 

They all looked up at Rhea’s sharp laugh.

“Something happen?” Wyll asked.

Rhea spun in a slow circle. “This isn’t real.”

Karlach raised an eyebow and tapped her foot against the ground twice. “Feels real enough to me.” 

“No.” Rhea shook her head. “I mean, this is an illusion. A glamour.”

The moment she spoke the words aloud, the curtain peeled back and she saw the place for what it truly was. A stinking swamp. The water—a pretty blue when they had walked through it—was murky. Flowers were nothing more than rotting swamp grasses. Sunlight disappeared behind clouds. They had found it.

Astarion wrinkled his nose. “I much preferred the glamour.”

“Me too,” Wyll echoed.

“At least we know we’re in the right place,” Rhea said. “Come on, let’s find what we’re looking for and get the hells out of here.”

They wandered through the dead trees and brackish water, searching for the location described in the note. So far, all they found were red caps baaing like sheep—Rhea bleated back, unsure of what else to do and Astarion snorted behind her while Karlach stuff her fist against her mouth to stop her laugh—and a house that she did not want to visit. Nothing that made this place a home was something she wanted wanted to face.

The man standing on the path that overlooked the house and most of the swamp was a surprise. Rhea was instantly on guard though his crossbow was stuck to his back and he held out his hands, palms up, to show he meant them no harm. Her fingers itched to grab her blades but she kept them still.

“Greetings, stranger!” he called, bowing his head, hair swinging around his face. “Forgive the aroma.”

Rhea nearly gagged at the waft of something metallic and sickly sweet invaded her senses. 

“What in the world is that?” she asked, waving her hand in front of her face as if that would stop the assault.

“Powdered ironvine. An old hunter’s trick. Most monsters will think twice before making a meal of me.”

Astarion stepped up beside her, head cocked to the side. “You’re a monster hunter? I’m surprised. I thought all Gur were vagrant cutthroats.”

“Not a fan, I take it?” she murmured.

“Who would be?” The hunter chuckled and shook his head. “We steal your chickens, curse your crops, seduce your daughters. Your friend here has heard all I’m sure.”

“Quite a lofty set of skills,” Rhea said.

The hunter tipped his head back and laughed. “Indeed, but none of it is true, I’m afraid. I wish I had half the power settled folk think my people possess. Alas, I am a simple wanderer. And monster hunter. But I’m no witch doctor or cutthroat.”

“What exactly are you hunting out here?” she asked.

“Something terrifying no doubt. Dragon? Cyclops? Kobold?” Astarion guessed with a grin.

The man shook his head. “Nothing so dramatic. I’m hunting for a vampire spawn.”

Astarion’s eyes darted to her—fear immediately clouding his gaze—and her fingers absently wrapped around her blade. Oh dear. She hadn’t expected this, but she supposed a spawn had to have a master, and a master would want him back. Or perhaps this was something else. A personal matter. Either way, she didn’t feel like handing him over to anyone. Perhaps, when the time came, he would return the favor.

“His name is Astarion,” the hunter continued, not noticing the sudden tension in the air. “I fear he’s gone to ground. I was hoping the hag of these lands would help me flush him out, though I am uncertain if I can pay her blood price.”

“When you find this Astarion, are you planning to kill him?” she asked.

“Not this time. My orders are to capture him.”

“Oh, and bring him where exactly?” Astarion asked, poised to attack.

“Baldur’s Gate. My people wait for me there.”

Rhea hummed. “Just a spawn. Shame you’re not hunting a real vampire.”

Astarion looked back at her and then down to where her hand rested on her dagger, fear dissipating into relief. “I don’t know. I’m sure a vampire spawn could still rip out your throat if he felt like it.”

“He is right, unfortunately. They are only weak when compared to their masters. During the day, we have the advantage, but at night, when they hunt, you’ll not find a more deadly quarry.”

Rhea tilted her head towards Astarion. “I don’t know, what do you think, Astarion?”

Now it was the hunter’s turn to look afraid. “That’s Astarion? No. Impossible.”

Astarion held out his hands. “These days, I’m making the impossible look easy.” He looked to Rhea, hand reaching for his blade. “May I?”

Her own daggers were in her hand—when had she drawn them?—the point digging under the hunter’s chin. “That entirely depends on what our friend here isn’t telling us.”

“I think he’s told us enough, darling,” Astarion purred dangerously, teeth glinting as much as his dagger.

“I’m not so sure,” Rhea mused. “We can start with who hired you.”

The hunter glared at her. “The Szarr family.”

“Then why do you intend to take him to your people first? Should you not deliver him to your employer? Unless of course you don’t like being paid for your hard work.”

The hunter pressed his lips together but Rhea pressed her dagger into the tender flesh of his throat. Blood slid down the blade.

“Is this wise, Rhea?” Wyll asked behind her.

“I like having all the information laid out before me,” she answered. “You can either answer my question or the spawn and I will kill you. Your choice.”

“My people were camped outside Baldur’s Gate. A group of spawn descended upon us and during the fight, our children were taken,” the hunter answered, voice tinged with desperation. “We believe he knows where they might be. What has happened to them? My people wish to question him.”

“And then kill him.”

“Would he not deserve it?” the hunter cried. “They were our children. Would you not do the same if he took from you.”

Rhea sighed.

“You’re not going to give me to him, are you?” Astarion whispered fervently in her ear. “Please.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t spawn beholden to their masters?” Rhea asked the hunter.

“I…yes.”

“And did you not think that the very person who wants you to capture and bring back said spawn, could be the one to blame for your missing children?”

The hunter frowned. “It is a possibility, I suppose.”

“I will not judge your lack of thought considering what you’ve lost, but let me make it very clear, you are not taking Astarion anywhere,” she said. “Unfortunately, for you, I have need of him. I suggest you return to Baldur’s Gate and do some more digging. Perhaps you will find what you’ve lost. Unless, you’d rather die today.”

The hunter stared at her. Sizing her up. Debating whether or not to call her bluff. Part of her hoped he would.

Rip into his throat. Taste his blood in your teeth. 

Her fingers tightened around the blade.

“Perhaps there is more work to be done in Baldur’s Gate first,” the hunter quietly agreed. “But I cannot guarantee our paths will not cross again.”

“We will cross that bridge when we get to it,” Rhea promised. 

The hunter backed away and she let him. He didn’t reach for his crossbow or tried to otherwise make a move for Astarion. 

No. Kill him. Drive your blade into his chest. Rip out his heart.

Rhea forcefully shoved her daggers back into their holster, nicking her thigh through her pants. The prick of pain pushed away the voice. She watched carefully as the hunter walked away, waiting until he was far enough away before she relaxed her shoulders. 

“So,” Karlach broke the silence. “A vampire, huh?”

“Oh, yes, did I forget to mention that,” Astarion tried for a joke but it fell flat between them. 

“I’m not sure how I feel about sharing camp with a vampire,” Wyll said. “I’m sure some of the others would agree as well.”

“Anyone who doesn’t like it, is free to leave. I certainly won’t stop you,” Rhea rebutted. 

Wyll folded his arms over his chest. “I see.”

“Good. Shall we continue? Or are we going to have a problem?”

Karlach’s eyes darted between Rhea and Wyll looking very much as if she didn’t want to be stuck in between them. She raised her hand. “I’m fine with a vampire so long as he keeps his teeth to himself.”

The attempt to defuse the tension between Rhea and Wyll didn’t quite work. They glared at each other until Wyll finally sighed, shoulders sagging.

“Let us find what we came for. Everything else can wait,” Wyll agreed. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I’m not a damsel in distress, and Astarion is not the first vampire I’ve tangled with. I’m well aware of what I’m doing.”

Wyll’s eyes widened and he leaned back as if seeing her for the first time. She didn’t need saving. Had given up on the thought of being saved by a dashing knight a long time ago. People like Wyll didn’t save people like her, and she had stopped waiting.

Chapter Text

They squelched their way back through the swamp, covered from head to toe in mud. Rhea had tried to avoid the Mephits and their annoying mud-slinging, but in an attempt to get away from one, she darted right into the path of another. With every step, more oozed down, getting into the cracks between her leathers and underthings. She grimaced. Mud dried to her face, cracking as her muscles moved. 

Wyll had been the one to find the letter to Kagha from Shadow Druids. A damning piece of evidence to knock the bitch down a few pegs. Though Rhea wasn’t entirely sure it was worth the fighting they had to do to get it. 

“It’s going to take hours to feel clean again,” Astarion whined petulantly behind her.

While she didn’t disagree, she rolled her eyes. “A bit of muck won’t kill you, Astarion, even if it is disgusting.”

“I am not built for this,” he argued. “I'm meant for silk sheets and handsome virgins not mucking about in swamps. I hope we are properly compensated for this.”

“Come now, Astarion, it’s not so bad,” Wyll said, his tone light as if he weren’t considering ousting Astarion from their camp. 

“Oh, I assure you it is, Blade,” Astarion snapped.

“Would it be so difficult to do the right thing? To help someone other than yourself?”

“Immensely.”

Karlach snorted and leaned close to Rhea. “Bit of a peacock, eh?”

“I heard that.”

Rhea smirked. “I don’t know. I don’t entirely disagree with Astarion. I could certainly use a honey and sugar scrub and a long soak in the baths. Perhaps some sweet oil for my hair and nails. Oh, and a nice lavender face mask.” She sighed. “Never thought I’d miss the lower city but I certainly won’t find a bathhouse out here.”

Astarion sighed. “That sounds wonderful. It’s been ages since I’ve been to a proper bathhouse.”

“You’ll have to take us,” Karlach suggested. “Never really been to a bathhouse before.”

Rhea shook mud off her fingers. “No? I’ll happily take you, Karlach. Everyone should go at least once.”

“Just Karlach? What about me?” Astarion pouted.

“Yes, Rhea, what about the rest of us? Feeling a bit like chopped liver here,” Wyll joked. 

“Perhaps,” she sniffed. “But only if you’re very good.”

“Guess you won’t be invited, Astarion,” Karlach said, roaring with laughter.

He pressed a hand to his chest. “I am hurt, Karlach. I can be very good when properly motivated. A veritable paragon of good behavior, if you will.”

“Depends on how long it takes us to get to Baldur’s Gate. Longer than a week and I don’t think you’ll make the cut,” Wyll teased.

“A week? I’d give him a day,” Karlach said.

Astarion turned to her. “Rhea, darling, do you see how they tease me? How am I supposed to thrive in these conditions?” 

She snorted. “I’m sure you’ll be alright, Astarion. A little teasing never hurt anyone. The mud caked in your hair however…”

He groaned, reaching up to touch the drying mud. “I just washed and spent hours setting my curls. And now I’ll have to do it all over again.”

“Poor thing.”

He narrowed his eyes. “This is all your fault,” he grumbled. 

“How is it my fault?”

“This little jaunt into the swamp was all your idea.”

“It was not!”

“Was too.”

“It was Wyll’s idea.”

“Yes, well, no one would have cared if Wyll had suggested it on his own but everyone will practically trip over themselves to help you.”

She scoffed. “They certainly will not.”

“Well, let’s poll the rest of camp when we return, hm?”

Karlach laughed. “Gods, it’s like listening to siblings bicker. Knock if off you two. We’re almost back anyways and then we can bathe.”

Rhea slowed her steps. “There’s something we should discuss before we go back to camp.”

All three eyes turned to her. Astarion’s was guarded as if he knew exactly what she was going to bring up, and Wyll’s were cautious, all traces of camaraderie gone.

“We obviously cannot keep Astarion’s condition secret from the rest of camp,” she started.

“They deserve to know,” Wyll added.

Karlach nodded.

“I agree,” Rhea said.

“Do I get a say?” Astarion interjected. “This is my secret after all.”

“Do you disagree?” Rhea asked.

“I, well…” he trailed off and sighed. “No, I suppose I don’t. I would just appreciate not getting staked, thank you.”

“I think staking an ally would be bad form, don’t you, Wyll?” Rhea looked at the Blade. “We all have our secrets, some more dangerous than others certainly, but we have a better chance at surviving this together.”

Wyll looked between her and Astarion. The wheels in his head turned. He finally gave a small nod. “I agree. So long as Astarion does not bite anyone in camp.”

“Without permission,” Rhea amended. “If someone wishes to offer, that is their business.”

Wyll frowned. “Will you be offering, Rhea?”

“I did say it would be their business, Wyll, but if you must know, yes. If it’s a choice between a well-fed vampire and a starving vampire, I’d choose the former even if it means giving a little blood.”

Wyll didn’t look happy about in the slightest but she it wasn’t as if she was asking him to offer his own neck. “Very well. So long as permission is given, Astarion may feed on those in camp.”

“And perhaps a few bandits as well,” Astarion added.

Wyll frowned.

“Oh come now, Wyll. If we end up killing them anyway, what does it matter if I take a little blood?” He waved his hands. “It would save Rhea from offering her own blood too much and I will be strong enough to fight at your side. Why not use all the weapons I have at your disposal?”

“I suppose I cannot argue with that.” Wyll sighed.

“Sounds good to me,” Karlach said. “Truth be told, I’d much prefer a vampire to a devil so Astarion’s alright with me.”

“Why thank you, Karlach.”

“So, it’s settled then,” Rhea said. 

“Between us, but I cannot guarantee the rest of camp will agree,” Wyll responded. 

“I think we can make a fairly compelling argument, don’t you?” she asked.

Wyll nodded.

“Great! Then let’s go. I’m starving,” Karlach said.

***

Everyone else warily agreed, shooting Astarion more than their fair share of suspicious glances but even he tempered his tongue to keep them agreeable. Rhea sighed in relief and turned away to mosey down to the lake and scrub the mud from her skin.

“Rhea? A moment?” Gale called after her.

“Yes?”

“There is the matter of your tent. I thought perhaps you’d like to take care of it before you scurry away to the lake to wash up for supper,” he suggested. “You decided where you’d like me to conjure it? Perhaps beside Karlach?”

“Ah, no, not quite that close,” she answered. “I’ll show you.”

They walked around to where he had pitched his own tent but Rhea led him further on, through a gap in between two large boulders to a little plateau. The lake was a small hop away down to the shore.

“Lovely, but a bit away from everyone else,” he said.

“I like my privacy.” 

“Right.” He gestured to a small space empty of rocks and roots. “Here?”

“Perfect.”

“Any particular color?”

“I am rather fond of purple, I suppose.”

“A good color if I say so myself.”

The air crackled with energy. The smell of burning sugar made her wrinkle her nose. A shiver worked its way up her spine. Gale pulled at the weave, twisting reality until wooden tent poles appeared, already anchored into the dirt. Lavender fabric slithered over the wood, pulling itself taut into a perfect canopy. The flap was already held open with a ribbon to reveal her bedroll inside as well as a smaller one for the kittens. A lavender rug unfurled itself in front of the opening, giving her a space to sit outside without sitting in the dirt. She felt the air around her shudder as Gale tugged the weave back to him, holding it around him like a shield.

Rhea shivered. “Magic always feels so strange.”

“What do you mean?”

“The way it displaces the air and the smell of it.” She shook her head. “It’s not very pleasant.”

Gale’s mouth twitched. “Have you never attempted magic?”

She waved her hand. “Oh no. I’ve never had an affinity for it, and no offense intended, but I’ve also not had much interest in learning.”

“None taken I assure you. Magic is not a path everyone can walk.” Gale clasped his hands behind his back. “But you’re certain you’ve never done magic? Never accidentally set curtains on fire? Or froze soup at the dinner table?”

“I think I would know if I had,” she chuckled.

No, you wouldn’t.

"Fair enough. Well, I will leave you to it then.”

“Thank you, Gale.”

He gave a small bow and left her alone with her new tent. She ran her fingers over the thick fabric. Shame she couldn’t do magic though she doubted she could ever make something so pretty. She peered inside and saw a fresh change of clothes already folded and waiting for her. Perfect. 

She unstrapped her daggers and set them down on the rug. They’d need a good cleaning later. She tossed her pack down beside them and hopped down to the shore of the lake. Splashing from further down drew her attention and she looked to see Karlach in the distance, tail swishing in the water. Wyll wasn’t far from her, back to her but Rhea could hear their voices.

Where was Astarion? She would’ve thought the first place he would’ve gone was the lake.

“I was wondering where you had run off to,” his voice came from behind her. 

He crouched on the edge of the plateau, looking down at her with his head cocked to the side. Despite his earlier complaints, he didn’t look all that bothered by the mud smeared across his skin. 

“Interesting place for a tent. A little far from the rest of us, no?” he asked.

“I like my privacy,” she repeated.

“Well, it is certainly private.” 

She hummed in agreement and turned her back to him, kneeling down to unlace her boots. “Was there something you needed, Astarion?”

“Well, darling, I thought perhaps you would like company and we could take a moment to ourselves and have a little chat.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I rather remember you saying that you would answer a question I posed earlier, and no one should interrupt us over here.” His boots thudded quietly behind her. “You don’t mind, do you?”

She kicked off her boots. “Not at all.”

Of course, she did care, but she knew Astarion did not. He wanted something from her and he was going to try and get it. There were ways of distracting him. She could dangle more blood in front of his nose. He couldn’t speak if his mouth were too busy elsewhere. Then she could feign exhaustion and keep him at bay for a little bit longer. Play up the guilt of offering him blood with nothing in return if she had to. A play that would surely make him resent her, but what did that matter in the long term? They were nothing without the tadpole’s interference and they would go back to nothing when this was over. 

Rhea didn’t bother stripping before entering the lake. As soon as it lapped at her knees, she peeled off her socks and washed off the grime. They hit a rock on the shore with a wet slap. Astarion had the same idea, standing across from her only an arm’s length away. Neither of them looked away from the other as they slowly stripped down. 

Being naked didn’t bother her. She had long since gotten used to it. Astarion’s unabashed staring didn’t bother her either. In fact, she quite liked it. Astarion didn’t look at her as if she were a piece of a meat or a conquest. He studied her, trying to determine who she truly was. Good luck. She didn’t even know. 

She walked further into the lake and knelt into the soft silt, letting the water cover her chest, and undid her braids. Raven strands floated on top of water like dark spiderwebs. 

“A bit impractical, is it not?” he asked, moving closer to her but not too close.

“What is?”

“Your hair.”

“So is trying to maintain your curls out here, but you don’t hear me saying anything.”

Astarion patted his hair. “Are you suggesting I let them get damaged and frizzy? Just because we are stuck in the wilderness does not mean we have to let go of civilized hair care.”

She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, letting her scalp get wet. “I am suggesting we leave the matter or hair care up to the individual.”

“Ah, touchy about the hair then. Very well.”

“You did not come here to discuss hair, Astarion.”

“Forgive me for trying to make light conversation.” He waved his hand. “Alright then. I will pose my original question again. Why would you keep my condition secret?”

“Does it matter? It’s not a secret anymore.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Of course, it matters. Frankly, I am baffled that you would allow me to feed off you in the first place. Then you were willing to keep it a secret from the others. Not to mention the…” he trailed off gesturing to the the myriad of bite marks spanning her chest and collarbone. “You have my curiosity positively piqued, darling.”

“It’s all part of my charm. If I part with my secrets then I won’t be nearly as interesting.”

“Rhea—“

She drew in a breath and sank under the water and opened her eyes. Even with the particles of mud floating where they sat, she could see the hazy outline of him leaning over her. He looked as if he couldn’t decided to be amused or furious with her. It didn’t matter to her either way. She liked prodding him. She wondered how long it would take him to snap.

A dangerous game to play.

His hand found her collarbone. Forefinger prodding at some of the old bite marks that had yet to fade. He could hold her under like this. Maybe he would. She wouldn’t fight too hard.

Rhea’s lungs began to burn. A bubble escaped her lips. Astarion moved his hand to the nape of her neck. His nails dug into her skin as he lifted her head out of the water. Air filled her lungs again but he didn’t let her go. They were inches apart but the silence between them stretched for miles.

“An answer, darling,” he finally murmured. “If you please.”

She didn’t please, but he was being good and patient. Perhaps a reward was warranted. After all, if she wanted him to feed on her again, she’d have to play nice now and again. 

“I rather like dancing with death, and I didn’t want anyone else to volunteer,” she whispered. “I am quite selfish in that regard.”

He hummed, pulling strands of her hair into his hand and twining them tight around his fingers. “Crave death, do you?”

“A taste of it.”

“How fortunate for me.” Astarion lowered his head, scraping his teeth across the delicate skin of her collarbone, his other hand moved to her hip to hold her still in his arms. “I think I deserve a reward for today, don’t you think, darling?”

“Another. Was my answer not sufficient?” she teased, leaning into his grasp.

“I am selfish enough to ask for another.” His tongue flicked over her skin. “I could even say please if you like.”

She smirked. “No need to debase yourself. You fought well today. A small reward is in order.”

His eyes flicked to her, dark and hungry and her own hunger swirled in her gut. But this wasn’t about that. What she had with Lyra, she didn’t need to have with Astarion as well. It would make things far too complicated and they couldn’t part easily. Not now. Better to keep things simple.

Rhea caught a gasp in her mouth as his teeth found old marks, his own teeth piercing through. Replacing the old with new. Fresh. Was it easier for him or was this the vampiric equivalent of marking territory? Lyra never liked the idea of another vampire getting their hands on Rhea. Perhaps Astarion was the same, getting in touch with a deep instinct to protect his food source.

A small moan echoed in his throat and her cunt spasmed reflexively. Lyra often mixed feeding and fucking. The ghost of her sharp nails raked Rhea’s hips and dug into her thighs. Rhea clenched her jaw to keep her mouth shut and fought the urge to rub her thighs together, or worse, finger herself while he hungrily sucked the blood from her body. She could wait until she was alone in her tent to give in to her desires. 

But she wouldn’t give Astarion that kind of power over her.

Astarion pulled away on his own this time. Tongue licking away tiny beads of blood that rose to the surface. Blood stained his lips and dripped down his chin. Fuck. The blissed out look on his face tempted her. Her eyes darted away.

“You are somehow even better the second time,” he murmured, his mouth stretched into a lazy grin.

“Imagine how I’ll be the third time,” she teased, her voice quiet and tinged with exhaustion. She was near the limit.

“My dear, I cannot wait.”

Chapter Text

The afternoon sun soaked into her skin. Rhea leaned back on her elbows, eyes closed and face tilted to the warm rays. Damp hair clung to her bare chest, only half of it had dried since her bath, and she moved it all over one shoulder. Astarion reclined beside her in a similar position. The vampire was free to return to his own tent—and she thought he would after getting what he wanted—but he pulled on his pants, having brought fresh clothes with him when he came to bathe, and sat down next to her as she let the sun dry her naked body. Neither felt the need to speak and the quiet was nice enough that she didn’t say anything to make him leave.

It wasn’t until the sun began to dip towards the horizon and a chill entered the air, that Rhea moved and began to pull on her camp clothes. Gale had conjured a soft pair of black trousers that hugged her legs like a second skin. They were nice and warm but not too warm. The matching top stopped just below her belly button, collar dipping between her breasts.

Naughty boy.

Rhea smirked, slowly sectioning off her hair. 

“Something funny?” Astarion asked.

“Just wondering how much of this outfit is to Gale’s taste,” she said. “I certainly did not ask him to conjure it.”

Astarion smirked. “I recall telling you that most of camp would trip over their feet to do whatever you asked. Gale would be the first in line.”

“Not you?” she teased, opting for one messy braid instead of two, her fingers aching and tired.

“Darling, I have already skipped the line; might as well let the poor wizard have half a chance.”

Rhea snorted and pulled on sandals, buckling them around her ankles. “I’d say it’s always the quiet ones but I don’t think Gale has been quiet a day in his life.”

Astarion giggled. “I imagine he would implode if he tried.”

She bit back her laugh. 

An acrid smell made her wrinkle her nose. Brimstone and sulfur. Rhea looked towards camp but all she could see was the dull glow of the camp fire. 

“Do you smell that?” she asked, but Astarion was already on his feet, pulling his shirt over his head and quickly tucking it into his pants.

“Perhaps we have a guest,” he said.

Rhea reached for her daggers, mud crusted on the blades and carefully slipped them into the slots sewn into the back of her shirt. Gale really had thought of everything when conjuring her space. She would have to thank him later.

The others were gathered around the campfire but based on the looks on their faces, they also smelled what she had. Eyes darted around searching for the source. All except for Wyll who gazed forlornly into the fire before standing up, his shoulders growing tense.

“Hell’s fire, she’s coming,” he said.

Rhea stepped forward. “Who—"

Light flashed, the smell grew stronger, and Rhea stumbled back. Astarion’s hand on her back kept her from falling back as a devil appeared in their camp. Gold adorned the four horns that sprouted from her head. Crimson pupils swam in black sclera. Coppery red hair hung straight down to her shoulders, both sides tucked behind her pointed ears. A midnight blue dress clung to her figure, collar ending at her waist and teasing a sideview of her breasts. A gold necklace drew the eye down her chest to her navel. 

“Wyll,” the stranger sang his name. “You’ve been naughty. And you know what happens when you’ve been naughty.”

Karlach groaned and crossed her arms. “Ugh, gods damn it. Anyone but her,” she spat.

“Who in the hells are you?” Rhea asked.

The stranger finally looked at her, eyes lighting up and lips pulling back to reveal a wide smile. “Wyll you stinker! You’ve been keeping me a secret. Suppose the hellcat is out of the bag now.”

Wyll clenched his jaw but his eyes betrayed the glimmer of fear he held. So this was his patron. The source of his power. Rhea narrowed her eyes. Warlock pacts were secretive; he would have been unable to tell her the terms and conditions and yet, Rhea was still annoyed at being caught unawares. Annoyance that quickly dissipated into pity. If his Devil had come all this way, she had come to render punishment.

“Call me, Mizora—"

The name sparked in Rhea’s mind. Familiarity. But she didn’t know any Devils. None that she could remember anyway. Rhea kept her face blank as her thoughts raged, blindly fumbling in the darkness of her mind as if she would find something. A sliver of a memory perhaps. Nothing came. Nothing ever did.

“My pet’s been unruly and his leash needs a yank,” Mizora sneered, pulling Rhea out of her thoughts, and jerked her hand. Wyll stumbled forward, falling to one knee. 

Wyll braced his palm on the ground. “I—"

“We had a deal, Wyll, but Karlach’s still breathing.”

Karlach rolled her eyes. “I’ve taken more pleasant shits than you, Mizora, and at least those I can bury after.”

Astarion snorted behind Rhea.

Mizora pressed her hand to her chest in a mockery of disgust. “That’s no way to talk for a lady. By the way Karlach, Zariel sends her regards.”

Karlach’s lip curled.

“You told me devils only!” Wyll shouted. “She’s a tiefling. Not a monster.”

Mizora laughed. “How precious. The little pupster’s found his bark.” She held her hand in front of her face as if she were reading from a scroll. “Clause G, section nine: targets shall be limited to the infernal, the demonic, the heartless, and the soulless. Karlach meets the criteria by virtue of having no heart.”

Wyll’s shoulders trembled.

“You better not lay a finger on Karlach,” Rhea warned, fingers itching to draw her blades. 

Mizora’s focus returned to Rhea, her lips drawing back into a wide, sharp smile. A cat preparing to strike. “Don’t you worry, that ship has long since sailed the Styx. But a defiant pup must still pay his price. To wit,” she purred, flourishing her hands as a Wyll is trapped in a circle of black ichor and gold. 

Mizora held Rhea’s unflinching gaze and Rhea didn’t look away as the scents of fire and ozone assault her senses. In the corner of her eye, she watched Wyll grit his teeth and bear each layer of hell. His bones shifting under his skin. New ones grow, pushing up the skin, fusing together with loud pops. Hot tears spill from his good eye as the pupil turns red. Small knobs push up from the skin of his head until it tears open, blood dripping down his face. Black horns force their way out, covered in mangled flesh and gore. The change is quick and yet it takes forever. Wyll held in his cries of pain. Rhea commended him for it but her hands shook with desire to reach out to him. To comfort him as the body he has always known was ripped away from him. 

But she can only stare down Mizora, rage blistering behind her eyes, and wait for it to be over.

“That’s better,” Mizora sighed as Wyll cowered at her feet.

“What the hells have you done,” he choked out.

“A promise broken. A price paid. You know the terms.” She examined her nails. “Get used to the new form, pet. Some magic even I can’t undo. Now, let’s see how the Frontiers fare without their precious Blade.”

Karlach leaned over him, hand hovering over his shoulder, the fact that she couldn’t touch him without setting him ablaze stopping her from comforting him. He gave her a small nod and stood. But Mizora was unimpressed as he squared his shoulders and faced her. 

“I would make the same choice over again,” he spat out. 

Mizora rolled her eyes. “Bravery to a fault is just stupidity, but our business here is concluded.” Her gazes shifted back to Rhea. “And the next order of business begins.”

“Leave them be, Mizora, they have nothing to do with this,” Wyll said.

Mizora waved her hand in dismissal. “Relax, pup, I am just greeting an old friend.”

“Friend?” Wyll looked to Rhea. “You know each other?”

All eyes were on her. Their gazes heavy as they tried to determine just how Rhea might now a devil. After all, they knew next to nothing about her. 

“I have never met you a day in my life,” Rhea said, her voice flat.

Mizora threw her head back and laughed. “Would you even remember if you had, pet? I hear memory is quite a problem for you these days.”

“What is she talking about?” Karlach asked, eyes burning into Rhea. 

“Oh dear,” —Mizora tsked and shook her head—“you haven’t told them anything, have you? Or perhaps it just slipped your mind.” She laughed again. “How is your mind these days? A weak mind would have broken after having their memories locked away, yet here you are.”

Rhea hands curled into fists. How could Mizora know that? Had she been the one to do it? No. Mizora didn’t seem the type to leave Rhea alone if that were the case. But how did she know? Had Rhea made a deal with a devil? Which one?

“Rhea?” Wyll looked at her imploringly. 

“You are mistaken,” she hissed, willing Mizora to shut the fuck up. “I do not know you.”

Mizora stepped closer, eyes twinkling. “Perhaps I am. You are wearing far more clothes than I’ve ever seen you wear. Perhaps if you strip—"

“You are out of line, Mizora!” Karlach shouted.

Mizora ignored her. She reached out, clawed fingers brushing Rhea’s hip and moving lower. “I remember a lovely little scar, right—"

The words died as Rhea pressed her dagger to Mizora’s throat. “Remove your hand or I will remove it for you,” she snarled.

Mizora’s smile grew. “There she is. Raphael’s little pet murderer. I wondered if she was still in this pitiful shell.”

The name Raphael made her heart ache in her chest. Pain coursed through her. Who was he? Why did that name hurt?

“I am no one’s pet,” Rhea said, steel in her voice. “And I do not know you. I would remember meeting such an insufferable cunt.”

Mizora’s mouth twisted and anger sparked in her eyes. She raised her hand, claws sharp and ready, to strike. “You little—!”

But she didn’t tear Rhea to shreds. She froze, eyes darting back and forth as if someone were speaking to her and she was trying to locate them. Anger withered into annoyance. She sighed and lowered her hand. Interesting.

Rhea smirked. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Mizora snarled.

Rhea slowly lowered her blade but did not sheath it. “For telling me that whoever I am to you, I am untouchable.”

“You won’t always be,” Mizora sneered, her face inches away from Rhea’s. “One day he will grow tired of you and you will be fair game once more. Or perhaps you will finally succumb to your twisted purpose and live a miserable existence, your will broken and your mind taken by another.” Mizora’s cruel laugh echoed in the clearing. “You thought locking away your memories would save you but you are rotting from the inside out. A pawn in a game you don’t even know you’re playing. I look forward to watching you fall apart.”

“You will be sorely disappointed.”

Mizora backed away, baring her teeth. “I don’t think I will be. I have quite a lot of coin on your self destruction, and I know how to call them by now.” She heaved a sigh. “But I suppose that’s enough for one night. I suddenly have places to be.”

Wyll stepped forward. “Wait—"

“Oh, yes, Wyll. Just so you know, our pact still stands. You’ll keep and eye on him won’t you, Karlach?” Mizora raised her hand and paused. “I do wonder though, Rhea, if your poor husband knows where you are.”

Rhea’s lungs seized. Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her dagger. 

Mizora smirked. “Perhaps I should pop in and tell him. I’m sure he’s worried sick about you.” A giggle escaped her lips at Rhea’s stricken look. “Don’t forget to smile, pet, there are so many eyes upon you. Ta-ta!”

Silence descended on the camp. Rhea fought to keep her breaths slow and still so no one would hear the panic rattling in her chest. If her husband knew where she was, he would send the hunters for her. They’d drag her back, kicking and screaming. She couldn’t go back. Not now. Not ever. She would die first. If they would even let her.

“Well, that was…interesting,” Gale finally spoke. “Quite the company we’ve invited, eh?”

That broke the spell of silence and Wyll rounded on her. “You’ve made a deal with a devil?! You know Mizora?!”

She blinked. The words barely seeping in. “No, I—"

“Clearly, you do. What kind of deal? How could you make a deal?”

Rhea’s sharp laugh killed any further questions. “That is rich coming from you, Blade of Frontiers. What is this? Do as I say but not as I do. Are you really going to stand there and spew righteousness at me when you’re suffering the sting of your own pact?”

“So you have made a pact,” he accused.

“I do not know!” she shouted. “But what I do know is that it is not for you, not for any of you, to demand anything about my past, known or unknown. My life is my business and my secrets are my own. You have no right to demand anything but my assistance in removing this tadpole.”

Hurt flickered across his face. “We are allies—"

“Temporarily so,” she hissed. “When this is over, we go our separate ways. There is no need to complicate that.”

Karlach stepped closer. “Rhea—"

“Now if you don’t mind, I’m turning in early. We’re dealing with Kagha tomorrow. No telling what she has up her sleeve.” Rhea turned away from the group, ignoring the prying eyes, and returned to her tent alone.

The flap closed behind her and the darkness swallowed her. Times like these made her wish she didn’t have darkvision. That she could sink into complete darkness without seeing the shadows of her hands as they pressed against her eyes. She could still see the lines in her palms until she closed her eyes. 

You are rotting from the inside out.

“I’m not,” she murmured.

But you are. And you know it.

The inside of the tent was cold so far away from the warmth of the fire. Rhea wrapped her arms around herself, her fingers digging into her sides. This was for the best. Really. She was far more used to being cold than warm.

A soft shuffling came from outside. Rhea froze, wondering who had come to bother her after she had basically told them all to fuck off. Maybe they were coming to shame her for it but she stood firm in her choice to keep her secrets. They couldn’t help her. And she doubted they would even if they could. The best she could hope for was they found her useful enough to stave off any hunters who came looking for her should Mizora’s threat have teeth.

“I brought some stew and mead,” Karlach’s voice was surprisingly soft for her. “I can leave it here if you want, but if you want to talk, I can stay.”

Rhea opened her mouth to tell Karlach to leave the food and depart but she faltered. The words wouldn’t leave her mouth. Did she want to talk? Did she really want to peel herself open and let someone look inside? She slunk out of the tent, crawling out onto the rug and sat back on her heels. A steaming bowl of stew sat in front of her, a torn hunk of bread slowly going soggy while sitting in the broth, with a full mug of honey mead. Karlach sat a few feet away, the heat of her still reaching Rhea’s chilled skin, and sipped the broth from her own bowl.

“Thank you,” Rhea murmured, shifting herself into a more comfortable position and grabbing her bowl. 

Karlach nodded.

They sipped in silence, listening to the gentle lap of the waves on the shore as the stars twinkled overhead. A lovely night were it not for the tension riddled throughout camp. She wondered what the others were thinking. Were they gathered around the fire talking about her? Or were they mired in a similar silence?

“That was intense,” Karlach finally said, picking a chunk of meat from her bowl and stuffing it into her mouth. “I hate dealing with Mizora on a good day, let alone when she’s got a hair up her ass.”

Rhea snorted at the image despite how awful she felt. “You’ve dealt with her before?”

“Oh yeah, she’s part of Zariel’s inner circle. Always clinging on like an ex that won’t take a hint.” Karlach sighed. “She’s the very definition of a leech. I can’t stand her.”

“So my ‘insufferable cunt’ comment was right on the mark.”

Karlach guffawed. “Gods, the look on her face. I wish there had been someone there to capture it.”

Rhea hid her soft laugh in her bowl. She pinched a piece of potato between her fingers. “Are you going to dance around your questions, Karlach?”

“Maybe I just wanted to make you feel better. And make sure you eat,” Karlach said.

“Is that so?”

“I wasn’t the only one who wanted to check on you. Fangs almost bit me for the bowl, but I figured you’d want to talk with someone who…well, someone who sort of knows you,” she whispered the last bit.

“I’m sure Astarion was just looking for a nibble before bed,” Rhea said, trying to ignore the tiny bit of warmth that bloomed under the frost. Thinking he actually cared would lead her down a dangerous, and rather stupid, road. She wouldn’t do that to herself. Not ever again.

Karlach shrugged. “Maybe, but he was the one who worried about you going to bed on an empty stomach.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Won’t be the last.

“Yeah, well, we’re fighting tomorrow. Better to be fed.”

Rhea hummed. 

“If I ask you some questions, will you answer them?” Karlach asked.

“I don’t know.”

They picked at their food. The stews in their bowls dwindled until all that was left were soggy breadcrumbs and tiny shreds of meat. Rhea licked the slick fat from her fingers, wishing she had another bowl.

“Does your husband sell you?”

Karlach’s question was so soft, Rhea wasn’t sure she heard it correctly. She froze, thumb pressed against her tongue and stared down at her empty bowl. Of all the questions to ask, why did Karlach ask that one? What could she gain from knowing this about Rhea? Leverage perhaps. A knife to twist between Rhea’s ribs.

“You don’t have to say anything. That was answer enough,” Karlach murmured and sighed. “Do you know who Raphael is?”

Rhea breathed a little better at the change of question, but she was still wary. “No.”

“He’s a devil.”

“I gathered.”

“Not a big fan of Zariel,” Karlach continued, ignoring Rhea’s mild sarcasm. “Theatrical but deadly. As untrustworthy as any other devil. Ring any bells?”

Rhea slowly shook her head.

Karlach blew out a breath. “How much of your memory is gone, do you think?”

She set down her bowl, debating her willingness to answer. On one hand, she didn’t like the thought of someone having something over her. On the other, wouldn’t it be nice to unburden herself just a little? Rhea reached for her mead and took a sip. Honey clung to her tongue and sluiced down her throat. There was a slight citrus aftertaste, reminding her of a freshly peeled orange. She took another sip.

“Ten years.”

“Ten years gone?”

Rhea sighed. “I only remember the last ten years.”

“Shit.”

Rhea huffed a laugh. “There are some things from before but they are…they feel more like dream than memory. I don’t know if it’s real.”

“Shit,” Karlach repeated. “I can…no, I can’t imagine really. How old are you?”

“A lady never reveals her age,” Rhea scoffed with a smirk. “But if she had to guess, I think about forty? I’m not certain.”

“Oh. Well,” —Karlach rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly—“you look great for your age then.”

Rhea hid her giggle in her mead but Karlach still laughed with her, loudly. Freely. Gods, Rhea envied her. Why couldn’t she laugh like that? 

“Thank you,” she murmured. “For…”

For bringing me food. For asking me questions. For checking up on me even if it’s not real.

Karlach shrugged. “It’s not easy carrying everything alone. Thought maybe you’d like the chance to unburden yourself, at least a little.”

Rhea nodded.

“One more question.”

“Hm?”

“What do you think you gave Raphael?”

“What do you mean?”

Karlach raised an eyebrow. “I mean, the subtext was loud tonight, but you potentially made a deal with Raphael. What do you think you gave him in exchange?”

“I honestly wouldn’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever had much.”

“That you know of,” Karlach pointed out.

“That I know of,” Rhea agreed.

Karlach sighed. “I’d go crazy not knowing things.”

“I’m used to it.”

“Do you want to remember?”

“I…no, I don’t think so.”

“No?”

“If I’ve made a deal with a devil, I imagine it must be bad. Perhaps some things are best left buried.”

Karlach gave a small nod before tilting her head back and staring up at the stars. “Maybe, but stuff like that usually doesn’t stay buried forever.”

***

Flames roared in the opulent fire place, adding to the oppressive heat of the room yet Raphael didn’t break a sweat. He reclined in front of the fire, brandy in hand, and enjoyed the rare moment of peace and quiet. While he loved sowing chaos much like one played a game a chess, there were times when even he needed to be left the fuck alone to his own thoughts.

But such peace never lasted long.

He smelled her, the sulfuric stench of her, before she appeared in his study with a wicked smile etched into her face. Another threat from Zariel perhaps. As empty and toothless as the last one, but no less prompting a response. Mizora sauntered over as if the sway of her hips were somehow endearing to him and perched on the arm of his chair.

He gave a tired sigh. “To what do I owe the displeasure, Mizora?”

“Don’t be such a sourpuss, Raphael.” Her annoying lilt made his jaw clench. “I’ve come bearing a gift. I saw it and I just thought to myself ‘oh, I must give this to Raphael right away.’ Of course if you don’t want it…”

“You never come bearing gifts, Mizora. What is it you want?”

She trailed her fingers down his arm. “I was disciplining one of my pets this evening and found him in very interesting company. An old friend—"

“I do not care about your old friends,” he snapped. “Get to the point.”

“An old friend of ours,” she purred in his ear. “One who, unfortunately, has been implanted with a mind flayer parasite. Part of this nasty Absolute business.”

Raphael had kept his thumb on the pulse of the growing cult, watching it bloom from the sidelines and searching for weaknesses to exploit. There was a certain madness to what he had gleaned of their plans but he was waiting for his chance. The perfect opportunity.

“Either tell me who it is or leave.”

She scoffed. “You have no appreciation for theatrics—"

“Nothing you do qualifies as theatrical, Mizora.”

“Rhea,” she spat the name like acid.

And it burned. Raphael kept his face neutral, refusing to let Mizora of all people see a crack in his facade, but his mind recoiled at the mention. While Rhea flitted into his mind now and again, it had been a few years since he thought of her. His fingers tightened around his glass.

“What about her?” His voice was cold. Unaffected. 

Mizora pouted. “Oh, come now, Raphael. We both know you still pine for your little b—"

“Get out,” he hissed, glass cracking in his grip. “Return to Zariel’s side and beg for your scraps, Mizora. I have no more time to waste on you.”

Mizora smirked and stood from his chair. “Still so possessive of your forgotten toy. Do you suffer knowing she doesn’t remember you?”

“Get out!”

Mizora disappeared with a giggle and a flash of hellfire, her mission to rile Raphael a partial success. Now she would return to Zariel and tell the unworthy whelp that Raphael still had a weakness. He doubted they would touch her given who she was beyond what he considered her to be, but they would still taunt him. Goad him. Try to force him into a reckless action when he would do no such thing.

“Korilla!”

He did not hear her footsteps but he knew she was there.

“Go. Do not approach directly and do not speak to her. Report back when you find her,” he ordered, setting down the nearly broken glass. 

“Yes, Raphael.” Korilla paused. “Lily has asked for you.”

He nodded and waved. “Yes, yes, I will handle her. Now go.”

Left alone once more, he pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a sigh. For years he fought the urge to check on Rhea. To find a way to bring her back into his home, his bed, as if anything between them could be the same with her memories locked away. But he would not let an upstart cult be the thing that killed her.

This was the opportunity he would settle for.