Astarion's fingertips loosened, and the blood-stained dagger dropped to the ground with a clatter.
He staggered half a step, his knees slamming hard against the uneven flagstones, kicking up splashes of blood that bloomed into deeper stains on his soft breeches.
Cazador's corpse curled in a bizarre posture within the shadow of the platform, uncoagulated bubbles of blood still welling from his throat.
Chapter 157