Stone Cold
"You will have supper with us now. And then you will sleep as long as you wish, and rest. We have prepared the best room for you, the one in the tower. And we have put the best bed we could find in Kaer Morhen there."
"Thank you." Triss smiled faintly. In the tower, she thought. All right, Vesemir. Let it be the tower for today, if appearances matter so much to you. I can sleep in the tower in the best of all the beds in Kaer Morhen. Although I would prefer to sleep with Geralt in the worst.
-Andrzej Sapkowski, Blood of Elves
I.
The message arrived barely a week after she'd finally settled in Kovir.
It had taken longer than Triss had initially expected to make it there, though it was no easy feat to smuggle a boatful of mages across the sea. She'd spent the whole time below decks, alternating between sleeping heavily and being violently seasick. Despite that, it felt good to finally relax—not let her guard down entirely, but certainly more than she could in the past few months. She would take constantly throwing up on the way to safety over hiding in the sewers of Novigrad any day.
Besides that, it had all been worth it when she saw the faces of her friends and colleagues as they disembarked. Nothing could hold a candle to that feeling—well, except the way she felt around a certain witcher. When they'd been standing there on the docks, she'd almost thought he was going to ask her to stay. To tell her he loved her. It was all she'd wanted to hear. But he hadn't. She knew he wouldn't. She knew something else was waiting for him in Skellige. Something more.
When all was said and done, she felt little remorse for what happened after she'd found him then, after he escaped the Hunt. Not anymore, at least. It was done. It happened, and nothing could change that. She had to do her best to put it behind her, start a new life in Kovir. She didn't have another choice. And so she tried. She had been the one received by the king when they arrived. He had already offered her a position as an advisor in his court if she wanted it, and large chambers in his palace while she 'thought it over.' They both knew she would accept. For both of their sakes, for her to be able to work unhindered, she needed to force Geralt of Rivia into some dark corner of her mind and lock him there.
It had been going well for only a few days before she returned from a meeting to find the bird perched on her windowsill.
She screamed when she first saw it, flattening herself against the door and conjuring a ball of fire in her hand reflexively. A few moments later she realized it was just a bird and lowered her arms, feeling quite ridiculous. She couldn't relax too much, though. She recognized the kestrel almost immediately—if not from its black feathers, than from its dark piercing gaze. She had seen its like too many times before, from another set of eyes, almost always aimed at her.
But what reason could she possibly have to contact Triss now? It was over. She was here, trying to start again. Geralt, supposedly, had sailed for Skellige. They were together. She'd finally gotten what she wanted—Triss out of the picture.
A knock on the door behind her startled her from her thoughts and she whirled around, painfully aware of the stare on her back. "Yes?" she called, flames still crackling in her palm.
"Lady Merigold?" A voice she didn't recognize; a guard, probably. "We heard screaming. Are you all right?"
"Yes." They probably didn't believe her—try as she might to control it, her voice was still noticeably trembling—but she heard their footsteps retreating and exhaled deeply, turning back around. The bird still hadn't moved from its perch outside the tightly latched windowpane. She wondered if it would try to attack her if she opened it, removed the barrier between them. But that was absurd. She wouldn't send a weapon after her. Would she? Besides, now that she had calmed down a bit she could see the thing had a scroll attached to its leg. That alone should have tipped her off to its nature, and if it hadn't been something of critical importance—something she actually needed Triss to respond to—she wouldn't have bothered.
She edged towards the window as slowly as she could manage, berating herself all the while. It hadn't moved since she'd first seen it and that gave her some comfort as she unlatched the window. Even then, it didn't budge, nor did it when she untied the small scroll from its leg. It just waited patiently, if a bit irritated. "She made you in her image, didn't she?" she muttered, mostly to herself, as she sat down at the elegant desk. "Sharp. Aloof." She slid her fingernail under the wax seal to loosen it. "Cold."
The cramped, slanted handwriting was achingly familiar to her. She wouldn't have even been able to count how many letters she'd received in that same script. They'd used to write frequently, before everything happened—but she pushed those thoughts away as best she could. It was easier to ignore them than she expected, once she read the scroll's contents and felt her stomach drop.
She left Kovir as suddenly as she entered it, stopping only to pack a small bag, not even bothering to write a reply for the bird still waiting on the windowsill.
~oOo~
Out of all the things she'd expected to see when she arrived, shattered pieces of the best bed in Kaer Morhen floating lazily to the top of the lake hadn't been one of them.
For a few minutes all she could do was stare, forgetting the urgency of the situation as everything came flooding back. Every mistake she'd made. If she'd had any hopes of mending that friendship, they were certainly dashed now, because she had no doubt who had done this. She felt nauseous as she turned away, hitching her bag higher onto her shoulder—and nearly running straight into Eskel.
"Whoa there!" he said, grabbing her shoulders to push them apart as she started. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you, but…Triss, why did you teleport all the way out here?"
If she had to run into one of the Wolf School witchers right away, she was glad it was him. He wouldn't pry too much, ask too many questions. All Lambert would do was pry and make snide comments. Vesemir, too, was getting more irritable as the years wore on and the keep around them crumbled, though she doubted he would have been outright rude. And Geralt…besides the fact he wasn't currently there, she didn't want to see how in love he was, how he would smell like residual lilac and gooseberries when she embraced him. She would have to deal with it soon enough.
She laughed nervously. "I was trying not to startle anyone by appearing in the middle of Kaer Morhen." I wasn't ready to see them yet. "I suppose I didn't do such a good job."
"Wouldn't have startled anyone anymore. You wouldn't be the first to do it." He saw right through her, as she expected him to, but instead of pressing too strongly, he put a hand on her back and urged her away from the lake. "I'd try not to take it too personally," he said as they made their way along the path that would take them back to Kaer Morhen. "I know it's hard not to, but…there's a lot going on right now. It isn't necessarily about you."
"It is absolutely about me," she protested. Part of her appreciated what he was trying to do, but she wished he wouldn't bother. Certainly no one else was going to. "Why else would she spend her energy levitating an entire bed out the window?"
"Look." He pushed his hand through his hair, in much the same way Geralt did when he got frustrated. They'd grown up together; she wondered which one of them had been the first to develop that particular habit. "I can't say for sure. But I really don't think you have anything to worry about. They're both too wrapped up in making sure Ciri's safe to say anything about it. And, I mean—no, I probably shouldn't tell anyone that. Not my place. Just trust me, you've got nothing to worry about."
"Tell anyone what?" He walked on ahead, refusing to look at her. It took all her energy just to keep up with his long strides. Clearly, he was avoiding something. "What aren't you saying?"
Though his pace didn't slow, she heard his quiet sigh of defeat. He had to know it was better to just tell her; she wouldn't let up otherwise. "Look, I don't know the whole story. I only got the abridged version, and we were all drunk at the time. But back in Skellige, they—well, I'm not exactly sure how it happened, but…his wish—the bond. It's broken."
Triss worried she might break too, when she heard that. It certainly wasn't what she expected, though the logic fell into place immediately. She knew her friend's mind (was that what they still were? Friends?) as well as her own; knew why she would insist after the events of the past two years—she'd probably been looking into it far longer than that, even. Still, understanding the logic buried in their decision didn't make it hurt less.
"And they still…?" she whispered, letting herself trail off. She wasn't ready yet to say it, to confront the truth, even with the walls of Kaer Morhen looming ominously above them, even though the time was fast approaching when she would have to.
For a few minutes they were silent, the only sound the click of her boots on the stone below. "I'm sorry," he said, more than a little uncertainty in his voice. "I know this isn't what you wanted."
"You don't have to be sorry." They stood in front of the doors to the keep, nearly four times her height, and she turned to him as she pushed them open. "I knew it was a lost cause."
~oOo~
She heard her before she saw her. The sound of her voice echoed all the way down the tower, right to where Triss was standing with one foot on the bottom step, and she would've recognized it anywhere. It was ridiculous to be so afraid, she knew, but the idea of facing her now, after all she'd done, made it difficult to breathe. She started the long climb up anyway, because Eskel was giving her a puzzled look and she wasn't in the mood to field off questions.
"All I'm trying to say is I don't see how that is going to help us at all against an army of spectral riders." Triss, halfway up the steps, frowned. The letter had mentioned something about Geralt recruiting other allies, but she still hadn't expected to hear Keira Metz's voice floating down from the top of the tower. She hadn't heard from her in years; she wasn't in Novigrad when the worst of the witch hunts began.
"You don't see it because you don't know what you're up against." Sharp. Cold. Showing more frustration than Triss was used to hearing from her. She wondered how long this argument had been going on before she was around to hear it.
"Do you really believe that or are you just saying that because you don't want any help?"
"I don't need any help. I don't want it either. If I did, I would have asked."
Keira laughed. "You're too proud to admit you don't want me here at all. That it makes you upset I was invited here after—"
"I would not," she said in a low, threatening tone, "finish that sentence if I were you."
Triss had paused near the top of the stairs, counting on the boxes and trunks stacked just beyond the railing to hide her from view as she waited for Keira's reply, but instead she heard someone say her name. In the moment, she was too startled to wonder which one of them had seen her, though she could guess. Looking slightly embarrassed, she finished the climb up the stairs to find Yennefer leaning against a desk right in front of where she had been lurking.
To eyes that knew her well, she looked incredibly disheveled. Her raven hair was tied behind her head, revealing the dark circles under her eyes that she hadn't even bothered to cover with makeup. There were stains on her hands and arms, ink and what Triss thought might be blood. Her velvet choker hung a little too loosely around her neck, and tucked into the front of her trousers was a tunic clearly too large for her. Triss didn't need to ask to know where it came from. Despite all that, she was infuriatingly beautiful.
"Yenna." She almost immediately regretted the alarmed slip of the tongue as she watched her lips press together just the slightest bit more, violet eyes flicking away to stare at something across the room. With some mumbled excuse, Keira left, slipping past Triss, who had frozen in place. She didn't blame her. She wouldn't have wanted to be in the middle of this either.
"I'm sorry," she stuttered as she heard the footsteps retreating. "I didn't mean to—"
"It's all right." She smiled faintly with the corners of her lips, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. She looked tired. Everything about her looked tired. "Old habits."
Silence fell between them, heavy and uncomfortable. Triss stepped farther into the room and looked around. The desk Yennefer leaned on was covered in grimoires, many of which were open or had pages clearly marked. Her personal effects were piled somewhat messily against the wall, next to a makeshift vanity covered in bottles and pots of makeup that looked largely untouched. Next to the fireplace were several sheets of paper covered in her handwriting, pens and inkwells, next to a small dagger and two long metal poles. Even more grimoires lay scattered among them.
There was a large pile of furs and pillows where the bed had once been.
"You certainly didn't waste any time making yourself at home." She couldn't stop a note of bitterness from seeping into her voice, and she knew Yennefer had noticed it, but strangely, she didn't comment.
"Time is not a luxury any of us have right now." She pushed herself upright and crossed the room, unlatching the balcony doors to let in the cold air. Triss wondered if she actually wanted them open or if she was just doing it so she wouldn't have to look at her. "But enough about that. I've been hearing things as of late. About Triss Merigold, who saved all the mages in Novigrad from the witch hunters. Single-handedly, I might add."
She couldn't tell if she was being mocked or not. "That might be exaggerating a bit. I had plenty of help."
"I'm sure you did." Triss hadn't moved at all—where was she to go?—but Yenna was kneeling by the fireplace, leafing through the papers, not even sparing a glance in her direction. His name hung uneasily in the air between them. She knew who had helped. "And how has that worked out for you? You've been offered a court position in Kovir, I assume."
"Yes, actually." She looked out the windows, blushing. It would be no surprise to anyone that the offer had come, or that she was on the verge of accepting it—so why was she saying it like an insult? "Rumor has it you've one as well," she added, emboldened by anger. "In Vizima."
There was no change in her actions as she picked up the blade and started to etch something on one of the rods carefully, but Triss saw her shoulders stiffen. "Yes, that happened after I'd been conveniently captured. Not to mention that it was temporary, to last only until Ciri was found." Her voice became steely and dangerous, her free hand splayed white-knuckled on the stone. "It wasn't exactly my first choice. But it meant protecting the people I care for."
It was a precise blow, and it hit exactly where she'd intended. Triss felt guilt welling up in her chest and did her best to force it back down. Yennefer would have died for them. For him—she already had. But how much was Triss willing to risk? She didn't know, and evidently neither did anyone else.
She heard a sigh, and when she looked back Yennefer was sitting on her heels, pulling the leather band out of her hair and letting it drop to the floor. "We can dispense with the niceties," she said, looking Triss right in the eye in a way that made her immensely uncomfortable. "Allow me to be blunt: I don't want you here. If I had my way, you'd have gone to Kovir and stayed there. But we need your help. It would be foolish not to admit that. Besides…" She was running her fingers along the outline of her star. Her eyes flicked to where the bed had been and back. "You care for her, too."
Triss felt as though her throat had constricted around the large lump in it. She nodded.
"However, until such time as they return and final preparations begin, perhaps it would be for the best if we stay out of each other's way."
There was a threat hidden in those words, and she was quick to latch on to it. The last thing she wanted to do was set her more on edge than she already was. "I'll leave you be until they get back, then."
"Good." She turned back around, and that seemed to be the end of things, but Triss hesitated at the top of the stairs. Even though an untrained eye wouldn't see anything wrong, Triss felt as though she were intruding on someone else's grief. They had known each other too long to forget the tells, and they were all there, staring her in the face. Every muscle in her body was tensed as she worked, pausing occasionally to check what she'd etched with her papers. She was afraid.
"Yenna." Her hand was tight on the balustrade. Yennefer didn't stop working—didn't give any indication that she had heard Triss at all. "They will come back."
After a minute or two of silence aside from the scratching of the knife, she turned to leave. It was only when the room was well out of sight did she hear her, voice drifting down the stairwell despite how softly she spoke. "For all our sakes, I hope you're right."
"…Never said a word, never complained, I know that. Honorable witch. Afterwards, when she killed herself I even felt sorry for 'er…"
"Yennefer's dead?" Triss screamed, so overwhelmed she forgot about the importance of remaining incognito and the secrecy of her mission. "Yennefer of Vengerberg's dead?"
"Aye, she's dead," the fisherwoman said, finishing her beer. "Dead as a doornail. Killed 'erself with her own charms, making magic spells."
-Andrzej Sapkowski, The Tower of Swallows
II.
There was only so much preparation they could do individually, so for the next few days Triss played the waiting game, reading through the notes and spells she'd hastily shoved into a tube before opening the portal. She didn't have any real way to test them, not without the risk of exhausting herself or setting the surrounding forest aflame. She was at a stalemate. Most of her time was spent in the laboratory enchanting amulets to give their allies, though she stayed far away from where Vesemir was brewing potions. The number of people in the keep increased steadily—she was surprised by how many people Geralt had managed to gather. Perhaps, she started to think, they had a shot at winning this after all.
The only time all of them were in the same room was for meals—with one notable exception. On her second full day there, everyone had gathered on the highest balcony to watch Yennefer test the metal rods, which turned out to be conduits for a ward that she would extend with her own power to cover all of Kaer Morhen. When the Hunt tried to teleport in, they'd be redirected and forced to land in the woods outside. It was an impressive plan, Triss had to admit, and she applauded in awe with the rest of them when she saw how spectacularly they worked, but she couldn't help the worry that settled in the back of her mind. To keep the ward up for the duration of the battle would take an immense amount of power—and turn her into a sitting duck at that. If any of them managed to get to her…she didn't want to think about it. She tried not to, but the fear consumed her resting thoughts.
Yennefer stored them safely just inside the balcony doors, snapping at anyone who dared try to help her, and then she took to pacing on one of the lower walkways overlooking the courtyards. As if by mutual agreement nearly everyone left her alone, and for two days Triss only saw her during meals, and sometimes not even then. The rest of them stayed inside, still working, and if anyone had any thoughts about her decided lack of helpfulness, they kept it to themselves.
On the third day, things changed.
Triss was sitting in the main chamber, looking over the amulets one last time, when she heard the noise. The only thing she could compare it to was a portal opening, but that was ridiculous—who else would be opening a portal here? Hadn't everyone already arrived? She paused in her examination, setting the amulets down as she tried to listen closer. A few moments later, she heard a loud, vaguely familiar laugh. She wasn't able to place it until she heard another voice right after.
"Ciri!"
Laughter. Yennefer was laughing. Triss didn't think she'd ever heard such unfiltered joy in her voice—if she didn't know better, she'd say she was on the verge of tears. She stood quickly, noticing others were looking towards the sound as well, but she was preoccupied with something else—Ciri was back, and she was incredibly happy about that, but with her…
She forced the thoughts away. That's not what's important right now. I'm going to go out and see Ciri, who is finally back and safe. I'm not even going to react to him. Them. Not at all. And she continued to think that, right up until she actually entered the courtyard and saw them kiss.
It shouldn't matter, she repeated to herself as she greeted Ciri, who had grown even taller than her after all these years. Even so, she was still watching them—how Geralt, who initially seemed surprised, had rested a hand on her waist, how she dug her fingertips into his shoulders as though she would never let them be separated again. She probably wouldn't, after all they'd been through. He looked slightly embarrassed when she pulled back, but Triss saw how it took his hand just a second too long to leave her body.
"They're all here," Vesemir said to Geralt as she and Ciri pulled away from each other. "Everyone you asked for help. Avallac'h's resting in the tower—still in pretty bad shape." Triss had only seen the elven sage once, when he was being moved up there. She wondered how he'd liked temporarily sharing quarters with Yennefer, especially considering the tower's current lack of a bed. "No reason to do it out here. Come inside."
Ciri followed him in eagerly and Triss hesitated, torn. She wanted to speak to Geralt, but Yennefer was standing right there as he looked back and forth between them. "Damn, it's good to see you," he said finally. She had a feeling he wasn't speaking to her.
"I—" She could feel she wasn't wanted there, at least by one of them, but the time to slip away unobtrusively had passed. "Maybe I'll give you two a moment."
"Triss, please…" There was a look on Yennefer's face she didn't recognize, an odd mixture of joy and guilt. She'd never known her to feel guilty about anything. She probably just thought Triss was being obnoxious.
"No, no." The words hurt coming out of her mouth. "You must've missed each other terribly. A minute's delay won't hurt anyone."
She didn't respond again, just glanced over at Geralt. There was an aura of uncomfortableness practically radiating off him. "Fine," he said after a few seconds of the heaviest silence Triss had ever experienced. "So a minute, then we go, all right?"
Triss nodded—it was all she could manage to do—and turned away, trying to block out the quiet conversation that had started up behind her. A minute, she thought. Then they'll push it aside for Ciri's sake. That's what I have to do, too. I don't have any other choice.
~oOo~
Forgetting about her lingering feelings for Geralt of Rivia proved to be surprisingly easy during the heat of combat. There was no room to think about it as she took down warrior after warrior in flames. It didn't even cross her mind when he came to her aid, cutting down as many in a few minutes with his lightning-quick reflexes as she'd managed to the whole time. They were getting pushed back further and further and it was clear they'd have to retreat soon. But she hadn't yet exhausted her strength and the ward still shimmered in the sky. She hoped things were faring this well throughout the keep.
"You alright?" Geralt asked as he dispatched another hound in a manner that looked completely effortless.
"Yes, thanks," she gasped, still short of breath. "Things were looking shaky."
"We had to fall back," Vesemir said from behind him. The whole exchange seemed eerily calm, though she could hear steel clashing against steel in other parts of the keep. "They tried to get through the main gate. I'm afraid they could succeed next time."
It was getting harder and harder to keep the fire simmering in her palm. She glanced up to where Ciri stood above the gate. Alone. "What's with Eskel?" she yelled. "We have to retreat!"
"He's in trouble!" Ciri called back, sword unsheathed, already in a fighting stance. "I'm going to help him!"
"Remember the stone I gave you!" If she had to use that stone, it would sap a great deal of her energy, but she left that part out. She was the last person any of them should be worried about. Ciri nodded and ran off.
A few moments later, a loud terrible horn sounded, echoing through the keep. The number of warriors who had managed to get in through navigator portals in seemed to have lessened significantly, but she couldn't let that fool her into thinking the battle was won. She could still hear fighting beyond the gate. The thought of Eskel and Ciri in there, battling who-knows-what, made her chest tighten. It seemed her fear had been for nothing, though, because soon after the gate creaked open, clearing the path for their retreat.
It was a blur of fighting after that. She remembered only vague snippets—dimeritium bombs exploding around her, Vesemir shouting "We have to fall back! Yennefer's strength is waning!", the spark of terror every time one of them swung their swords at Geralt or Ciri. Throughout all this, she remained determined not to look up; if she checked on the ward it would only make her worry more. She managed to make it to the last courtyard before the main keep when the banging on the gates started.
There was frost covering the doors, spreading from the center outward where they weakened with every blow. She knew what was behind them and she didn't give herself time to think—she ran to one of the keep's side doors and slipped inside, slamming it shut behind her. She was alone now, in a dark storage room, the walls and ceiling riddled with enough cracks that she could still see outside, and send spells through them if that was what it came to. She needed to breathe, needed to do something about the cuts on her arms and rekindle her flames before she could go back out there and—
The gates burst open. A flurry of wind and ice blew into the courtyard, and Triss jumped back from the walls as it rushed by, leaving frost on the gaps and chilling her to the bone. Above her, through one of the larger holes in the ceiling, she saw the ward that had encircled them flicker and die out.
She swore quietly to herself as she looked around the eerily silent room, conjuring a flame in her palm that was no bigger than one of her fingers. There were nightmarish armored footsteps coming from outside and she wasn't going to be of any use out there now; she doubted the strength she had left and she would be no good in close combat. But, she thought as she looked up at the darkly clouded sky, she knew how to heal. Perhaps she could do something here.
So she ran, giving little heed to the noise she made, pushing with all she could muster. Through dusty hallways and up side staircases, keeping to the edges of the fortress in the hopes that the Hunt didn't care enough to come after her. The balcony where the conduits had been placed was on the highest level and by the time she reached it she was again out of breath and her entire body ached, but that didn't stop a pained gasp from leaving her lips when she pushed the doors open.
Yennefer had collapsed on her stomach and was laying on the stone in a very unsettling, steadily growing pool of her own blood. The rods she'd used to amplify the spell were blackened and burned out. Triss could see no trace of the runes she'd carefully spent days inscribing. She nearly tripped over herself kneeling down next to her, quickly finding the source of the blood—a gash on her forehead from where she had hit the ground. Healing spells under heavy duress weren't exactly Triss's specialty, but this she could handle.
She turned Yennefer over carefully, trying not to cover either of them with the blood—though by this point it was hard not to—and rested her hands on her forehead, chanting under her breath and muttering between the incantations. She heard the commotion below—swords clashing, the distinct sound of magic she'd learned to recognize after all these years—but she couldn't let it distract her. There was nothing she could do about it now.
Just when she thought she wouldn't be able to keep it up much longer, Yennefer's violet eyes fluttered open, and she sighed in relief. The wound, she confirmed after lifting her hands, had closed up, leaving only semi-congealed blood in its wake, so she let the power stop flowing through her fingertips and slumped down next to her. Suddenly being unconscious didn't sound so bad. "Triss?" Yennefer looked a little dazed and confused, especially after seeing the blood on Triss's hands. She looked up at the conduits she'd spent so much time on, and away quickly. "What—?"
A loud, pained cry echoed from below them. Ciri. Yennefer tried to sit up immediately, but Triss threw an arm across her torso, and she was weak enough that it kept her down, though she didn't stop struggling.
It went on like that until the screaming began.
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, "Good fences make good neighbours."
-Robert Frost, "Mending Wall"
III.
There wasn't a single one of them that wasn't injured, and it fell mostly to Triss to take care of them. Keira was no good at healing anything and Yennefer was outside with Ciri and Geralt. And Vesemir—or what was left of him. The funeral arrangements were already being made, the pyre being built. It would take place in the morning, after everyone had a chance to rest.
The whole keep was eerily silent as everyone was healed or healed themselves and drifted off into their separate rooms, lost in individual grief. Triss herself was still in shock, still couldn't feel anything besides emptiness. It was too much to process all at once—so she simply ignored it until everyone else was gone, as she'd been doing far too much recently, and she was left with no company but her own thoughts.
Devoid of anything productive to do, she wandered the halls like a ghost, careful not to make too much noise. Every echo of her own footsteps off the stone startled her, and she felt she was suffocating under the weight of it. Despite the constantly freezing weather, she thought, being outside would be better than in, so without giving herself too much time to second-guess the decision, she ducked onto the nearest walkway.
The biting wind hit her head-on, and she wrapped her arms around herself tightly, wishing she'd put on more layers first. Once she found a secluded corner to sit in, she could conjure a fire—but sheltered places to sit were few and far between, so she ended up walking the balconies for nearly half an hour, trying not to concentrate too much on how her fingers were going numb. Soon she couldn't take it anymore and she slipped back inside, hoping one of the higher walkways along the towers would provide better shelter against the cold. In truth, she should've had the foresight to bring heavier clothes than what she'd left Kovir in, but at the time she hadn't been thinking about much of anything.
She hadn't intended to climb all the way up, but that was where she found herself, staring at the doors anxiously for the second time that day. She wondered if anyone had cleaned up—removed the burned-out conduits, scrubbed the blood from the stones. Pushing the door open revealed that yes, someone had, though recently; she could still see water glistening in the moonlight where she stepped. She hadn't thought anyone else was awake, except perhaps Geralt and Ciri, keeping vigil in the courtyard. But if they were down there, who was up here?
The question answered itself almost as soon as she asked it. Triss saw the bucket first—probably full of red, soapy water, only a few inches away from the tips of her boots. The broken conduits had been leaned up against the wall in shadow, as if the person who put them there didn't want to look at them. And Yennefer sat on the ground not far past that, staring at the horizon, knees pulled up to her chest. Her hands were damp and shaking slightly, and when it wasn't tucked in, the tunic that wasn't hers pooled under her. It would've fallen nearly to her knees if she stood. She hadn't moved, but she had to know Triss was there—the doors had closed too loudly behind her for her not to notice.
She knew she shouldn't be there. She knew this was a moment Yennefer hadn't intended anyone else to see. But to leave after what happened a few hours before seemed somehow…wrong.
So she sat down next to her, mimicking her posture and conjuring a small flame in her hand to warm herself. After a moment she offered her hand to Yenna, who was probably freezing but would never admit to it. She didn't look at her, but following a brief hesitation she touched the edge of her hand to Triss's. Her still-damp skin was like ice, but that didn't deter the fire that danced onto her palm. She closed her fingers around it, shifting it carefully between her hands.
Even though Triss had expected to be ignored outright, and was in no way unprepared for what was happening, she still felt uncomfortable. She'd never been good with silence—well, except in a few specific situations. "How's your forehead?" she asked when it became too much for her to handle.
She glanced over as if surprised Triss was even attempting a conversation, but pressed a hand to what remained of the gash nonetheless. "I'll survive, I think," she replied dryly. If she'd been able to feel her face in this weather, she was sure it would've flushed. "You healed it well."
The corner of her lips turned up in what might have been a smile as Triss turned to look at her incredulously. "Is that so hard to believe?"
"No." She hesitated, unsure if she should even be bringing it up, but impulse control had never been her strong suit and besides, they were both thinking it. "You saying nice things to me is."
The almost-grin dropped as quickly as it had appeared. They were still facing each other, but there was no eye contact. Yennefer looked distantly at something just above Triss's left shoulder. "You haven't given me much cause to say them."
She couldn't exactly deny that. It was obvious she hadn't been the best of friends—actually, that was a massive understatement. "If I apologized, would it make things even a little better?"
"No. I daresay it would make them worse."
The wind whistled bitterly above their heads, matching the tone of her voice. Yennefer had shifted just the slightest bit farther away from her. She was at a loss for words—of course, she hadn't expected anything less. Being around her always did seem to render people speechless.
"You said something earlier," she said suddenly, eyes shielded by a cascade of inky curls as her hand went to her neck, fiddling with her star, "in the middle of that spell. About that not being the first time you'd thought I died."
"Oh." She laughed a little, somewhat embarrassed. Truth be told, she barely even remembered half the things she said between incantations. She rarely did. "Well, it's true. There was a rumor a while ago that you'd—well, I heard it in a tavern in Skellige, so you probably know what I'm talking about." Yennefer grimaced. Clearly, she remembered. "The other time…well, you did die. Or everyone thought you did."
She saw her grief all too vividly in the way she bit her lip and turned away, both of them, for once, on the same terrible page. "If I had known," Triss said, her voice barely scratching above a whisper, "that you were alive, Yenna, I wouldn't have done it. I swear I wouldn't have—"
"It doesn't matter now," she snapped. Her voice was sharp, and her fingers dug into her legs, the flame in her palm extinguished. "It doesn't matter now." The second one was murmured softly, like she was trying to convince herself and not Triss.
She waited a few minutes for them both to calm down before she braved another topic, though by all accounts this would be easier than what had just transpired. "What are we supposed to do now?"
Even Triss herself wasn't sure if she meant the two of them or the whole group, but it seemed Yennefer had an answer regardless. If she had been surprised at the nickname that had just slipped out of Triss's mouth yet again, she didn't show it. "We can't risk another fight like this," she replied, somewhat dejectedly. "We need the help of other mages."
"I was afraid you would say that." Much as she hated to admit it, Yenna was right. If she attempted anything on this large a scale by herself again, it could very well mean her life, not to mention what it would do to the rest of them. Ciri would be devastated if she died, and Geralt—she didn't even want to think about how he would be affected. "We have to find what's left of the Lodge."
"Yes." There was bitterness in her voice. Triss didn't blame her. "We do."
She stood suddenly and began pacing, a sure sign that she was planning something complicated. She never could sit still when she was thinking. Triss watched from her seat on the ground, exposing the fire in her hands to the frigid air so she could see. It didn't help much. "Triss," she said, turning to face her as she leaned precariously against the railing. Triss had been right about the length of the tunic on her, though she pulled it off better than anyone else could. "We have to stop this—whatever it is. It would be far more efficient if we did this together."
"Right." She had seen this coming a mile away, had planned on bringing it up herself it Yenna hadn't. Yennefer would do anything for Geralt and Ciri, even if it meant working alongside someone she hated. She unfolded her legs and stood to be at her eye level, resisting the impulse to grab the wall when she nearly stumbled. "And we can't do that at each other's throats." Yennefer nodded. She was staring at the conduits a few feet away from them. Her hands were tight on her arms. "We get this done. Take down the Hunt. Then we can finally have our separate lives."
Her mouth turned up in another close-lipped smile. After a few moments she sank back down to the cold stone, her energy sapped, looking at where a column of smoke curled up from the courtyard below. "There's nothing I'd like more."
Triss dared not say it out loud, but she didn't want them to part. And not just because of Geralt—seeing him would be more painful than anything else, especially now. She missed her friend, missed how close they had been. She knew they'd never get that closeness back, that what she'd done had ensured that; still, it ached to let it go.
"So," she began as she sat down, recrossing her legs. After a moment's thought, she removed her mantlet and spread it over the ground, inching the fire onto it. It wouldn't hurt anything—all her clothing had been fireproofed—and dammit, if Geralt and Ciri were going to keep vigil all night in the courtyard, so was she. "Eskel told me something interesting on my way here." Yennefer raised an eyebrow. The light accentuated the hollows of her cheekbones, and Triss wondered just how long she had spent working on that ward, how many hours of sleep she'd lost. "About you, Geralt, and yet another djinn."
For the first time since she'd arrived, Yenna looked genuinely taken aback. "Triss," she said in the same tone she'd used in the courtyard, "you don't want to hear about that—"
"But I do," she pressed, leaning forward so the flames would throw her features into greater relief. "I wouldn't ask if I didn't mean it. It—it's hard. There's no point lying; you'd see right through me. But I'm happy you're happy. I really am."
She seemed suspicious, and she was right to be. If it had been Geralt she wouldn't even be able to have this conversation, but something about her old friend had taken the edge off it, surprisingly. Triss hoped her face didn't show any of her grief. It wasn't important now. She could deal with it later. In Kovir. Alone.
"Oh, all right," Yennefer said after the longest minute of Triss's life. She still seemed reluctant, but her face had already taken on the expression it normally did when she talked about Geralt. She recognized it all too well from the first time, several months after she'd left Rinde. Triss envied that joy dearly. She couldn't help it. She still loved them both, and she was going to lose them soon, no matter the outcome of this fight. "If we're going to be here all night…I suppose it wouldn't hurt."