Chapter One
Renzin barely opened one eye, reluctant to stir from beneath her warm furs. Two floors down, someone was at the door of the castle. She expected one of two things would occur shortly: either her manservant would come rushing to her chamber with news of the visitor, or the visitor had ill intentions and her manservant would be slaughtered. Renzin groaned in her throat at the inevitability of being disturbed. She flung back the heavy furs and stood up out of bed, donning a silken robe.
Outside the windows lightning flickered followed by a rumble and crack of thunder. The rhythmic hum of the rain beat loudly against the sides of the castle. Footsteps grew nearer and Renzin's manservant appeared at the doorway of her chamber with a lantern, pushing through the fabrics that hung there. "Forgive me mistress, I bade him return at sunrise but he was insistent and carries a missive from the emperor…" He trailed off as a tall, broad-shouldered man entered the room behind him. The visitor's bone white hair was pasted against his head and his leather and mail armor dripped profusely, already forming a pool of rainwater at his feet. Two hilts glinted over his shoulder. He stood stiffly and flicked his arms, scattering droplets of water on the stone floor.
"Geralt of Rivia," Renzin stated calmly.
The visitor raised his eyebrows. "Have we met, my lady?"
Renzin smiled. "No, witcher, though it should hardly surprise you when strangers recognize who you are."
"Suppose you're right," Geralt said. He held out a rolled parchment with a wax seal. "Apologies for disturbing you at this hour my lady, but this is a matter of urgency and the emperor informed me you could help."
Renzin's manservant took the parchment and walked across the room to hand it to her. Renzin snapped the seal and unrolled the document. She skimmed it briefly and handed it back. "So, Emhyr thinks I can help you find his daughter. Well, I am certainly willing to aid you but not at this devil's hour in the midst of a thunderstorm." She gestured to the manservant. "Argo, prepare a room for him. The witcher will be our guest until our business concludes."
"At once, mistress." Argo nodded his head and stepped briskly out of the chamber.
Geralt pursed his lips. "Ah, my lady—"
"Yes, yes, I know, it is a matter of urgency," Renzin interrupted, as she lit a brazier near her bed. "Believe me, I'll be of much use to you." She scanned his soaked armor with some disdain. "But right now, you need to dry yourself. Your room won't be ready yet so you may place your items on that bench by the brazier. I'll find you a towel."
Geralt's gaze followed her as she padded over to a large armoire. Unusual woman, he thought. At the borders of her floral silk robe he could see dark patterns covering every inch of her sand-colored skin, cryptic, ritualistic patterns, stopping just beneath her jawline. The light of the fire glinted off her cascade of straight black hair.
Geralt unbuckled the leather straps crisscrossing his chest and reached behind as his swords loosened from his back. He wrapped the straps around his swords and placed them on the wide stone bench beside the burning brazier. The effects of the long, arduous ride to this castle were starting to catch up to him and the dull pain in his muscles caused him to groan under his breath. He unbuckled both sides of his pauldrons and let the panels of leather and mail slide to the floor. With some difficulty he pulled the rest of the armor over his head and dropped it beside his swords, followed by his quilted gambeson. He kicked his heavy boots off without sitting and peeled his soaked trousers from his pale skin.
Renzin stood near him with a large towel in hand, observing the way the shadows danced off this man's multitude of scars. She glanced over his golden cat's eyes, almost glowing in the dim light. When he had slipped off his leather gloves she handed him the towel. "So what did Emhyr tell you about me?" she asked as he brusquely dried himself.
Geralt smirked. "Couldn't bear to reveal much my lady, as is his way." He draped the towel over his shoulders and crossed his arms, relishing the warmth of the fire. "Told me you're known as Renzin the Eye and you have certain abilities that would help put me on Ciri's trail. Also informed me you were invaluable to him. His exact words." Geralt raised his chin inquisitively. "So what is it that makes you the treasure of an emperor, my lady?"
Renzin looked Geralt square in the face. "I'm a true clairvoyant," she said, and the corner of her mouth curled slyly.
Geralt stared directly into her piercing gaze for the first time since he'd arrived, her left eye dark and smoky and her right eye deep green like an emerald. Better watch myself, he thought.
Renzin's long almond eyes widened in amusement. "Don't trouble yourself my dear witcher, there's no use. I'm not a sorceress casting a spell that you can fend off from your mental fortress. My ability is inborn, and if I so choose I can see your every intent, emotion and machination. True clairvoyance delves much deeper than a mere incantation."
Geralt furrowed his brow. "Doesn't it get tiring, your fingers in other people's lives all the time?"
"It would if I had to listen all the time," she replied, and laughed darkly. "In fact, it would drive me insane. The rituals of my people's magi have granted me immense control over the ability, however. At the small cost of looking like a human scripture." She held out her hand and looked down at it, dark runes spiralling toward her fingertips. She looked back up and her gaze flitted over the lean, rocky terrain of the witcher's musculature, honed by decades of swordplay.
Geralt felt her inexorable focus hungrily absorbing elements of his body, his face, his stance, probably laying bare his mind's contents. "Forgive me my lady, but what advantage does an emperor gain keeping you close instead of a magic user with an arsenal of different spells for different situations?" he asked. Besides that strange beauty, he thought.
Renzin laughed heartily and clasped Geralt's arm for a moment. "Oh my dear witcher, you see, unlike most sorceresses I have no political ambitions whatsoever. If I wanted I could have Emhyr's seat quite easily, but to be honest it really doesn't interest me. For me the inner lives of others are like an ever-changing play, and I absolutely adore my front row seat. Hence the company I choose to keep is necessarily quite interesting, to say the least."
A sense of mild embarrassment crept through Geralt which felt quite foreign to him. He wanted to laugh at himself. There was no way to know whether Renzin was probing at the moment but he felt strangely abashed that she may know how quickly he had started slathering over her in his mind like some starved dog. The true witcher's path, he thought, fucking, fighting, and fortune-seeking. In that order. This time he did laugh aloud. "Never encountered anyone like you," he told her, in a tone she could tell was genuine.
"And I myself can say I have met a few witchers over the years but never one so storied as the fabled Geralt of Rivia. The bards have done you justice." Renzin smirked and said lowly, "Seems a pleasure, really, to have awoken from my slumber for such a man."
Footsteps echoed from outside the chamber doorway. Argo stepped in and nodded briskly. "My lady, Master Geralt's room is prepared. Shall I escort him there now?"
Geralt turned to collect his things from the stone bench. Renzin watched him and the corner of her lip curled. "Not just yet, Argo," she said, her eyes never leaving Geralt. "The witcher and I have not concluded the night's business."
Argo nodded once more, turned on his heel and exited briskly.
Geralt raised an eyebrow and looked over at Renzin. The firelight illuminated the curves barely hiding beneath the silk of her robe, the suggestion of slopes and crevasses pushing through the loose fabric. He felt a familiar stirring throughout his body.
"I hope you're not too exhausted from your ride through the storm," Renzin said huskily, meeting Geralt's gaze with a bemused expression.
"A witcher's stamina is not easily depleted, my lady," Geralt replied and stepped toward her, close enough to smell the warm perfume of her skin, her hair. He grinned wolfishly. "Perhaps a silly question but, read what I'm thinking right now?"
Renzin's slight smile widened, her claret lips curling back from her teeth. "Of course, Geralt. And in a rare instance, I'm sure you know what I'm thinking as well."
Geralt reached out and abruptly pulled her against him, letting the towel slide from his shoulders. Renzin could feel the hard throb of his cock against her pelvis, his hot breath. His scent was musky and tinged with dirt and grass, a man of the outdoors. There was also the faint metallic trace of blood that all who kill for a living carry with them, which she did not find unpleasant. He was only about a hand taller than her so she leaned her head back slightly and kissed him with an open mouth, reaching her arms around his neck and shoulders.
Geralt massaged her tongue with his and nipped at her lips. He ran his calloused hands over the small of her back and the curve of her ass, enjoying the exploration of this terrain. He reached under and squeezed hard, the flesh feeling substantial in his hand and supple to the touch. He growled low in his throat. Sliding his hands over her hips and never taking his mouth from hers, he pulled on the tie of Renzin's robe, letting the loose knot undo itself. Geralt reached in and grabbed her ass again but this time he could feel the soft warmth of her skin against his.
The witcher's hands were rough as unpolished stone and gave Renzin a delightful tingling sensation as they traversed her skin. She freed her mouth from his, wet with saliva, and looked down with amusement as she reached a hand into his undergarment. What she gripped there was thick and firm, velvety and pulsing with blood. She held it tightly for a moment, then gently ran her palm up the shaft and over the tip. Geralt inhaled sharply through his teeth and gave her a roguish grin. He bent down and kicked off his undergarment, standing stark and naked in the firelight with his erect cock pointing like a ship's bow.
Geralt looked inside Renzin's open robe and consumed the sight of her lightly muscled torso, the heavy teardrops of her breasts. Those dark patterns that covered her skin thinned to a few swirling lines over her bosom and became crowded with runes again near her collarbone. He put a hand on her back and wrapped his mouth over one dark nipple, simultaneously guiding her hand back to his loins.
"Mm," Renzin said and closed her eyes, tilting her head back. She pulled firmly on his cock while entwining her other hand in his thick white hair. She laughed suddenly and said in a droll voice, "Geralt of Rivia, famed plougher of sorceresses and all manner of women from Skellige to the Blue Mountains."
Geralt looked up at her. "Seems so," he said. "Hope to show you what all the fuss is about." He reached under her bottom and picked her up with one leg on either side of his torso. Renzin let out a small yelp and laughed as he dropped her unceremoniously onto the bed.
Kneeling, Geralt licked the length of her inner thigh and rubbed his face against her like a cat. He studied for a moment the dark folds where her legs met, then pushed his mouth in vigorously and laid his warm tongue over and over on the tender mound at the top. Renzin moaned loudly and arched her back. Her heavy breasts quivered as she writhed and clenched Geralt's hair. Her vocalisations steadily grew more urgent until she abruptly pulled his head up and leaned off the bed towards him. "Will you fuck me, witcher?" she breathed raggedly.
"I'll fuck you, you fucking…" Geralt growled, the last syllable trailing to a low rumble in his throat. He pulled her to the edge of the bed with her legs in the air. Grasping his thick cock, he rubbed the head firmly along her warm, moist folds and let it push itself in. Soft flesh enveloped his shaft and he groaned almost painfully. He started thrusting slowly but quickened his pace almost immediately. His thighs were slapping against her ass and Renzin moaned ardently like she was being beaten. He grabbed at her shuddering breasts and pulled the nipples lightly, feeling completely intoxicated. No witcher's potion or fisstech could give him this kind of euphoria.
Eventually Renzin flipped over and crawled up the bed. She grasped the ornate headboard with both hands, breathing heavily. Geralt embraced her from behind and fervently groped her breasts, her neck, rubbing between her legs. He drove his engorged cock inside her, swiftly pushing it as deep as it would go. Their impassioned cries echoed through Renzin's stone-walled chamber until presently, Geralt wrapped his large hand around her throat and pulled her head back until their cheeks were pressed against each other. Still thrusting urgently, he said in a low voice, "Tell me."
"Will you come for me?" Renzin gasped, Geralt's hand pushing on her throat. She felt like she was floating outside her mind. Her entire body was warm and weightless.
"Mm-hm," Geralt murmured, pushing harder and faster. The slaps of their skin was as rhythmic as the rain still falling outside the castle.
"Strike your blow," Renzin whispered, "come for me, witcher. Show me what a slayer of men and beasts can do—"
"Augh!" Geralt shouted and agilely yanked his cock out, flicking spurts of warm fluid over Renzin's pert rump. His body shuddered a few times and he collapsed onto his back, his cock still firm and twitching. Renzin panted and let herself fall face-first into the pillows. Geralt reached for her perspiration-covered body and pulled her onto his heaving chest. He kissed her vigorously and tasted salt on her tongue.
Renzin laid her head down on him and listened as his strong heartbeat slowed from its heightened pace. "Probably not what you were expecting when Emhyr sent you here," she said with a sleepy-eyed grin.
Geralt found himself struggling to come to his senses. There was always that dazed moment afterward but this was different. He felt as if he had ploughed the sky and shot forth the seas from his loins. This woman had used every angle to its best advantage. Each movement of her muscles was exactly in sync with his desires. Even bedding a sorceress was nothing like this. "You… just knew…" he choked out hoarsely as he continuously ran his hand over her moist skin, applying pressure here and there, trying to absorb more of whatever toxin she had poisoned him with.
"Knowing another's mind is a powerful thing in more ways than one," Renzin told him. She pulled the heavy furs over them and coaxed Geralt's body close to hers. "Sleep now, witcher. Tomorrow you may find out all you need to know."
When Geralt awoke he instantly felt more rested than he had been in a long while. Warm sunlight was beaming through the windows and when he looked to his left, it glinted off of sand-colored skin with dark patterns snaking through it. Renzin was sitting up in bed, still quite naked and poring over a yellowed tome. "Thought I'd wake and you'd have my soul in a bottle or something," Geralt said, rolling on his side to face her.
Renzin laughed and closed her book over. "Oh come now Geralt," she chided, "what on earth would I do with a witcher's soul, of all things?" She placed both hands on the sides of his face and scanned his placid expression, her emerald green eye flitting from feature to feature. Turning, she stood up out of bed, threw her silk robe on and sauntered toward the far corner where a steaming bath had been drawn.
Geralt admired her in the morning light briefly, then pulled himself up off the bed and stretched his still-aching muscles. He went over to the stone bench and examined his items which had all dried thoroughly. He pulled on just his trousers, not bothering to tighten the lacing at the crotch. "Manservant won't be offended that he made up my bed for naught?" he asked as he wandered toward where Renzin was bathing.
"Argo is the height of discretion," Renzin replied from the round wooden tub, "and he knows his mistress's tastes."
Geralt peered around the ornate partition separating the bathing area from the rest of the room. Renzin was sponging herself delicately, squeezing the soapy water out and letting it run down her shoulders. She had her eyes closed and the mounds of her breasts could just be seen peeking above the surface of the liquid. The bathwater smelled of fragrant tree bark and chrysanthemum. Geralt felt a growing tug at the undone laces of his trousers and exhaled gruffly. He reached out a hand and started stroking the back of Renzin's wet hair. His heightened senses told him someone was coming up the stairs but he didn't care.
Suddenly, the someone cleared their throat. Geralt's hand snapped back to his side and he turned to the doorway. Argo stood there with a large silver tray loaded with pastries, cheese and fruit. "Apologies for intruding, Master Geralt. I merely bring the morning's repast," he said with what Geralt assumed to be a well-practiced expression of neutrality.
"Thank you, Argo," Renzin called from the tub. "Towel, please."
Argo placed the food on a nearby side table. He picked up the folded towel from beside the tub and held it open as Renzin stepped out. Once she had wrapped herself he nodded sharply and left the chamber.
Renzin stepped around the partition and seated herself at the side table. "Well, are you going to join me or would you rather drink the bathwater?" she asked.
"Some men may jump at the opportunity," Geralt mused as he sat down opposite Renzin. "Curious to know more about you. Your accent, your face. Not sure I can even guess where you're from."
Renzin was mashing berries onto hunks of crusty bread. "It's very doubtful you'd know of my homeland," she told him between bites. "It's not on most of the maps I've seen around here. If you go south through Nilfgaard, and then very far east, you would still not be there."
Geralt wracked his brain. "Hakland?" he ventured.
Renzin laughed, reflexively covering her mouth with the back of her hand. "Not quite, my dear Geralt, I think you are pointed in the wrong direction. Using Zerrikania as a reference point, you can say I was born somewhere east of where even their people care not to venture."
"Far from home," Geralt commented. "Many like you in your homeland?"
"No," Renzin replied, "I am the only I know of. The magi have said one with power of my level and the strength to control it is only born every hundred generations, give or take." She thought for a moment then added, "The process is similar to what I've read of your witcher's trials."
Geralt raised his brow in interest. "Please, go on."
"As a young child, it was discovered that I had the clairvoyance," Renzin continued. "It had already started bothering me at that time. I couldn't understand why there was never silence in my head, why others' tragedies would bring me such great despair as well. The magi laid me under a moonless night and covered me with salt and oil."
Renzin's bi-colored eyes were glazed and seemed to be focusing on nothing at all. "As soon as their chanting began, every part of my skin started to burn with the fire of a thousand hells and the cold sear of the White Frost. I screamed my little throat ragged and they chanted their words until sunrise. When they washed me, I saw that my body had become covered in these patterns and runes you see now. But, the world was silent unless I reached out to hear more."
Geralt stared intently at her face in the sunlight and could see that it too was covered in strange linear markings, albeit very faint. "I'm sorry," he managed, unsure of what else to say.
Renzin shook her head and returned to her food. "Don't be, you of all people can understand what it is to endure something like that. I'm sure you believe me when I say, I know exactly what it is you went through." She placed a hand in his calloused palm and he squeezed it for a moment.
Standing up, Renzin stepped over cheerfully behind Geralt and placed both hands on his shoulders. "Well, enough with these tales of woe, wouldn't you say? I believe we have matters most urgent to investigate."
