Chapter Two
Guess Who's Coming to Dinner

The Duchy of Toussaint had always seemed straight out of a fairy tale. A palace of exquisite elven architecture loomed large over the landscape, outshining various old strongholds that dotted the foothills of Mount Gorgon by several orders of magnitude, a shining jewel resting atop the city of Beauclair.

The surrounding countryside was no less beautiful, and was protected by wandering warriors known as knights errant, defenders of justice and order who were bound by sacred tradition and always talked like they were auditioning for some outlandish stage production.

A circle of green light appeared in front of the Corvo Bianco vineyard a little after midnight, then dissipated, leaving two women and their corresponding horses in its wake. Ciri had heard something about Geralt finally settling down here, but hadn't yet visited herself.

"Whoa!" shouted Mistle, as both the horses whinnied in panic. "What the hell was that?"

"Teleportation," Ciri answered. "I told you I can travel anywhere I want."

"So why ride around on a horse?"

"Well, I need to know where I'm going, and I can't carry all my things on my own. Also, doing it creates quite a disturbance, which until recently the Wild Hunt was able to track."

"But you don't have to worry about that anymore?"

She smiled and shook her head.

"So this is Toussaint?"

"Yes."

"It's beautiful."

The city of Beauclair was close enough for her to see the holes in its fairy tale façade, as well as the construction efforts aimed at repairing that image. Everybody was, understandably, asleep, and Ciri felt a little tired herself. She unpacked her bedroll from the saddle of her horse and chose a spot in front of the vineyard, after leading the horses into the stable currently occupied by what she assumed was the current Roach.

"Fancy place," said Mistle, setting her bedroll down right next to Ciri's. They hadn't brought a tent, but the night was clear enough that they didn't need one.

"I agree," she replied, lying down under the stars. "Somehow I hadn't pictured Geralt settling down here."

"Who is he?"

"It's complicated," said Ciri. "But I guess you could say he's my father by choice."

"Not fond of your real father?"

"An understatement." She cuddled closer to the other woman. "Geralt's been there for me a long time. We're bonded by destiny."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

They lay there like that for a few minutes, waiting for sleep to claim them. Then Ciri heard footsteps approaching, and her hand went instinctively to her sword.

"You know," said the approaching figure, "we do have a guest room."

She released the sword and laughed, then sat up. "Yennefer!"

Yennefer of Vengerberg, clad in a black silk nightgown, looking perfect as ever, glared at Ciri with her eyes even as she was unable to stop her mouth from smiling. "Do you have any idea how much racket you create when you teleport that close to someone tuned to magic? It's a good thing I like you."

She stood up and embraced the sorceress, who returned the hug. "It's good to see you again."

"Good to see you too, little Swallow. How's the Path working out for you?"

"It has its ups and downs." She frowned. "Currently down."

"I'm sorry to hear that. And who's this?"

"That's Mistle. Mistle, this is Yennefer of Vengerberg."

"Mistle," said Yennefer, ponderously. "Little Waxwing. Two birds in my bushes."

"Is Geralt awake?"

"He's not here, actually. Hunting down some Archespore infestation in one of the other vineyards. He said he'd be back by morning."

Ciri smiled. "He can't even retire properly."

"There's hope for him yet. I suspect he wants to purchase me something nice and is earning the money the only way he knows how."

"I'm sure it'll be wonderful."

"Indeed. Well, let's not stay out here. I was serious about the guest room. I'll wake the majordomo and have him prepare it for you."

"Won't be necessary."

"Oh, it will," Yennefer insisted. "Someone has to remove the unicorn."

Contrary to what she'd just declared, Geralt of Rivia had retired spectacularly well. The vineyard was expecting its first new wine in the next few months, and the house itself was impressive without being ostentatious, no ordinary feat considering Yennefer now called it home as well.

Armor and swords decorated the main area, with several paintings lining the wall as well. One showed Geralt fighting a giant centipede as seen through a wild, fiery orange filter, while another portrayed a bizarrely scantily clad version of the Witcher standing proudly over a defeated griffin with his sword planted in the ground like a flag. "Artistic license" was an understatement. No doubt he only displayed it because it was dreadfully costly, or because Yennefer found it amusing.

Barnabas-Basil Foulty, majordomo of the Corvo Bianco vineyard, was carrying a stuffed unicorn down the stairs leading up to the guest room. While he wouldn't dream of complaining, Ciri noticed the sweat and the veins bulging in his forehead as he struggled to maneuver the unwieldy object down the stairs. Yennefer, as usual, displayed no sign of concern.

"Do you need some help with that?"

"I will… manage," the majordomo insisted, even as he struggled to maintain his grip. She shook her head and moved over to assist. Yennefer and Mistle stayed where they were.

"We could just wake more of the servants."

"Yennefer!" she admonished. "It's past midnight. It's bad enough you woke B.B. here."

"You know, its frankly eerie how you and Geralt develop the same nicknames for people and things independently of each other."

She laughed, bracing her shoulder against the unicorn's haunches and gradually guiding it down the stairs while Barnabas-Basil held the other end.

"Bonded by destiny, remember?"

"That can be remedied."

They succeeded in getting the stuffed unicorn downstairs, and Ciri helped move it into the main bedroom. "You're sure Geralt won't mind?"

"He will. But he will also have to deal with it."

"Just please don't use it while we're right above you."

"I can make no promises. Fortunately for you he won't be back until morning."

Mistle wrinkled her brow. "Am I missing some context here?"

"Believe me," said Ciri, clapping her hand on her shoulder. "You're better off not knowing."

The guest bed had only been designed for one, but Ciri and Mistle were able to make it work. The blonde fell asleep in her arms, but Ciri remained conscious a while longer. She spent most of that time staring at a painting hanging on the wall of the guest room, which depicted a red-haired man standing over a raven-haired woman, who was looking up at him and resting an arm against his chest. They looked very happy.

Ciri wasn't certain what drew her eyes to the painting. She knew, of course, that the happiness portrayed within was artificially preserved and couldn't last. Nothing in life was ever as perfect as moments immortalized in paintings. But there was an honest love depicted there that Ciri had always desired for herself. And since being reunited with Mistle, she'd begun to think that such a thing was possible for her again.

Experience had, of course, taught Ciri to be wary of anything remotely resembling a happy and stable life, which always ended up being cruelly ripped away from her at the worst possible moment. Her first lesson came with the death of her mother. Then the fall of Cintra. Then the Mages' Rebellion on Thanedd. Then Bonhart. Then the Wild Hunt.

Even with all the threats against her ended at last, Ciri still had no idea how to settle down. Even Geralt, a man who'd been on the Path for decades, who never stopped moving, had reached the end of his journey. But Ciri still wandered. Even with all her power, she still wasn't able to dictate her own course in life. She wasn't able to take control. Maybe now was a good time to start.

Something else drew her to the painting, but Ciri struggled to identify it. Whoever made it was clearly skilled at captivating the imagination.

There had to be a way to get Mistle out of this. Geralt could help her figure something out. There could still be a happy ending.

'Yeah,' she thought, still staring at the painting. 'Maybe in a fairy tale.'

Geralt's hair was still wet when he arrived at the Corvo Bianco vineyard the next morning, having stopped to wash the Archespore juices off his armor before daring to stand in front of Yennefer. The elixirs he had drunk before the battle were finally starting to wear off, and the coin purse strapped to his side was satisfyingly heavy. He stretched out his arms as he strolled leisurely up the cobblestones to the main house.

Barnabas-Basil Foulty greeted him halfway up the path.

"Good morning, Master," the majordomo said. "It is my duty to inform you of events that occurred while you were away on your contract."

"Such as?"

"You have two guests, sir, that are waiting for you inside. They arrived at a most peculiar hour, but I nevertheless fulfilled my duty in preparing the guest room."

"You mean…"

"Yes, Master. I had to move it to your chambers. One of the guests was most helpful in assisting me."

Geralt sighed deeply. "Okay, who are the guests you're talking about?"

"Owing to the hour, I'm ashamed to say I did not inquire their names. But Lady Yennefer received them and seemed to know at least one of them, the one with the ashen hair."

He stopped walking, then cracked a wide smile. "Thanks for the heads up, B.B. You can get back to your work now. I'm sure you have better things to do than keep me company."

"I shall return to my duties at once, sire." Barnabas-Basil bowed and walked away, towards the servant's quarters.

Geralt looked over to the stables and saw two extra horses, one of which was black as midnight. That confirmed it. He'd been hoping that she would stop by for some time now. The smile stayed on his face all the way to the house.

"Oh good, you're home."

Yennefer was seated in an alcove just off to the right of the main chamber, from which she had constructed her own little den with a chaise-lounge resting against a wall that was not visible from here. She currently occupied one of the two chairs that she'd added for the purpose of entertaining guests, though why she had chosen that seat for herself was a mystery. She was barely visible around the corner, and was facing the door. He moved further inside, setting his swords in the bedroom and confirming that yes, damn it, the unicorn had been relocated there for the time being.

He doffed his armor, emerging from the room with a simple shirt and trousers, and made his way over to the alcove.

Rounding the corner, it became clear why Yennefer had given up her favorite seat. Ciri occupied the chaise-lounge next to another woman, whose blonde hair was shaved on the sides with a ponytail in back. He'd seen her face somewhere before, though he couldn't place it at the moment..

"Geralt!" Ciri leaped to her feet and embraced him. He eagerly returned the hug.

"We've been waiting for you to visit."

"I know, and I wish it was under better circumstances."

"What do you mean?" He released her, and as they separated, the bangs covering her left temple shifted slightly, just enough for him to notice the marks burned into her flesh. His eyes went wide, and even though witchers supposedly weren't capable of strong displays of emotion, something flared deep within him.

"Where did you get that?"

"She was just explaining," said Yennefer. "You should sit down."

He looked hard at Ciri, refusing to believe it even though he knew what those marks meant, having borne them himself. She stayed quiet and didn't meet his gaze. Eventually he followed Yennefer's instructions and sat down. Ciri did the same a moment later.

"I suppose I should introduce you," she said, her voice low and quiet, containing no small amount of shame. "Geralt, this is Mistle. Mistle, this is Geralt of Rivia."

Geralt and the young woman called Mistle made eye contact, but did not greet each other further.

"Do you remember after we left Stygga Castle, when we traveled to a village called Jealousy? I was looking to pay my last respects to six of my companions, who had been slaughtered in front of me by Leo Bonhart."

Yennefer leaned forward in her chair and rested her arms against her knee. "Of course we remember,"

"Mistle was one of them."

The sorceress drew her head back slowly, puzzling through something in her head. "How is it possible that she's here, then?"

"I can guess," Geralt said, his eyes moving to the arcane marks on Ciri's left temple. "What were you thinking, making a deal with him?"

Yennefer shot up an eyebrow. "A deal with whom?"

"It's not what you think," said Ciri. "That's not the deal I made."

"She didn't ask him to bring me back," confirmed Mistle. "I made that deal with him on my own. But I asked him to bring me her. For two years he failed to deliver on that, then he sends her as his proxy right when he's due to collect."

Ciri looked at him pleadingly. "I was robbed by two members of her new gang and stabbed in the belly while I slept," she explained. "I was bleeding out and I collapsed on the floor of a tavern where he was staying. He saved me, then asked for my service as repayment. Now I'm beginning to wonder if he didn't arrange the whole thing."

Geralt sighed, remembering what the subject of their conversation was capable of. "Knowing him, he probably did."

"I am not accustomed to being ignored," Yennefer said with barely contained fury. "So I will repeat my question. With whom did the two of you make a deal?"

It was Ciri who answered. "Gaunter O'Dimm."

"Who?"

"Someone I thought I'd never have to deal with again," answered Geralt, rubbing his forehead with both hands.

"Is he a necromancer?"

"No," he replied. "He told me himself he doesn't bother with spells. He's extremely powerful, though. Even more powerful than Ciri."

Ciri's eyes widened. "How powerful?"

"One time I was set to meet him in a tavern. A drunk was blocking my way, so he clapped his hands and time literally froze. On his way out he shoved a wooden spoon through the man's eye, then everything shifted back to normal."

"Is he a demon?"

"I'm not sure. But he's old. Very old. There are records of him dating back over two thousand years, under different names. Master Mirror. The Man of Glass. Same story every time, too. Someone isn't careful what they wish for and they regret ever making a pact with him, then he takes their soul as payment."

Ciri was quiet for several moments, looking down at the table. Finally she turned to face him again. "Is there a way to beat him?"

"You can't fight him directly," he answered. "He's the embodiment of Evil."

"You're exaggerating."

"I'm not. That's literally what he is, or the closest I can get to describing him. But he's bound by his own rules. He likes to play games with mortals. Ruin their lives. If you challenge him he'll have to give you a fair shot at winning."

"And what are the stakes?"

"Gaunter O'Dimm takes payment in human souls," said Geralt. "I'm guessing that's what your friend Mistle promised him. He likes to make things challenging for himself, though. If he has you serving as his proxy, that means you have to fulfill three wishes, right?"

She nodded.

"In order to challenge him, you have to prove you're a worthy opponent," he continued, then turned to Mistle. "You'll be tempted to make the wishes easy. Don't."

"Why would I make them easy?" she asked. "It's not like I want him to take my soul."

"If Ciri fails, he'll take her soul instead. It's different with you two than when I was serving as his proxy. The man who owed him wanted me to die trying to fulfill his wishes, which he deliberately made impossible by any conventional standards. But I'm guessing you don't."

Mistle said nothing.

"You have to make them just hard enough that he'll be tempted to help. That's his real game. He likes to prove how clever he is." He turned to Ciri. "If you fulfill the three wishes and challenge him, you have a chance of getting her out of this."

"I'm guessing it won't be easy."

"It won't. But I have faith in you."

She smiled.

"Come on," he said, standing up. "I have something I need to show you."

He led her up the stairs to the guest room, leaving Yennefer and Mistle at the table. They stopped in front of the painting.

"I was admiring this last night," she said. "Who are they?"

"Olgierd and Iris von Everec," Geralt answered, sitting down on one of the chaise lounges below the painting while she took the other.

The painting hung on a wall directly bordering the staircase, and two pieces of furniture met in the corner. The bed from which she had stared at the painting the night before lay in the opposite corner, with a large chest at its end. An armoire occupied the wall further down. Overall, the guest room was exceedingly cozy and well decorated.

"Who was the artist?"

"Iris," he answered, indicating the raven-haired woman with wide, inviting eyes. Eyes as yet untouched by sadness, frozen in time. "It's a painting from when they were first married."

"Where did you get it?"

He frowned and looked at the painting for a few moments. "From her ghost."

"From her what?"

"I'm getting ahead of myself," he said, returning his attention to her. "Before we can talk about Iris, we need to talk about Olgierd. He was a Redanian nobleman who was serving as an Ataman in the Redanian Free Corps when I met him, also known as the Wild Ones."

"He looks happy here."

"That surprised me too. He was set to marry Iris when they were both young, and he still had his money, land and status. But then he lost it all. Her parents forbade the union and tried to marry her off to a Prince from Ofier instead."

Geralt turned away from the painting and looked her in the eyes. "That's when Olgierd met Gaunter O'Dimm."

Ciri leaned forward and listened intently.

"Olgierd cursed the prince that Iris was supposed to marry without even meaning to, just by uttering a drunken wish in O'Dimm's presence. Then he made a deal that would see his fortune and marriage to Iris restored, at the cost of his soul, and the life of his brother. He thought he was safe by making it so that O'Dimm would need to fulfill three wishes by proxy and collect his payment while standing on the moon. But he didn't realize what he'd gotten himself into."

"What do you mean?"

He looked at her. "Olgierd ceased to be human. His heart turned to stone, and his love for Iris withered and died inside him, until eventually she told him to leave her. She died, alone, with only the otherworldly servants Olgierd had summoned to keep her company. She became a wraith with the ability to enter paintings at will, passing into a world of her own creation. I had to chase her through those paintings to find the rose Olgierd had left her, to fulfill his final wish."

"A world of paintings?" she asked animatedly, momentarily distracted from the gravity of the story. "Avallac'h once told me such worlds can exist, though I've never seen one before." She looked at the painting again. "I could probably get there through this one. That must be what's drawing me to it. The energy seems… familiar."

Geralt shook his head. "No Ciri, you couldn't. When I got the rose from Iris, her world ceased to exist and she passed on into the afterlife. It's not there anymore."

"A world doesn't stop existing just because the mind that created it passes on," she explained to him like she would a first year student. "That would violate the cosmic laws governing conservation of mass and energy. There's still a fair amount of magical energy coming from that painting, similar to a portal. It probably wouldn't look the same, but whatever pocket sphere you visited is still there."

"Then why did it all start disappearing? I barely got out of there in time."

"Most likely it's because her mind filled the space like water in a jug. She was like a cork, the one keeping everything contained within that sphere and holding it all together. When she passed on, the energy had to go somewhere, and chose the path of least resistance. But the space itself was present well before she came along." She clutched the sides of her head. "Avallac'h is better at explaining these things."

"You mean if I wanted to I could create my own little world out of every dream and nightmare I have?"

Ciri shook her head. "What I'm saying is that such a world already exists. There's a world for every idea, every story, every dark thought anyone has ever had. But even with my power, actually getting to one of those worlds is damn near impossible. The painting is a medium for doing so, but I can't help feeling it was Gaunter O'Dimm that made it all work. Did Iris possess any magical talent that you know of?"

"No. Olgierd only got power after he'd already made the pact. But I'll admit that I never faced a wraith with that sort of power before."

"It must have something to do with how their relationship fell apart due to O'Dimm's influence. Combined with her strong emotions at death and her penchant for a visual medium like painting, it starts to make more sense that she'd be able to enter that world. The only other explanation would be if she somehow had Elder Blood."

"Anyway," he said, in no mood for this argument. "The point I'm trying to make is that O'Dimm ultimately doesn't care if he gets either of your souls. The only reason he meddles with humans is to cause suffering. He likes to give you what you wanted only to poison it, to trick you and then tell you that you got exactly what you wished for. He'll try to destroy your relationship with this girl, regardless of what happens to either of you in the end. That's his goal."

"I appreciate the advice," she said, taking his hand in hers. "But I'll be fine. I won't be fooled by his lies."

"That just it," said Geralt. "He doesn't lie. He shows you the ugly truth." He looked at the painting one more time. "And after that, you can never see things the same way again."

"You don't like me very much, do you?" Mistle asked once they had stepped outside. The Corvo Bianco vineyard was a sight to behold, as was the surrounding countryside. But neither of them were in the mood to admire the view.

Yennefer regarded her with a cold sideways glance, making her way over to the chaise lounge that she had set up outside. "What gave it away?"

"I know you care too much about Ciri's feelings to say it in front of her," she said. "But I can see it all over your face. I've been getting looks like that my whole life."

"From what Ciri's told us, it's not like you've given people much reason to do otherwise." She sat down. Mistle stubbornly remained standing for about a minute before sliding into the chair across from her.

"Whatever. I'm used to it."

"Are you? Then why raise such a fuss about it?"

Mistle reclined back and put her hands behind her head. "I'm not. Just making an observation."

"You really are a stuck up little tart, aren't you?"

"Takes one to know one."

Yennefer smirked wickedly. "I'm so glad we understand each other."

"You'll not keep me from her."

"Is that so? You know, all things considered, Bonhart gave you a quick death. If I wanted to I could make sure your life ended in far more agony after you'd begged me to a thousand times." She clenched her fist in front of her and glared right into the young woman's eyes. "But you're right. I value Ciri's happiness too much to stand in the way of her decisions, at least to that degree."

"Glad we understand each other."

"Ciri is very dear to me," said Yennefer, her voice never losing that undercurrent of ice cold fury. "I think of her as a daughter. I'm glad you were there for her during a time when I couldn't be. But you're a bad influence, and you've gotten her into something that's well over her head. As soon as your business with this Gaunter O'Dimm is concluded, if he hasn't taken your soul by then, you are to leave her alone. For good."

"And how do you plan to make me?"

Among various beasts, wolves for example, a smile was meant as a display of aggression, a reminder that the bared teeth on display could and would rip out your yielding throat. Yennefer's smile in that moment communicated that message very clearly.

"Have you ever heard of a man named Vilgefortz of Roggeveen?"

Mistle, trying unsuccessfully to mask the fear brought on by Yennefer's sudden shift in demeanor, shook her head.

"He is, by and large, the main reason Ciri ended up in your orbit. But that's neither here nor there." Her features grew even more frigid and threatening. "He had this incredibly annoying phrase he liked to say whenever he was gloating. 'You mistook the stars reflected on the water's surface at night for the heavens.' Arrogant prick. In the end, he was the one who fell victim to an illusion that proved his undoing."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying," she replied, "that ever since he captured and tortured me, I've gotten a lot better at turning my eyes skyward. So don't even think you're a match for me."

Mistle laughed. "I wonder what Ciri would say if she heard you now."

"You won't have to wonder. You're operating under the assumption that I'm afraid to bring this up in front of her, but the truth is I wanted to give you a fair warning first. At the end of all this, you and Ciri will go your separate ways. Or I shall make it so."

"Best of luck with that."

She stood up and walked back inside. Yennefer lingered for a moment, glaring after her.

"Luck," she said, mostly to herself, "has absolutely nothing to do with it."

"I've decided on my first wish," Mistle announced once all of them were back inside.

Ciri walked closer to her. "What is it?"

"That's a fancy palace on top of Beauclair," she said. "I want to spend the night in its tallest tower. After a lavish ball where Ciri and I are the guests of honor."

Everyone was silent for a moment. Geralt was the first to answer. "That's actually not impossible. I know the Duchess personally. Given a few days, she could throw something together. And Ciri is royalty."

"Precisely why we shouldn't be throwing a party in her honor in the middle of one of Nilfgaard's vassal states," Yennefer pointed out. "You told Emhyr she was dead."

"Nobody violates Toussaint's borders," he said. "Not even Emhyr."

"That hardly matters. Do you know how many Nilfgaardian dignitaries are in Anna Henrietta's court? Any one of them could report back to him that Ciri is alive. Forget about leaving them off the guest list, there's simply too many of them. You'd be left with less than half the people that normally attend these things."

"How many of those dignitaries thought the decoy sent to the Royal Court was actually Ciri? None of them know what she looks like."

"That won't matter if we're throwing the ball in her name!"

"So we don't," said Ciri.

They turned to look at her. Geralt was the first to speak.

"What do you mean?"

"Only the Duchess and her most trusted circle need to know who I really am," she said. "The rest of them will be introduced to me as Falka of Ebbing, a minor noble that they'll all pretend to have heard of so they won't lose face."

"And I might not look like it, but I'm technically nobility too," said Mistle. "They can introduce me as Mistle of Thurn, a medium-sized village in Maecht. Or it was before the bandits took it."

"Are you sure about this?"

"It's only fair," said Ciri. "My father didn't use his real name at the banquet my grandmother brought you to. Neither did you, for that matter."

"At her request."

"Touché."

Mistle quirked an eyebrow. "I'm missing something again, aren't I?"

"My father was the victim of a curse," she explained. "He learned that he could be cured of it by a Child Surprise, which he accomplished by asking for my mother as a reward for rescuing my grandfather on the side of the road. He showed up at a banquet thrown in honor of her fifteenth birthday to claim her. My grandmother, Queen Calanthe, tried to stop it by inviting Geralt to the banquet under the alias Ravix of Fourhorn. He introduced himself first as the Urcheon of Erlenwald, then as Duny."

"But that wasn't his real name?"

Ciri shook her head.

"What was it, then?"

"Emhyr var Emreis."

Mistle practically jumped out of her skin. "The Emperor of Nilfgaard? And he wanted to marry you? That's disgusting!"

"Apparently my children are supposed to rule the world."

"He did give up on the scheme," said Yennefer. "Eventually. To think we might have been spared three entire wars and countless deaths if he'd just given his real name from the beginning."

"Hence, why this is poetic justice," Ciri explained, then smiled at Mistle. "At the banquet my father also claimed he was from Maecht."

A heavy sigh emerged from Geralt. "Are you really sure this will work?"

Yennefer chuckled. "You tell me, Ravix of Fourhorn."

He grumbled.

"Well then," said Ciri. "What are we waiting for? Let's plan a ball."