Geralt tugged impatiently at his velvet doublet; he was sweating profusely in the midday sun. I hate dressing up, he thought grumpily, trying to pop a few of the stitches that held his shoulders in an iron grasp. He didn't like to wear anything that wasn't broken in, and this stuffy outfit had already impeded his sword work on several occasions.
He flexed his shoulder blades vigorously, trying to stretch the garment out around his ribs.
He finally felt several of the silver stitches burst, and he sucked in a grateful, unrestricted breath. He rolled his shoulders experimentally a few times, already pleased by the improvement.
He was nestled in the shadows between two marble statues. He passed the time by watching the glittering array of court nobles make their leisurely, overheated way through the gardens surrounding the castle. The people far below reminded him of butterflies, fluttering this way and that as they darted through the emerald grass and dipped their manicured feet into the brilliant turquoise of the small lake in the middle of the grounds. The sounds of laughter and gossip drifted through the air, making the palace come alive.
After the Night of the Long Fangs, Geralt had learned to appreciate the bustle of life around the palace. He'd been there to see the same gardens fill with blood, and to hear the screams of the dying rip through the air as Detlaff's army had ravaged Beauclair.
Anything was an improvement on that massacre, however he still had very little patience for the political game that the courtiers were so fond of. He avoided it whenever possible; the constant questions about what life was like as a monster hunter got old fast. He was treated like some kind of exotic pet by some of the older nobles, and it pissed him off.
You'd think they would know enough to leave a witcher alone. I'm a lot nicer than most.
He didn't mind the praise, it was something that he was sorely lacking anywhere else in the world. He chafed a bit at the declarations of honor and friendship though, he hadn't risked his life for the citizens of Beauclair because he sought glory. It was simply the right thing to do. He still harbored some regret over Detlaff's death.
All life was good life until something gave him a reason to think otherwise. Except for necrophages. Those creatures always got a hard no from him.
Geralt took another bite of his apple, cracking his neck as he chewed. He could tell by the position of the sun that he'd already been waiting for two hours. It was a necessary evil that he had to endure if he wanted to see the person who he'd come to visit.
The Duchess liked to keep people waiting. At this point, he suspected that it was a family trait.
His keen ears finally picked up on the sound that he'd been waiting for, the telltale clicking of chain mail and the nearly imperceptible rubbing of steel armor against a padded undershirt marked the arrival of his guide. He tossed his apple core into a giant vase and stepped out from the shadows. He crossed his arms and waited expectantly for Damien de la Tour to make his way down the stairs that led up to the royal palace.
"Witcher," the knight greeted him, stoic as ever. "Her Enlightened Grace will see you now."
"Thanks," he replied, striding up the hill to meet the group of overdressed guards. "Is the escort for me?"
"No, although I have no doubt that they could best you," Damien replied, losing a fraction of his stern expression as he motioned for Geralt to join him. He set a good pace, striding confidently along the hill as they made their way up to the throne room.
The guards that had accompanied Damien continued the other way, piquing Geralt's curiosity; they were bristling with weapons and moved as if they were on a mission. "They have been assigned to something far more important than arresting you."
"Sarcasm, Damien?"
"No, I save that for my friends," Damien said shortly, abruptly turning and opening a neatly concealed door hidden in the shadows of the westernmost tower.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
Geralt didn't say anything further, he'd meant that genuinely. Damien wasn't in the habit of showing any affection towards him; that was about as close to a handshake that Geralt was likely to get.
His mood lightened slightly, and he clasped his hands behind his back as they continued upwards. His eyes had no problem seeing in the dark, but Damien paused for a moment to let his human eyes adjust. Sighing, Geralt decided that he'd better get the polite small talk over with.
"How is her Grace?"
"Very well, thank you. She has quite recovered from the unfortunate circumstances that led to your last dismissal from court," Damien's curt reply was tempered by an almost imperceptible twinkle in his eye. Anyone other than a witcher would have missed the way that his eyes softened and a small smile danced along the corners of his thin lips.
"She has, once again, reinstated the banishment of the bard Dandelion from Toussaint. I expect that your case on his behalf is what persuaded her Serene Highness to put off demanding his head," he continued, his armor clanking as they made their way through the opulent halls of the palace. "She isn't likely to forgive him this time."
"Next time I might just let him make his own case," Geralt murmured, groaning inwardly. There are days when I'd like to leave Dandelion to deal with whatever noblewomen he's pissed off, but he's just going to get himself killed if I don't intervene. "It's his own damn fault."
The velvet of his doublet was really starting to itch, and he resisted the urge to pull it off and throw it out of the nearest window. Somehow he doubted that the Duchess would take kindly to seeing his myriad of scars on display.
"Hm, yes, quite." Damien's muffled reply made a knowing smirk slide across Geralt's mouth; it was no secret that Damien was hopelessly in love with Annarietta.
Damien didn't offer any further conversation, and Geralt was more than happy to walk with him in comfortable silence. He was heading into a verbal spar of sorts, and he didn't relish the thought of doing the same with the captain of the guard.
Just as they were about the enter the throne room, Geralt held up a hand to stop his companion. "Wait, there's something I need to ask you."
"Yes?" Damien's expression gave nothing away of this thoughts, but Geralt knew him well enough to know that he was cautiously intrigued.
"Can we meet tonight, after my audience with Annarietta? I have a feeling that she's not going to be able to give me the answers that I'm looking for," he said carefully, trying to appeal to Damien's pride. The captain pursed his lips in thought, drawing the angry red lines of his scar tightly across his cheek.
"I don't like the sound of that, Geralt. What aren't you telling me? The last time that you kept me out of your circle of confidants, we ended up at war with a higher vampire."
"Come in with me and find out," Geralt replied, indicating with a wave of his hand that they should continue into the great hall. The look that Damien threw him was vaguely annoyed, but he opened the enormous stone doors nonetheless.
"Announcing Geralt of Rivia, witcher of Kaer Morhen and Saviour of Beauclair," the court steward announced, spraying spittle everywhere as he fought to project his voice through the din of Anna Henrietta's midday court. The noise level dropped considerably, but Geralt was still bombarded with sound from every direction; whispering didn't do much to hide a conversation from a mutant.
"The court welcomes Damien de La Tour, captain of her Enlightened Highness' guard and military adviser to the Duchy of Toussaint!"
Geralt didn't wait for the end of the introductions. He strode up the length of the plush red carpet that led up to the throne. He performed an obligatory bow, staying bent over longer than was strictly necessary; he needed the Duchess to regard him with favor today.
"Your Grace," he murmured, fluidly straightening up and crossing his arms. The Duchess regarded him with mocking amusement, her bright eyes glittering with laughter as she took in the sight of Geralt in his uncomfortable doublet.
"Geralt, you dressed up to come see me. How nice," she called, encouraging her courtiers to murmur their agreement. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"
"It's not a personal call," Geralt replied, raising an eyebrow and darting a glance at the crowded room. "What I have to say isn't necessarily something that you want everyone here to overhear."
"Why not?"
"It's something of a sensitive nature," he trailed off meaningfully, glancing over at a group of young women who were doing their best to appear uninterested. He could hear them speculating about the reason for his appearance behind the protective screens of their lace fans.
Annarietta's eyes widened slightly, and she glared at the nobles who were clustered around the throne, still trying very hard to look like they weren't eavesdropping.
"Very well, I cannot dissuade my curiosity. Everyone, out!"
Her command rang through the room, prompting a flurry of movement to ripple through the crowd. Throngs of well-dressed people began to exit in an orderly row, taking with them the overwhelming scent of perfume and wine. As the great stone doors were slammed shut behind them, the Duchess stood up and crossed her arms, looking at Geralt expectantly.
"Well?" She demanded, tapping her slipper-clad foot. Geralt inclined his head in thanks, motioning for Damien to join them.
"Well, I took a contract recently that's sent my majordomo into a fit."
"Why would I care about a witcher contract?" Annarietta flapped her hand in dismissal and turned her back to them. "You've come to waste my time, I see."
"Hardly, your Serene Highness," Geralt answered, fighting to keep his annoyance at bay. He regarded her as little more than a petulant child; her behavior did little to change his opinion. "It concerns the recent sighting of a noble lady who died a long time ago."
"A wraith, perhaps?" Damien offered, looking up at the dais where the Duchess stood. "There is no shortage of tragic ends in Toussaint."
"Not sure. I came here to ask you about the daughter of the Baron of Pont-Montmartre."
"Sophie-Marie?" The Duchess asked softly, looking at Geralt out of the corner of her eye. "What does she have to do with anything?"
"She's the one who's been seen walking out and about. Barnabus-Basil mentioned that she died," he prompted her, waiting for her to offer further information.
"Yes, she did," Annarietta said softly, finally turning to face Geralt as she hugged her arms to her chest. "She was a very close friend of mine. After Syanna...left, she was my constant companion."
"I suspected that," Geralt said frankly, pulling the contract from his pocket and offering it to Damien. "What I don't get is why forty knights have died looking for her after her death."
He didn't miss the way that Damien's brow furrowed and he looked to the side, as if he was feeling guilty. The captain knew something, just as he'd suspected. Hm.
"I need to know more about her," Geralt asked bluntly, gesturing at the contract. "What kind of person was she?"
"She was very accomplished, fond of the arts," Annarietta said distractedly, tapping her finger against her chin in thought. "She was always consumed by charitable works and her family's affairs. As far as I know, she wasn't interested in any suitors. Her entire life was dedicated to philanthropy."
"Since it's her family offering the reward, there's something to the rumors. Why are they penniless?"
Damien shrugged, making his armor clank together. "Their land hasn't been fertile in years. Once their vineyards stopped producing, the Baron was unable to find another venture that proved to be fruitful."
"So they wouldn't offer money that they don't have if they didn't believe that the lady is alive," Geralt surmised, already considering several different explanations. "She could have faked her death-"
"It's impossible!" Annarietta's shrill outburst startled several pigeons into flight from the rafters. "She died, and she is still buried in Beauclair. Her spirit is under the jurisdiction of Lebioda-"
"Do you have proof?" He asked quietly, unimpressed by her volume.
"Well, no-"
"Then she might be alive." His blunt response caused an angry flush to bloom on the lady's face and neck, and she planted her hands on her hips and glared at him.
"I refuse to entertain the notion. You've brought me a wild goose chase, Geralt-"
"My lady, I'm afraid that he is correct," Damien interrupted, a bright red blush settling into his cheeks as the Duchess directed her furious gaze towards him. "She has been spotted several times a year for the last decade. There is something afoot, and it is surprising that it took this long for a witcher to be consulted."
"You kept this from me?!" She turned on her heel and began to pace, her chestnut hair flying around her shoulders as she shook her head in fury. "Is there no one here who thought that I should know about this?! Has loyalty been thrown clean out of the window?!"
Damien fell silent, thoroughly reprimanded.
Geralt couldn't help his flicker of annoyance, he sighed and directed his next question to Annarietta. "Your Grace, is there any way that she could have been cursed right before she died? It could just be her spirit walking around, but it sounds like there's something else going on here."
She stopped pacing. Her eyes narrowed as she considered his question. "Perhaps. She fell ill very suddenly."
Geralt didn't respond; he was thinking.
"I want you to get to the bottom of this, Geralt. I refuse to let this question hang in limbo. You will go to visit the Baron, and you will find me an answer."
"I already accepted the job," he replied, bowing deeply. He knew that he'd been dismissed.
Annarietta sat down heavily in her throne, a pensive look in her eye. "You helped Beauclair in our hour of greatest need, Geralt. Now, I ask you a favor. Find out everything, but be subtle. I want to know why forty knights have failed to bring this woman claiming to be my dear friend back. I will have justice for her memory."
"I'll do my best."
Geralt turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, pausing only to share a fleeting second of eye contact with Damien. The captain nodded, almost imperceptibly, acknowledging that he would meet him later.
This is getting interesting.