Hey there ! Sorry for being such a slow writer, but well... here we are ! I hope you'll enjoy this new chapter !
4.
A deep sigh shook Yennefer, and she looked up from her book to watch the flame of her candle. The wax had melted, and the candle had diminished by half since the last time she checked. A frown marred her brow, ever since a witcher and his two apprentices had appeared wet like stray dogs three nights earlier at her door. They had ridden fast from the North, extenuating their horses, a simple letter clutched in Geralt's hand. The somber expression of his eyes had made her worry from the start.
It was the same letter that laid in front of her, impervious to her translation spells and without a clue in her numerous language books. A crackle made her jump and she turned around to see exactly what she had be hoping for.
"Síle. I am glad you answered my call."
The figure of a black clad woman shimmered in the mirror. Her voice, however slightly distorted, sounded grave.
"Hearing you, Yennefer, asking for help is certainly warrant of my curiosity. What is it I can do for you?"
The dark haired sorceress closed her eyes as to prepare herself.
"I came across a letter, potentially important, in a language unknown to me. I could not translate it by any means."
"Show me then."
Yennefer took the parchment and gave another look at the green scrawl, as if it would suddenly make sense and prevent her to ask for help. She pushed it delicately against the mirror and watched her colleague reaction with attention. Síla seemed pensive, one of her hands absentmindedly stroking the pearls of her necklace.
"I do not recognize it either, but I might have a solution for it. Providing an exchange."
"Obviously. Name your price, Síla."
The Koviri remained silent a few moments, slightly puzzled. She could see the incredulous arch of an eyebrow, and with evident curiosity (and perhaps amusement), her colleague asked:
"It must be of utmost importance if you are not already bargaining. What makes you forget your own laws, Yennefer?"
Yennefer hesitated, and she knew the researcher's eyes had picked it up. She sighed.
"My son."
"Ah." A ghost of a smile drew the severe mouth of the sorceress up. "Only the boy could put you in such a state of dismay. Fine then, for him, I am willing to be lenient in my price. It is not every day I will be graced by the sight of a desperate Yennefer of Vengerberg. Listen to me closely, and do not write it."
"Why would you wear that?" asked curiously Ciri, as Jaromir arranged his belt over his tunic.
"Because when I'm in Vengerberg I better wear my Vengerberg clothes, or else Mum is going to send me in another dimension with a red bottom." He rolled his eyes and looked at his sister with a pout. "So here I am with my prissy prince attire, as you call it."
"Heh, she remarked, you even change your speaking!"
"Speech pattern", he answered with a grin.
They laughed and Jarek took his sister's hand to pull her off the bed where she was sprawled.
"Come, you haven't visited since a few years. I'll show you the garden."
Ciri hummed and let herself tumble out the comfortable covers. They had spent the last days lazily recovering from their hard ride under the rain and wind from the deep valleys of Blue Mountain, and now the sun was shining through the colored windows of their shared room. Having lived in the old Kaer Morhen for so long, she wasn't used to such luxuries and Yennefer loved to surround herself with precious materials. The walls were lined with dark wood, carved with floral patterns and decorated with fine paintings. She snickered when she caught sight of a portrait. Little Jaromir sure looked grumpy. The real-life model tugged a bit harder on her arm, his green eyes clearly ordering her "not a word on this".
They opened a small door to the exterior. The garden was enclosed by high walls, much like a cloister. Three of them were of the house and the last separated the domain from a quiet street, making a decent sized square in the middle of the house. Yennefer had made sure it could be seen from every room in her home and took a lot of pride in it. Flowers bloomed in every season, especially a carefully trimmed bush of white mirth whose flowers perfumed even the coldest winter mornings.
Jaromir took a petal between his fingers and crushed it gently.
"With a golem's heart," he started to recite, "for five measure of white myrtle petal in a measure of dwarven spirit, infused at low fire for an hour will sharpen your speed and improve reflexes."
"Oh, that's the Blizzard. Have you memorized them all?"
He shrugged. "I guess. It's useful. Actually, Mum's garden is an excellent alchemist's market. Every plant in here can be used."
Ciri looked around her. The sun was already high in the sky, bathing the red brick walls in light and making the fishes in the small center pond shine like jewels. The fountain at its center gurgled discreetly, and it was the only sound that could be heard beside the slight rumor of the city far away behind the walls. A robin sang a trill and flew of its tree to perch on a chimney, high over their heads. The alleys of clear gravel were perfectly kept, as were the short yews borders tracing a path in the promenade. Everything seemed perfectly in place, tidy and cataloged.
"It's weird, you know", she remarked, "it's so different from Kaer Morhen. I like this place, but I don't think I would be at my ease living here. You adapted to both places pretty easily."
She turned to look at her adoptive brother, clad in fine clothes, the neckline of his shirt embroidered, the velvet of his jacket worth certainly the price of a decent sword. Even his hair was tamed in a neat ponytail, showing his face devoid of any smudge of dirt or soot. She met his eyes, which seemed to search for something. After a short moment, with a solemn expression she wasn't familiar with, he begun:
"You know, I don't really care where I am. I am more interested in being with my family, which is you, Geralt and Yennefer. I don't know where I was born, I don't know who my parents were, but I know who raised me and who I grew up along. The rest is just decor."
A smile broke on Jarek's face, reminding how young he was and Ciri engulfed him in a hug. She refused to acknowledge the prickling in her eyes.
"You're my family too. With who else could I ever trade weird magic experiences?"
"Well, you're the one with interdimensional powers and I'm supposedly born in a different world, so I guess we fit pretty well."
Yennefer watched the children laugh from her window, her fingers tracing the curve of a crystal on her desk. She had a lot to do, and not much time. She heard fabric ruffling behind her and turned to examine Geralt. Her lover was sprawled on the bed, not having felt any necessity to put on any clothes back. He was studying a map of the region, frowning or humming from time to time. As he was focused on the task, she indulged in detailing the body she had kissed and caressed a moment before.
They both weren't adept at public demonstration of affection and kept to themselves. Behind closed doors, however… She sighed slightly, satisfied and decided to ignore anything to do with vows and djinns.
Another sigh, much deeper, came from the bed and Geralt got up, slowly, the drapes pooling around his hips. He looked at her in silence for a moment, relishing in the view.
"I'm pretty sure of my path, I crossed every information possible. I'll go and prepare; I'll be on my way in an hour."
"Good. We must hurry. When do you think you'll be back?"
"Never know", shrugged Geralt, "but it will be three days at best. I guess we can be grateful Síla made her recipe so I can find everything in the region."
"Yes, I suppose we can thank her." Yennefer's tone was clipped, but they both knew the sorceress had offered them the only lead they had.
She took a step and traced a scar on her lover's stomach.
"You should go now", she whispered.
Geralt huffed with a slight smile.
"I guess I should."
Jaromir was trying his best not to show his impatience. He didn't want the woman in front of him to notice anything, it could be detrimental to the situation. He knew his mother was starting to get irritable too, only because he knew her well. He leant back to avoid a flurry of satin and lace coming form another pompous movement of her exotic feathers fan. The heavy scent of her perfume almost made him gag.
The woman, coming from a rich family in Toussaint, had spent the past hour jumping from subtly insulting Yennefer's capacity to solve her problem to begging her to do something without letting her place a word. She had come all the way from her "wonderfully exquisite estate" to get advice in a sensitive commercial matter (involving a great deal of magically grown vineyards) and was apparently disappointed to get advice from another woman.
She had launched herself in yet another tirade, ranting about how her servants where all scheming against her when he snapped:
"Madam, I think you might want to make yourself acquainted with the new commercial decisions taken last month between Kovir and Temeria concerning commercial restrictions in elvish grown products. It would certainly be beneficial for your trading targets."
Annabelle de Clairvoy straightened up and opened her fan in a sharp gesture. Her cheeks turned red and her eyes seemed to bulge from her face in a comical offense.
"And what a child can know about such a precious trade?" she spluttered.
Jaromir felt his mother's eyes on him, but knew she was waiting to see how he would take on the challenge. He took a breath and looked straight into his client's eyes:
"About trading", he began with the steady voice of a scholar he had cultivated since childhood, "I know every law passed since the last three decades. I am also well versed in the political maneuvers taken since Cintra tried their best to take over Toussaint's wine market."
Clairvoy lowered her fan, revealing the pinched line of her mouth. Her look became sharp, much like a hawk.
"Very well, then, boy. What is your advice."
The cave was nasty. Full of wraiths, angry and howling in the crumbling corridors, never letting him time to catch his breath.
Nevertheless, the crystal was safe in his pouch, and Geralt was ready to go back. The elven gold had been difficult too, but in another sense: he had to bargain a long time with a she-elf, who looked at him with disgust and fear, and switched between languages to confuse him. She had led him in a few wild goose chases before accepting to put the merchandise on the table. It had been terribly expensive, but Yennefer had given him quite the sum to cover this kind of costs. The numerous plants, fortunately, were a walk in the park.
He groaned as another ghost screeched in the shadows. His silver sword was dripping with oils, and Yrden never left his lips. As the golden evening light began to filter from outside, and he knew that it had been dusk when he entered, the witcher let out a deep sigh. He emerged exhausted, but with the satisfaction of a good hunt and the pleasure to see Roach grazing peacefully under the trees.
"Good girl", he murmured as he tapped her neck. The mare barely flicked an ear back at him, and he laughed, picking provisions from the saddle bags. Bread, salted beef and three wild apples he had picked on a young tree the day before, forgotten by animals and birds. He felt he owed himself a correct meal, for lack of an inn in the vicinity.
The grass was thick under his back, and he felt his conscience drift as he munched on a sliver of dried meat. He let his mind wander to those who were waiting for his return. He thought of Ciri, her growing abilities and strength, the power she held but could not control. The fates she will have to choose. He thought of Jaromir, little Jarek he found in the forest, his curious, foreign magic, and the weight of mystery surrounding his arrival in this world. The possibility of unveiling it.
He thought of Yennefer, their link and the love he had for her. Of maybe thought he had. He sighed, and rolled on his side, picking a few strands of grass between his fingers. The smell of dew was refreshing after such a long time in the caves, and he decided to let those reflections for another time. He was happy with his lot, even if it was a surprising and odd one.
The sun was lowering behind the trees when he decided to move. Roach wasn't terribly happy about it, but Geralt knew wolves were hunting in the region and he wasn't interested in becoming their prey. The closest village, or whatever could be called a place where a few poor wretches dwelled, was a three hours ride away. It wasn't worth the effort. With some luck, and a bit of good grace from his mare, he could be in Vengerberg in two days. He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the fresh evening air, smelling the sweetness of resin, the musk of wandering beasts and the wet earth Roach threaded on. A faint smile soothed the usually hard lines of his face. He felt a bit like he was heading home.