Chapter Seven
Misery Business
Despite promising herself long ago that she wouldn't get involved in trivial conversations, Yennefer of Vengerberg currently found herself in the middle of a heated discussion over the proper use of concealing ointment. Her partner in this conversation, Vivienne de Tabris, paid no attention to the bulldog that had somehow ended up in the ballroom, which was currently sniffing excitedly at her heels.
"All I'm saying is, it's no wonder he became obsessed with you if you were coating yourself in the stuff. Concealing ointments are essentially glamour by a different name. You should never use them unless you want everyone to stare at you like you're the second coming of Lebioda. To say nothing of the fact that you could easily have killed yourself by using it."
"You speak true. But what could I do? If my curse had been revealed I would have lost my standing at court, to say nothing of the ridicule I would have faced."
Yennefer cocked one eyebrow and squinted with the opposite eye. "You live in a place where the highest authority in the land is obsessed with making fairy tales come true, many of which involve lifting such curses, and you honestly thought no one would understand?"
"Her Grace was aware," she said. "At my request, she kept me cloistered from all but a handful of people. It was easier to hide such an affliction if people already thought me aloof and mysterious."
"And supernaturally beautiful."
"This is also true."
"Geralt told me how he went about lifting the curse. Amateur work, honestly. It could easily have backfired and left you with a shortened lifespan."
Vivienne smiled sadly. "He told me as much. But I would take seven years of life in which I didn't have to hide myself away, rather than spend the rest of my days slowly transforming into an oriole. And I certainly wouldn't wish to pass the curse on to anyone else."
"You're lucky this wasn't his first time doing it. A long time ago, almost twenty years now I think of it, I met a Baron on a dragon hunt whom Geralt had previously cured of slowly transforming into a cormorant."
"Yes, he told me of that when he offered to cure me. You were hunting a dragon?"
"Me and a small army," she answered. "King Niedamir was around fifteen at the time. Apparently the princess of Malleore could only be married to one who had slain a dragon. So when it came out that a peasant had filled a dead sheep with poison and tricked a green dragon into eating it, he jumped at the opportunity and hired just about every dragon hunter in the area."
"I've known many knights who hunted dragons," said Palmerin, seated next to them. "Now I can only raise a toast in their memory."
"Honestly, there's not that much glory in it. Geralt only got roped into it because he'd heard I was there, and I… I had my own reasons."
"What were they?"
"I wanted to undo a wish," the sorceress replied. "But I don't have to worry about that anymore. I found another way."
"Why did you want to undo the wish?"
"Because I wasn't the one who made it."
Vivienne nodded in understanding, and did not press further.
"At any rate, I'm capable of far greater magic than a witcher. If you ever need anything and don't wish the mages at court to know, you're welcome to come see me."
"I may do that soon."
Yennefer heard heels clacking against the floor of the ballroom and turned to see Anna Henrietta making her way over. She was smiling politely, as any decent host should, but her eyes told a different story.
"We trust that all of you are enjoying the evening?"
They nodded.
"Yennefer was just telling us of the time she hunted a dragon," said Vivienne. "I would love to hear more."
"There's not much more to tell. A golden dragon sent a rockslide down on us and we barely survived, then it crippled a knight errant named Eyck of Denesle. Then everyone turned on each other, the Crinfrid Reavers ripped my shirt open and tried to rape me, and Dandelion wouldn't stop staring at my naked tits."
Vivienne put a hand over her mouth. "That sounds terrible!"
"Indeed," said Palmerin. "But didn't you say it was a green dragon you were hunting?"
"We were. The golden dragon used polymorphy to disguise himself as human and joined the hunting party to give the green one time to escape. Geralt let him go, and I honestly didn't have much of a choice."
"Viscount Julian told us that story once," said Anna Henrietta. "Though he omitted the part about your… tits."
"Well that doesn't sound like him at all."
"Perhaps he tailored the story for his audience," she said. "Regardless, he has been banished from Toussaint for life due to his tendency to stray to the beds of others. But that is neither here nor there." She turned to Vivienne and Palmerin. "May we borrow Yennefer for a minute?"
"Of course," said Vivienne. Palmerin only nodded.
Yennefer stood and walked with the Duchess to a more secluded corner of the ballroom. "What is it?"
"I don't wish to tell you not to enjoy yourself, but I could use some help keeping track of our guests of honor. Has Geralt told you of Orianna?"
"Yes. Patroness of the Mandragora, leader in the art community. And a vampire."
"She tried to lure Mistle out to the balcony to show her an unpleasant time. My sister of all people stopped her."
"Your sister who used a vampire as an assassin to kill the knights who banished her and wanted to kill you as well? Why did she even care enough to step in?"
"That remains a mystery to me, though she claims it was because she didn't want to risk my ire. As if that has ever deterred her."
"It's too bad. Your vampire friend might have solved our problem."
The Duchess' eyes widened. "What do you mean by that? I thought the whole point of this ball was to fulfill her wish."
"Yes, but I'm only doing this for Ciri. I don't rightly know what she sees in that girl, but Mistle has gotten her entangled in something well over her head."
"The pact with the demon, I know. But I had no idea you disliked her so."
"That's surprising, since I've not made an effort to hide it," the sorceress replied. "What of Ciri? Has anybody seen her?"
"Not since I finished introducing her to the guests. The last I saw her, she was conversing with Gaunter O'Dimm."
Yennefer inhaled sharply. "You know Gaunter O'Dimm?"
"Of course. He's been a patron of the arts for the last several years."
"That's not all he is."
"What do you mean?"
"I'll explain later," she said, starting to walk. "Right now we have to find Ciri. I don't know what he's planning, but it can't be good."
Neither of them found her until it was too late.
Triss and Geralt found each other at roughly the same time.
"Hi Geralt," she greeted, glancing around at the people within earshot. "Can we talk somewhere else?"
"Of course." They made their way outside, towards the gardens. Along the way, Geralt squinted at her, concerned. "Are you okay?"
"Well, let's see," she said, counting off her fingers. "Philippa invited me here with no explanation other than it being Lodge business, I landed myself in the middle of something where I have no idea what's going on, and when I tried to get some information from Ciri's friend, she called me a ginger cunt. So no, Geralt. I'm not okay."
"Getting that upset over name-calling? I know it's a strong word, but you've never been one to let that bother you."
They had reached the garden by now, passing by the throng of revelers who were still entranced by the entertainment on offer. She wished she could be like them.
"A strong word? Geralt, you're not a woman, so I don't expect you to understand, but calling that a 'strong word' is like saying the Church of the Eternal Fire has been holding a series of friendly neighborhood barbeques."
"I'm sorry."
"It's nothing. That's not what upset me."
"Then what?"
"Nobody ever tells me anything! And when I try to find out on my own they treat me like I can't handle it."
"Triss, that's not true. I've trusted you with plenty of secrets. You've been an advisor to two kings, and you're a member of the Lodge. You actually knew more than I did about a lot of things that happened over the years."
"Well it's how I feel. Why can't people be direct anymore? Why do I have to go snooping around to find things that ought to have been shared with me from the start?"
"Like what?"
"Like whatever's going on with Ciri. Or do you want to hide that from me too?"
Geralt shook his head. "Yen didn't tell you?"
"She told me some of it. Then we ran into Gaunter O'Dimm and she brushed me off, promising to tell me later."
"Gaunter O'Dimm spoke with you?"
Triss crossed her arms. "Yes, he did. Why do you have that look on your face? You only get that look when you think I'm in danger."
"Not you. I just got done talking to him myself. I'm worried he might have something bad planned for Ciri."
"Why does everyone seem so afraid of him? What is he, really?"
"I have no idea," said Geralt. "Gaunter O'Dimm is only one of the names he goes by. There are records of him tracing back even before the Conjunction of the Spheres. Whatever he is, he's very old, and very powerful."
"Some sort of demon, then?"
"More like the physical embodiment of Evil."
Triss clasped the sides of her head and sat down on a nearby bench. Geralt sat next to her. Around them, the party continued. The illusionist that she and Yennefer had passed earlier was still aweing the crowd, and the games were in full swing. She even saw Albert Vegelbud sorting through a few boxes next to a stage, preparing for something.
"And Ciri made a deal with him? Why?"
"Let's just say he's good at finding people at their lowest moment."
"No, let's not just say that. Tell me what really happened."
Geralt sighed. "The other woman, Mistle, is still a gang leader. Two members of that gang snuck up on Ciri while she was camping, stole everything from her, and stabbed her in the belly. She walked five miles to a tavern, where Gaunter O'Dimm was waiting for her. When I asked him earlier, he all but confirmed that he's the one who led those bandits to her in the first place."
"So what does she have to do to repay him? I know he brought Mistle back to life, but Yennefer didn't tell me anything after that."
"Mistle promised him her soul as payment in return for his services," he explained. "At least I think that's what he asked for. The terms of the contract state that Gaunter O'Dimm can only collect his payment after three wishes are fulfilled, but he can't fulfill them himself, so he has to use Ciri as a proxy. I had to do the same thing for him once."
"Why make a contract like that?"
"Because it leads the person entering into the contract to believe there's no way for him to ever collect," Geralt said. "But he enjoys the challenge. He's smarter and more clever than you could even imagine. Supposedly you can stop him from taking his payment and banish him if you challenge him after the wishes are fulfilled, but…"
"But what?"
"I chose a different option. I thought if I let him take his payment and absolve me of my debt, then that would be the last time I saw him. Really regretting that now."
"Do you think Ciri's up to it? Challenging him?"
"If anyone's even close to his level of power, it's Ciri. After what happened with the Wild Hunt I've learned not to underestimate her. We just gotta have faith."
"I suppose. I still don't like this, though."
"That makes two of us."
"Ladies and gentlemen!" Albert Vegelbud announced from the stage. "Prepare for a sight unlike any other! You've seen things that sparkle, things that go boom, but you've never seen the custom fireworks of Albert Vegelbud! Behold!"
"Oh!" She sat up straighter. "This should be exciting! Do you remember the fireworks we saw at the Vegelbud Estate? Apparently Albert mixed them himself."
Geralt said nothing, only stared at the display while deep in thought. Triss smacked her forehead.
"Right. Forgot. Don't tell Yennefer I said that."
He didn't reply.
"Geralt? Are you okay?"
His head lifted slightly, as if something of great importance had finally registered within his mind. "Fireworks."
"Yes, fireworks. They're pretty, right?"
"Gaunter O'Dimm said something about arranging his own finale," he explained, turning his head to face her. "He said to enjoy the fireworks."
Her eyes went wide. "Then that means…"
"We need to find Ciri. Now."
But it was already too late.
A thundercloud in the form of Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon passed through the ballroom, and didn't stop to acknowledge the other guests she passed. There was no smile on her face, no practiced etiquette to her movement. She marched straight ahead, with one thing on her mind.
She found Mistle towards the middle of the ballroom, getting drunk off her ass. The other woman was laughing hysterically at a conversation with random people that Ciri had been introduced to at one point but had now forgotten. Those people didn't matter. None of this mattered.
Mistle noticed her as she approached. "Falka? What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Can we go somewhere else?"
"Of course."
"Now hold on a second!" one of the other partygoers protested. "I wasn't done with my story. So there I was, nekkers all around me, who were pissed off as all hell that I'd landed in their nest. So I reached for my sword and…"
"You're lying." It wasn't Ciri who said it, but the words left her mouth. "You were with your wife when you came upon them. You shoved her towards them and ran. Didn't even turn around when you heard her screaming while they ripped her apart."
"I beg your pardon! My wife has been visiting family in Nilfgaard for the last several months now!"
"Not true. She's just a pile of bones in a nekker lair."
"I say! It's fortunate that you're a woman, else I would demand satisfaction!"
"Wouldn't count on it. You're a spineless coward and you always have been, Tanroy Englehardt. You only made up the story about your wife traveling so nobody would wonder why you didn't even grieve for her. You never loved her, and you certainly don't mind the substantial fortune she left you."
He stood there, completely stunned. The other guests turned their faces towards him slowly, dumbstruck by the revelation. If he noticed this at all, he didn't acknowledge it.
"I never told you my name…"
"Let's go, Mistle." She led the other woman by the hand across the floor.
"That was amazing, Falka! How did you know all that?"
"I didn't. It just comes to me sometimes. Usually when I drink."
"Do someone else!"
Ciri shook her head. "It doesn't work like that."
"Alright." She pondered for a moment. "Hold on a second."
"What?"
"You just did to that gentleman what Gaunter O'Dimm did to me earlier. Have you always been able to do that?"
"More or less. Ever since I started studying at Kaer Morhen."
"How?"
"It's the Elder Blood. It lets me divine the true nature of things, and reveal secrets I shouldn't know. I can even tell the future sometimes."
"How does he do it, then?"
"I have no idea."
"Are you sure nothing's wrong?"
"Everything's wrong. But I don't want to talk about it here."
"Lead on, then."
The two of them continued walking across the ballroom, dodging conversations along the way and leaving a trail of offended guests in their wake. Ciri didn't care. She had to get out of here. They were almost out the door when Rosa var Attre stepped in front of her.
"You're going somewhere in a hurry."
Ciri sent a glare of pure hatred her way. "Yes I am. Now move."
"Oh my! No manners at all! I'm shocked. Aren't you shocked, sister?"
"Shocked? Why, I'm appalled!" said Edna. "They'll make anybody a countess these days."
Mistle stepped forward, still holding Ciri's hand. "Didn't you hear her? She said move."
"And you, you're even worse. I have no idea why Her Illustrious Highness the Duchess agreed to throw this ball for you if you're not going to be respectful of the people who came here."
"It would help if the people who came here were respectful of us," replied Ciri. "And got out of the way when asked to."
"We're just trying to get to know you better," Rosa said in a mocking, saccharine tone. "Not that it's any mystery why you're running off. We all saw that display earlier."
"That was the point."
"What point was that, I wonder?" asked Edna. "You're clearly not from the South, given you've no respect for our customs. Where did you say you were from? Ebbing? That place has never really been part of the Empire. It's almost as bad as the North."
"Well said, sister. It's positively riddled with bandits. I've no idea why the Empire tolerates them. The lot of them should be rounded up and killed."
"Might prove harder than you think," said Mistle. "Besides, it's south of here at any rate."
"Where did they dig you up? You clearly don't belong here. Neither of you do."
Ciri moved closer to Rosa and stared her down. "As opposed to you? You're not better than us."
"I beg to differ," the Nilfgaardian replied. "You might be gentry by some cosmic fluke, but you've no idea what real nobility is."
"You'd be surprised."
"Would I now?"
"You would."
"It doesn't matter. You're a freak of nature, and a slutty one at that. Your friend is even worse. Honestly, I can't say I'm surprised that those sorceress friends of yours are all leaping to defend you. I wish we were in Novigrad, for I'd denounce you and have you burned at the stake, you fucking—"
Ciri punched her in the face.
She went down hard, hitting the floor with a crack and staring up at her with a broken nose. A raging inferno burned behind Ciri's green eyes, and her anger was clamoring to be released, like a dog struggling against its chain. But she held it back.
"How do they say it here?" she said calmly, ice cold fury underlying her voice. "'I demand satisfaction?' Well you're going to give me some, you heinous, stuck up bitch."
Rosa stared at her in fear, trying to stop the blood from pouring out of her face.
"A challenge has been issued!" called the herald, who had just appeared next to her.
Also showing up around this time were Duchess Anna Henrietta and her sister Sylvia Anna, along with Morvran Voorhis, Maria Louisa La Valette, Vivienne de Tabris, Palmerin de Launfal, Philippa Eilhart, Triss Merigold, Yennefer of Vengerberg, and Geralt of Rivia.
As well as everybody else in the ballroom.
Ciri kept her eyes locked on Rosa. "Garden. Thirty minutes. Bring a sword."
She walked away, and Mistle followed.
Thirty minutes later, after both of them had changed into outfits more suitable for combat, Ciri twirled her sword around with her wrist, looping it to either side of her before whirling around with a quick spin, lunging forward with her weight on her right leg and bringing the sword around after her in a diagonal slash. She struck air, but then the duel hadn't started yet.
The sword was heavier than she was used to. So be it. If she were to have Zirael with her, the fight would be over too quickly. She wanted to enjoy herself.
It had been too long since she'd had a proper swordfight. She mostly fought monsters nowadays, and while they provided a challenge of their own, there was something special about facing off against an opponent on equal terms. She loved the analysis beforehand, studying the opponent's pattern of attack, watching for an opening, and then striking swiftly and without mercy. There was nothing else quite like it.
Watching Rosa work her way through basic forms did not prove a difficult puzzle to crack. She came on with a strong offense, laying all her best cards on the table at the start and hoping to win with overwhelming power. The trick, then, was to wait until she tired herself out, then retaliate quickly and precisely.
Geralt stared hard at her from the sidelines, and she felt as though she were back at Kaer Morhen. She could feel his eyes evaluating her, judging her performance. But he hadn't tried to talk her out of it. That meant he trusted her. Yennefer remained silent as well, while Triss was clearly dying to say something but allowed the other two to hold her back.
They had all said their piece while she prepared, and it made no difference. Yennefer warned her about keeping a low profile, Triss objected on moral grounds, and Geralt refused to interfere. Ultimately the matter was settled when the Duchess reminded them that once a challenge was issued, the duel had to take place unless the parties resolved the conflict by other means, and that wasn't going to happen. In Toussaint, tradition was everything.
Anarietta had offered to delay the duel until morning, but Ciri declined. She didn't relish the thought of lying awake all night with a cauldron of rage boiling inside her, and she planned to leave Touissant in the morning anyway. It had to happen now. Rosa evidently felt the same way.
They stood on opposite ends of a circular stone platform within the palace gardens, and a crowd had gathered around them. Duchess Anna Henrietta stood at the edge of the circle, addressing them.
"As tradition demands, the dispute between Countess Falka of Ebbing and Lady Rosa var Attre will be settled by a duel. Before it begins, tradition also demands that we outline the rules. The first is that in Toussaint, duels to the death are outlawed. The duel shall continue until one party either yields or is rendered incapable of continuing. Secondly, the fight will be a fair and honorable one. Dirty tactics are not allowed. You will fight as the chivalric code demands, be you knights or otherwise."
Neither of them said anything. Mistle gave Ciri a nod from behind her.
"Finally," said Anna Henrietta, "the duel is meant to mark the end of the conflict. Once it is over, there will be no reprisals from either side. Is that understood?"
She and Rosa nodded.
"Then let the duel commence. May the better woman win."
The Duchess stepped back into the crowd, and they began to circle each other.
Rosa made the first move, straight out of a textbook. Three short steps, a quick feint to the right, then a thrust towards her face. Ciri stepped into the feint, calling her bluff and causing her to strike nothing but air when she moved her sword to the left, where she had expected Ciri to dodge. From here, she could spin around and slice the other woman open, or stick her sword directly in her path and skewer her up to the hilt. She opted to do neither, pirouetting out of the way instead.
She pursued her, off her rhythm but still showing plenty of aggression, swiping her sword recklessly in an arc behind her. Ciri hopped back, then sidestepped the subsequent overhand strike. She placed a foot between Rosa's legs as her opponent moved forward, causing her to stumble and crash to the ground. The crowd laughed.
Were this a fight to the death, Ciri would not have hesitated to strike the other woman while she was down. As it was, she stood a safe distance away and twirled her sword idly, waiting for her to rise.
"Better get comfortable down there," she taunted, unable to resist. "Very comfortable."
Gnashing her teeth, Rosa snarled and launched herself after her, swiping once, twice, three times in quick succession. Ciri ducked to the side each time, not bothering to bat them away with her sword. The onslaught was designed to weaken an opponent's guard with powerful strikes, softening them up for the next round. She countered by not engaging, allowing Rosa to tire herself out.
To her credit, she had considerable stamina. But she hadn't progressed past the basics of swordplay, and it was plain to see why. Rosa valued raw strength over technique, which had to be why she burned through so many tutors. Typical Nilfgaardian. Believing that the only way to defeat an opponent was to overwhelm them with sheer force. Ciri toyed with her, stepping deftly out of the way of the savage strikes with her sword held behind her back.
"Stop dancing and fight!"
Rosa slashed down with a predictable overhead swing, which she dodged by stepping to the right. In the second that she left herself open, Ciri struck at Rosa's face with the pommel of her sword, breaking her nose all over again. Ciri slammed into her with her shoulder and sent her tumbling down.
This time Rosa surprised her, grabbing her arm on the way down and dragging Ciri to the ground with her. She escaped her grasp easily but could not stop herself from falling, transitioning instead into a quick roll which ended in her standing a few feet away. Rosa stood again, blood dripping down her face and reddening her teeth.
"Is this what you imagined from your adventure novels?" Ciri asked cruelly. "Not quite as romantic in real life, is it?"
That got her the response she was looking for: a blind charge from the other woman that she could easily sidestep or parry. Ciri was so certain of her imminent victory that she failed to pay attention to the fact that Rosa was preparing to spit. Then there was blood in her eyes, and Rosa was swinging at her hard, which she heard rather than saw. It was only her years of training with a blindfold that saved her.
Their swords connected for the first time as Ciri had no choice but to block directly.
"Foul!" called Damien de la Tour, Captain of the Ducal Guard, who was serving as referee. "The Duchess said no dirty tactics. Lady Rosa var Attre loses the duel."
"No, no," said Ciri, laughing as she wiped the blood off with her sleeve. "As you can see, I defended myself just fine. It's not her fault she's so remedial that she needs to level the playing field a bit. I could fight her blindfolded and still win."
"We cannot allow that," said Anna Henrietta. "Here, duels are fought without handicaps, without resorting to base tactics. The ladies will fight honorably or not at all."
She frowned. "I'm not finished yet."
"Neither am I," said Rosa. "But fine. I can play fair."
The blood remained smeared over Ciri's eyes like war paint, and she flashed a grin. "En garde, then."
Rosa swung at her again, and Ciri batted it to the side, stepping around her as her opponent charged forward like a raging bull. Furious as she was, Ciri had enough training not to let it interfere with her technique. Besides, punching Rosa var Attre in the face had cleared her head just enough to where she could channel that anger instead of letting it rule her. Which was a lesson the other woman apparently had yet to learn.
This time she went on the offensive, slashing hard at Rosa while she stumbled and tried to turn around after overshooting her target. The young Nilfgaardian barely blocked in time, catching herself on one foot but leaving herself horribly off balance as Ciri approached holding the sword by her side, facing down, then raised it above her head and twirled it around while she spun, building up momentum before bringing the full weight of it crashing down on top of her.
As she held the sword above her, Rosa's knees buckled, but she remained standing. If she wanted to, Ciri could finish the fight right then, but she had more to teach the other woman. She slammed the pommel into Rosa's solar plexus, sending her staggering back. She did not give chase, but moved the sword behind her back and stretched out her hand, beckoning her with her fingers.
It took her a few seconds, but Rosa recovered, and came back at her with a vengeance. Ciri returned to dodging her blows, letting her tire herself out before stepping inside her guard, grabbing her wrist, bringing her elbow down on her forearm, and grabbing her sword as it fell from her hand. She continued to twirl, kicking out the back of Rosa's leg and sending her to her knees. She brought both swords around as she completed her final rotation, and held them to the back of her neck.
"The fight is ended!" announced Damien. "Rosa var Attre, do you yield?"
"She doesn't," said Ciri. "I've not even begun to show her who she's messing with." She looked down at Rosa. "On your feet."
"Stop this," ordered the Duchess. "You've won. There's no need for this. You're getting out of control."
"I'm fine. You said the duel will continue until one of us either yields, or is unable to go on."
"The decision to yield is still your opponent's, not yours."
"I don't yield!" shouted Rosa var Attre as she snatched her sword back. "I'm going to drive this bitch's face into the dirt!"
She smiled. "Well there you have it. Try to hang onto that this time."
Rosa only snarled. They faced off once more, and started circling each other.
'Ciri.'
She kept her eyes on her opponent, but the voice still caught her off guard, causing her to block Rosa's next strike somewhat clumsily, at least by her standards.
'Kind of busy, Yennefer.'
'I'll be brief. Don't keep toying with the girl. Amusing as it may be, this isn't you. We didn't teach you to fight like this.'
'No, you didn't. I had to learn it on my own. Now get out of my head.'
She heard nothing more, and returned her focus to the fight. Out of the corner of her eye, though, she caught Geralt shaking his head disapprovingly, while Triss looked on in horror.
To hell with them. To hell with their lessons. They weren't what kept her alive in the desert. They didn't see her through her time with the Rats. They didn't save her from Bonhart. Yennefer was right, in a way. They hadn't taught her to be ruthless. They hadn't taught her to be cruel. They hadn't taught her to toy with opponents who were so far inferior to her that they didn't warrant her true strength. Yet those lessons, which she'd learned the hard way, had gotten her through that time of her life.
By now, seeing through Rosa's gambit had become childishly simple, and her opponent lacked the energy to keep this up. Ciri began to counterattack, throwing her off her game by hitting her with strange timing and from unexpected angles.
That was the true genius of her style. The witchers had taught her the forms, but Ciri found new ways to combine them and think her way through fights instead of just reacting. Before Thanedd, before Bonhart, she'd often felt as though the movements she'd learned at Kaer Morhen performed themselves, just as she'd had no control over her powers at the time. But now she had mastered both, and was able to achieve a state of simultaneous action and reaction, planning ten moves ahead while the motions just came naturally.
She heard Rosa breathing heavily now, smelled the sweat as she struggled to maintain a strategy that depended on finishing one's opponent swiftly lest they gain the upper hand. Which Ciri now possessed in spades.
The fight became a blur of motion as she swatted away Rosa's feeble attempts at attacking one who had defeated swordsmen far beyond mortal reckoning. If she weren't making do with such a common sword, there were a thousand more ways she could end this fight. But that would be far too easy.
By now she had become lost in the frenzy, caught up in the dance, the intoxicating heat of battle. She laughed as Rosa struggled to even hit her, breaking from her rigid practice forms and swinging wildly on instinct while Ciri danced around her.
This was strength. This was power. This was what she had been missing this whole time. Something dark awoke from deep within her, and she reveled in it, letting it fill her with perverse glee. She'd almost forgotten this feeling. The last time she'd felt it, she went by the same name that she did tonight.
As Rosa charged at her again, she parried the blow, then pirouetted around her, slashing hard at her back. She planned to miss her, to give her yet another shot at trying to best her. And earlier in the fight, that may have happened. But this time, Rosa was just a second slower, and the blow connected.
Rosa screamed, and Ciri's joy turned immediately to horror.
The sword carved a gash diagonally across her back, slicing through part of the spine just a few inches above the tailbone. The lusty heat of combat that had enveloped her evaporated at once and was replaced with icy dread. She hadn't meant for that to happen.
Edna var Attre was at her sister's side at once, even as Rosa began to bleed onto the stone. "Rosa! Rosa are you alright? Talk to me!"
"Sister?"
"I'm here, Rosa. Stay with me."
"I can't … I can't feel my legs."
The sword clattered on the ground, and Ciri dropped to her knees, staring silently at what she had wrought.
"This is all your doing!" Edna screamed at her, while she listened numbly. "I'll kill you for this! I have a powerful family! Powerful friends! We'll hunt you down and kill you, you filthy fucking whore!"
"You'll do no such thing," said Anna Henrietta, looking at the scene with disappointment. "As we said, the duel marks the end of the conflict."
"I don't care! She crippled my sister! I'll—"
"Silence! Another word, and you will spend the night in the dungeon until you cool off."
Edna said nothing more, but started crying. The healers had arrived by now, and one of them led her off to the side while the others started stabilizing Rosa.
Ciri continued to stare.
"That was amazing!" said Mistle, running over to embrace her. "You really put her in her place!"
"I didn't mean it," she said tonelessly. "I swear I didn't mean to do it."
"What are you talking about? That was brilliant!"
She didn't respond. She looked up to the crowd. Triss was looking away, as though ready to throw up. Yennefer glared, but at Mistle, not at her. And Geralt… Geralt stared at her, and she at him. But she sensed neither congratulations or admonition from his gaze. He was simply neutral.
Above them all, watching from the balcony, Gaunter O'Dimm smiled darkly and clapped his hands.
