Chapter Thirty-Eight
The Last Wish

Nothing was ever truly still in a forest. The wind caused leaves to rustle, which in turn dropped a few errant snowflakes onto a blanket of white that clung to the ground, sparkling in the early morning sunlight. Small animals such as birds and squirrels darted among the trees, while larger fauna like deer made their way cautiously through the woods. Even in what seemed like perfect tranquility, there was movement everywhere if one knew where to look.

The bodies, however, had not moved for several days.

"There are dozens of them, Sir," Alton, a Nilfgaardian Lieutenant attached to the local garrison, reported. "All dead. We don't have a full count yet, but it's over a hundred so far."

Chief Inspector Erend Klossowski Beauregard de Belhaven, wincing a bit and clutching his ribcage as he turned to face him, nodded. "And the nature of their demise?"

"It depends on where you step. Some fell to swords, others are filled with arrows, and yet more were scorched into cinders. Then there are those who were torn apart, limb from limb. Cut into pieces by long claws."

"So the beast still lives."

"It would appear so."

Erend had not been completely cut off from the outside world while recovering at the local garrison. As a high-ranking member of Military Intelligence, he could not afford to be. Still, receiving word that the largest hanse in the area had been massacred to a man was somewhat different from beholding the aftermath in person.

"And there are no tracks leading away?"

"None that our scouts have been able to follow for more than a few miles. It's this damn snow, I tell you. Been falling nonstop for the last two weeks. As if the gods wish to coat the entire world in it."

He chuckled. "Ted Deireádh is not upon us yet. Were you able to find anything else?"

"We did find one body that wasn't like the others, Sir. His throat had been cut with a small knife, and he was buried. It was a few miles away, near the remains of another campsite, which is as far as we were able to track the brigands. My men have just finished transporting it back here."

"Meaning he did not perish during the battle, but after," concluded Erend. "Lead me to him."

He complied, and they walked past the field of corpses to find one lying on its own, under a tree where it had been buried. Dietrich, the only surviving member of the crew he had brought to Dun Dâre, was already standing over the body.

"Has he been identified?"

Dietrich nodded. "Tomen, a local bounty hunter. Before that, a Sergeant in the Alba Division. A few of the local soldiers recognized him."

"He gave the tip that the Rats were camping out here," added Alton. "The plan was for him to infiltrate the camp, then ensure their guard was down when the Red Razors mounted their ambush."

"It seems he was found out then," said Erend, kneeling down and examining where his throat had been slit. The wound had frozen over, held together with a thin membrane of ice. "Which may be why the assault failed. Had we sent our own men instead of mercenaries…"

"They'd have been slaughtered all the same," Dietrich opined. "You yourself barely escaped Dun Dâre with your life."

He stood up. "At any rate, let us find out what we can from him."

Cocking his head back, Alton squinted in confusion. "How do you mean, Sir? He's dead."

"That will not stop us from learning the truth." He held up a hand above his head and curled his fingers in a beckoning motion, at which point two men and a woman in black Nilfgaardian robes approached.

The men were hooded and nondescript, standing with hands clasped over their waists one pace behind the woman, who doffed her hood and stared at the corpse. Her face was gaunt, with thick curls of long black hair that resembled an unkempt broom. A shock of white lanced through it, starting on the left side of her forehead. She appeared to be in her mid-forties, but all the men present knew that she was likely far older than that. Her eyes were an unsettling shade of yellow, with pupils that resembled those of a cat. A witcher's eyes.

Erend stepped aside, then nodded in her direction. "Begin."

The woman held her arms out to the sides, palms facing back, and both men stepped forward. She concentrated, and shadows formed around both men's chests, issuing forth into her hands as the already frigid temperature around them dropped considerably. After a few moments, both men dropped to the ground, not breathing.

Alton, Dietrich, and the other soldiers took a few terrified steps back, but Erend remained where he was, unflinching. Stepping forward, the sorceress focused on the body of Tomen, and with one gesture of her hand, the shadowy smoke emerged from her form. The body rose to its knees, buffeted by the otherworldly force, and opened its mouth, releasing an unnatural howl of pain, which lingered in the air around them even when his mouth was closed.

The world around them darkened, and the sorceress, whose eyes were now completely and utterly black, nodded to Erend.

"Tell us your name."

"It's… aah! Tomen!"

"Good. Tell us, Tomen: what were you doing here?"

The corpse shuddered, but stayed rooted to the spot. "Aaagh! Please, it hurts!"

"And it will continue to pain you until you provide answers. How were you discovered? Who killed you?"

"I… wasn't discovered. I was killed to… aaah! To hide the truth about my reasons for being here."

Erend narrowed his gaze, then clasped his hands behind his back and stood tall over Tomen's dead body, which stared up at him with pupil-less white eyes. "By whom?"

"Horace. The archer. He… he was the one who betrayed their camp. The one who had me arrange the ambush. He wanted them all killed! Just like he killed his family…"

"How was the ambush repelled? A force that small could not hope to slaughter over a hundred men. Who aided them?"

"I didn't see… but among them there are two witchers, a sorceress, a werewolf… and a vampire."

Erend's eyes fell behind him as he looked back, and the others provided no answers: only confused glances. He steeled himself and continued his inquiry.

"Was there a girl with ashen hair among them? With green eyes and a scar below her cheek?"

The corpse was unable to nod, and so answered with words instead, despite the immeasurable pain that speaking seemed to cause him. "Yes. The Child of the Elder Blood. She along with the gang's leader… AAAAH... questioned me about the incident in Unicorn, where another of her bloodline was awakened."

"Another, you say?"

"Leisl. Tavern girl. Ripped the building to shreds with magic then… then left with a group known as Onyx Squadron. They also seek the Rats."

He looked away for a moment, bringing a hand up to the middle of his face and running it down past his chin. He knew of Onyx Squadron of course, but hadn't been informed of their deployment. If such an elite force had been tasked with hunting the gang, then why had he been sent? He turned to face the corpse again.

"Do you know which way the Rats went?"

"I do not… but Claremont is their ultimate destination. They mean to take revenge on Houvenaghel… And no force in the world can stop them."

He stood there a few moments, processing that. He opened his mouth to speak, but it was too late. The magic binding Tomen's soul to this realm had worn off, and the body collapsed, lifeless once more. The sorceress drew up her hood, then stepped back to where she had been previously.

Alton stepped forward. "Was necromancy truly necessary, Sir?"

"It was the most efficient option," he replied, staring ponderously at the trees. "For we have learned in a few short minutes what would otherwise have taken days." He turned to the rest of the men. "Gather the bodies into a pyre, and burn them all. I'll not have necrophages infesting this forest. Once that is complete, we ride for Claremont."

The men nodded and set about their tasks. Alton sent one last glance towards the mysterious woman, whose cat-like irises were still visible at this distance, glowing from beneath her hood. He glanced down at the two men in robes, who had sacrificed themselves to fuel the magic, then shook his head and began to help the others gather the dead.

"So all that talk about witchers being stripped of emotions," asked Sheana as she and Ciri sat near a creek, fishing poles in hand. "None of it's true?"

"Not a word. Mind you, it's not like witchers are in the habit of disabusing people of that notion. Eskel told me it was the witchers who propagated that myth in the first place."

She blinked, craning her head back. "What for?"

"At the end of every witcher contract, it comes time for payment, you see. Some folk are honest with it, others may not have enough, and every so often someone tries to cheat them out of it. With other tradesmen one might earn a bit of leniency on account of a bad harvest or starving children—something to tug on the heartstrings with. But if you grew up being told that witchers don't care a whit about such things because they can't feel human emotion… well, you'd be less likely to try it, wouldn't you?"

Sheana considered that for a few moments. "I suppose so."

"Are you holding up alright? You've been rather quiet the last few days."

She raised an eyebrow. "Didn't expect you to be so concerned."

"Why not? I told you, I don't blame you for stabbing me when we first met. You were just being used."

"It's not that." Her eyes returned to the water. "It's just you spend most of your time with Mistle."

"Well, I'd like to think I can make friends outside of her. I'm here fishing with you, aren't I?"

Sheana nodded. "I'm surprised anybody wants to spend time with me after what happened."

"You mean how the prisoner escaped on your watch? It wasn't your fault. Somehow you and Syanna were drugged, and someone set him free. Nothing you could have done."

"I doubt that."

"Take my advice, Sheana, as someone who's been there. You can spend as much time as you like analyzing what went wrong, what you should have done, but it won't change the fact that it's already happened. You can't fix it by thinking back. Only by moving forward."

"But I don't even remember what happened! All I know is that one minute we were watching the prisoner, and then suddenly I awoke a day later, with no idea what happened in between. You're telling me that wouldn't bother you?"

"There are so many things that still do," she admitted. "But it's too late now. Nowhere to go but straight ahead."

"I guess."

"Let's change the subject then," she suggested. "Tell me about yourself. I already know how you wound up in this gang, but what was it like before? What did you like to do for fun?"

She perked up, relieved to have something else to talk about. "Fun? I don't recall having much time for it. I was a noble's daughter, you see, and so my day was filled with things I must learn to become a proper lady. Etiquette, mathematics, history, languages… only thing I really enjoyed was swordplay, and I only got that because my parents didn't bother to have any sons."

"I know exactly how that feels." The rod twitched in her hands and she pulled back, but nothing resisted. "My whole life up to the time I joined the original gang was a series of lessons. First as a princess, then as a witcher, and finally as a sorceress."

"A sorceress? Like Keira?"

"Indeed. After I'd learned everything I could at Kaer Morhen, I was brought to the Temple of Melitele in Ellander, where I studied under Yennefer. Then when the war broke out and the hunt for me intensified, we traveled all over until finally we landed in Aretuza, a school for mages in the north."

"Did you stay there long?"

She chuckled. "Not long at all. A single night, actually. By the time morning came Vilgefortz attempted his coup, and all hell broke loose. I fled through the portal in Tor Lara, and after wandering the desert for a few days, I ended up captured. It was the Rats who set me free."

"Can you still do magic?"

"Sadly, no. I gave it up in the desert. Trust me, it's better for the world that I did."

"Well then what about your powers?"

"That's different," she explained patiently. "I renounced conjuring because I could feel it slipping out of my control. But my connection to the Elder Blood can't be renounced, because it's part of who I am. Believe me, sometimes I wish I could be rid of that too."

Sheana scoffed incredulously. "Do you hear yourself? I'd do anything to have powers like yours."

"Even if it meant that despite being able to go anywhere, you'd never be able to call any place home? Even if it meant you'd be hunted, until the end of your days, just because of who you are?"

"Sounds a lot like my life now."

Ciri laughed. "True indeed. I do enjoy having these powers. But my life has never known peace ever since I was nine years old, when Cintra fell. I never asked for any of this."

"Well you said it yourself. No use looking back on what might have been."

"Fair enough."

It was silent for a minute or so as the fish continued to ignore their bait. Wind broke through the trees, blowing their fishing rods slightly to the left. The sun had risen high overhead, dappled through the canopy, and they both soaked in the nature around them. Finally Sheana spoke.

"Do you think the Elder Blood might have had something to do with your magic going wild?"

Ciri tilted her head to the side. "What?"

"You said you renounced conjuring because you couldn't control it," she clarified. "But what caused it to get to that point?"

"I drew the Power from fire," she answered, staring at the water. "There seemed to be no end to it. But I heard a voice calling out to me, tempting me to lose myself to it. I saw a world enslaved. I saw those I loved burning alongside my enemies, like the fire couldn't tell the difference. It was all too much. So I cut myself off from it."

"What did the voice sound like?"

"It sounded like…" Her eyes widened and she drew in a sharp gasp. "Like the one I've been hearing in my dreams."

Dropping the rod, she stood rapidly, then clutched her forehead as the whole world got fuzzy for a moment, and her knees nearly gave out. Sheana was on her feet at once, gripping her shoulders with her hands and keeping her upright.

"You okay?"

"Of course." She found her footing again, and the other girl released her. "Just got up a bit too fast, is all."

"If you say so."

"Come on," she insisted. "We've just discovered something far more important than fish."

"What's Claremont like?"

Rosalind looked up from the arrow she was in the process of fletching. "What's that?"

"Claremont. We'll be there in a couple days. Just wanted to know what's in store for us."

"You'd know better than me. I'm not from this area."

Leisl shifted closer to her along the log, until they were almost touching. "And I never left my village. All I know is it's the largest town in the region. Nothing beyond that."

"It is a town overrun by corruption and greed," said Amandine, sitting down on a log across from them, with the campfire in between. Unsheathing her sword, she began to oil it with a soaked cloth. "Houvenaghel rules over it like his own little kingdom. He runs a fighting arena, along with half the businesses in Ebbing. Even in your little village there were plenty of fools in his pocket."

"Caelan, I know. But I was asking more along the lines of how one might spend a night on the town."

"Ah," a wry grin found its way over her face. "Grown tired of getting drunk in the woods?"

"Almost being taken by a group of bounty hunters does tend to suck the romance right out of it."

"The Silver Crows weren't bounty hunters," said Rosalind, who had finished with the first arrow and was now working on another. "Mercenaries, yes, but the kind who had bounties on their own heads. Rumor has it they used to shake down the local gangs for tribute before they started working directly for Houvenaghel. Rat bastards, all of them."

"At any rate, they're bird food now. Thank you again for saving me, by the way."

"Think nothing of it."

Amandine studied the fire for a minute. "This… Regis, he said his name was, correct?"

"Aye."

"Any idea what became of him? We haven't seen any signs that anyone is following us."

Leisl shrugged. "Not a clue. I have seen more than a few ravens recently. He told me they were keeping an eye on me for him."

"Hm." She turned the blade over in her hand and began to oil the other side. "Have you asked yourself what manner of creature can appear from nowhere, disappear just as quickly, and uses ravens to keep track of people? It's a short list."

"Not really."

Rosalind closed her eyes and shook her head. "He's a vampire, Leisl. Nothing else meets that description."

"Wait, what? A vampire?" She squinted. "But he appeared to me in broad daylight. Vampires can't bear the light of the sun."

"I suppose you also believe they can't cross a threshold without being invited, or that you can kill one by cutting off its head and driving a stake through its heart," said Amandine. "Or that they're repelled by garlic. Old wives' tales. Only thing that really works is silver."

She leaned back, crossing her arms. "Oh? And how do you know so much?"

Rosalind finished fletching the arrow and set it down next to all the others. "Because she's killed three."

"Not permanently," she added. "They'll regenerate eventually. But we'll all be dead before that happens."

"I thought only witchers could kill something that dangerous."

"There are no witchers in Zerrikania," she replied. "Not for the last few centuries, at least. We learned to deal with monsters on our own."

"And how's that?"

"Take a closer look at her blade," said Rosalind, who was packing the arrows into a quiver. "It's made of meteorite steel, and plated with silver. Witchers aren't the only ones to carry such a weapon."

Leisl grew quiet for a minute as she stared at the sword. "Have you ever met a witcher?"

"There are so few of them left," said Amandine, still rubbing down the sword. "And they rarely venture into Zerrikania or Nilfgaard. But during the wars, yes. War tends to be profitable for their kind, what with the way monsters are drawn to all the corpses armies leave in their wake."

"You ever fight one?"

Shaking her head, she smiled softly. "No reason to. After all, witchers don't hunt humans."

"Houvenaghel's cousin used to hunt witchers, though," said Rosalind. "Leo Bonhart was his name. He used to operate out of Ebbing, and he was the man who killed the original Rats. Cirilla was the only one left alive."

"What happened to him?"

"He died. The exact circumstances are unknown, but rumor has it Cirilla was the one who did him in. It's what he deserved after keeping her like a slave for all that time."

"But before that he killed witchers?"

Amandine nodded.

"How? Witchers are supposed to be unbeatable."

"Just like vampires, hm?"

"Okay, good point."

"Witchers are superhuman, but they can be brought down by a skilled enough opponent," said Rosalind. "They can also make mistakes, or get overwhelmed. There's an old saying they themselves like to use: no witcher's ever died in his bed."

"I know that, it's just… I know I've heard stories about witchers from somewhere. From someone. But I'm having trouble remembering exactly."

"Someone from your village?"

Leisl shook her head. "First witcher we ever saw was the one who fought off the Rats along with that sorceress. But I know someone told me about witchers before. I think…" She squeezed her eyes shut, clutching the sides of her head, trying to recall. "I think it was my mother."

Both of them exchanged a glance, then looked back to her.

"Well go on," said Rosalind, placing a hand on her shoulder. "What else do you remember?"

"She… it's all foggy. Something about how the last time she'd had to look after a young girl it was in the company of several witchers who didn't understand all the intricacies of femininity. She told me one story about how she had to use a dress as a signal for when this girl was indisposed."

"That's rather specific for something you barely remember."

"It comes and goes. I can never hold onto a specific memory for long. It all feels like it's from another life." She exhaled long and slow. "I can't even remember her name. Just her face, her hair, her smell… I was so young."

Rosalind wrapped an arm around her shoulders and drew her in closer. "It'll come back to you. We can work on it together."

"I'd like that."

"At any rate, if this Regis shows himself to you again, do us a favor an introduce him to the rest of us," said Amandine. "I have a few questions for him."

"Not gonna use that sword on him, are you?"

A shrug. "I'd prefer not to. If he really is here to protect you there'll be no reason to."

"Very well, then. But he only tends to show up when I'm in danger."

"Then with any luck, he'll keep his distance," said Rosalind, her eyes trained on the fire. "But somehow I doubt we've seen the last of him."

They all nodded in agreement.

"And you're certain you don't recall anything?" Mistle asked as she laid down a card, and her opponent responded in kind. "He slipped away from you, just like that?"

"I don't believe he was capable of pulling off something like that by himself." Syanna placed a hand to her chin as she examined the current state of the game of Gwent that had been going for the last ten minutes or so. "And there are enchantments that can erase memories. He must have friends in high places."

"The sorceress already checked you both for magical spells," she replied, placing a card in the siege row. "Didn't pick up anything."

"Still, that's twice he's escaped us while under guard. If it were the same guard we could at least determine a pattern, but..."

"I'll not doubt members of my own gang."

"Then why ask me such a question?"

"It's not your loyalty I'm questioning. Merely your recollection of events, or rather lack thereof. You really remember nothing?"

Swapping out one of Mistle's spy cards with a duplicate, Syanna completed her turn. "Believe me, I wish I did. As it stands we're out of clues, and we've lost a valuable asset. If he reaches the Nilfgaardians, we'll be looking at another ambush."

"I'm aware of that." She laid down another card. "Which is why it's time we accelerate our plan. We can afford no more delays."

It was then that Ciri and Sheana entered the tent.

"Are we interrupting something important?" the latter inquired, glancing down at the cards.

"Only my winning streak," answered Syanna. "Catch any fish?"

"Not biting today, I'm afraid," said Ciri. "I've had a bit of a revelation. One I'd like to share with the gang as a whole."

Mistle nodded. "We need to meet anyway. It's time to discuss strategy."

A few minutes later the gang was assembled around the fire in the center of the encampment. Ciri took her place next to Mistle, with Sheana on her right. Syanna sat down on Mistle's left, next to Horace and Stephanos. Faloanthír and Resilda sat beside Sheana, with Lambert and Keira completing the circle.

"So what is it now?" asked Horace. "Feels like we were just doing this a few days ago."

"Quiet," Mistle ordered. "I've called this meeting because we're two days' ride from Claremont, without a solid plan. It's not a place we can just march into like you fools tried in Unicorn. It's a major city, with guards and a garrison of soldiers nearby, all of whom answer to Houvenaghel. Aside from which, our prisoner has escaped us, and is likely on his way there now."

"We've also to consider the threat he warned us about," said Stephanos.

Horace scoffed. "He was lying about drawing us into that ambush; do you really believe he was telling the truth about those mercenaries?"

"Not mercenaries," he corrected. "They answer directly to the General of the Alba Division, Morvran Voorhis. And I do believe him."

"Regardless, they've not made a move against us yet," said Ciri. "And there's something else. Something bigger than all of this. Something I've not been able to make sense of until now."

Keira tilted her head to the side. "What is it?"

She stood up and began to pace in the center of the group, skirting the edges of the fire. "When I first arrived at Kaer Morhen, I would occasionally fall into a trance and deliver prophecies, all of which came true in their own way years later. One night, Triss induced one of these trances and made contact with… I'm not quite sure what. It claimed to have an 'unlimited connection' to me, and after that incident, it seemed to cease all contact."

"And how is this relevant to our current circumstances?" asked Faloanthír. "The powers of the Hen Ichaer are indeed mysterious, but irrelevant now that Ithlinne's prophecy has been fulfilled."

"If that's true then why is Gaunter O'Dimm so interested in it?" asked Syanna. "Let her explain."

"Before leaving Toussaint and rejoining all of you, Yennefer, Geralt, Mistle, and I made contact with this entity again," Ciri revealed. "I've even started hearing it in my dreams. But while that was the most recent contact, it wasn't the only one. Years ago, in the Korath desert, I drew the Power from fire and this entity attempted to corrupt me through my access to conjuring magic, awarding me with spells I'd never even learned. In the end I renounced my connection to it, and didn't hear from it until recently."

"Which begs the question," said Keira. "What does it want?"

"As far as I know it wants to consume me," she replied. "Take me over and use my powers for some malevolent end. It didn't see fit to be more specific than that, I'm afraid."

"Well that's properly spooky, but what about our immediate concerns?" asked Horace. "Mistle's right: we need a plan."

"The way I see it, Houvenaghel's power rests on people's perception of him as untouchable," said Keira. "Those he cannot sway with money, he intimidates, and the truly persistent ones he prefers to kill, hence that ambush. We ought to determine precisely why he considers the lot of you such a threat."

"What, not including yourself?"

"If you'll recall, Lambert and I were persuaded to hunt you down in service of expediting a business deal I had with the man, one I still hope to execute on once we've seen to his demise."

"He sees our name as a reminder of his failures," said Mistle, looking at Ciri. "Bonhart killed all except one of us, then met his end by her sword. Next thing Houvenaghel knows, his businesses are up in flames and he's a ruined man. Not much of a mystery. Question is: how do we get into the city?"

"It's not walled," said Ciri. "And a fire's not such a bad idea. We just have to be sure to kill him this time."

"Do take care not to burn the warehouse full of my Catriona cure," warned Keira. "Else I fear I'll have gone to all this effort for nothing."

"That's something I've been meaning to ask you," said Syanna. "How did you arrive at a cure for the plague anyway?"

"Through careful research, most of it conducted by someone else, who met a rather sordid end. There was an unfortunate incident involving hungry peasants, a cursed island, and a tower full of rats."

"Rats?"

"The mage Alexander first believed rats to be the source of the infection. He later discovered that it wasn't the rats themselves, but rather fleas living in the rats' fur who carried the disease. When the merchant ship Catriona set off from Baccalà with flea-bitten rats as stowaways… well, that's how it all started."

Ciri turned pale. "Wait. Did you say fleas?"

"Of course."

"When I traveled the Spiral, trying to make my way back to the proper place and time, I passed through a world filled with corpses that resembled those stricken by the plague," she revealed. "I was never quite sure if it was some horrible future or if I somehow brought it with me, but a flea… I'd not have noticed it. Immediately after I left that world I found myself somewhere in a port city within the Empire. It could have been Baccalà."

"So hold on," said Horace, standing up and swiping his arms to each side. "You're saying you caused the plague? By what, time-traveling?"

"More like crossing through alternate worlds," she clarified. "Although they don't all move at the same speeds, and occasionally I did end up in the right world, but the wrong time. There was always a bit of doubt in my mind as to whether I was the cause of it, but I guess we can add the Catriona plague to the list of horrible catastrophes I've wrought."

"It's not like you did so intentionally," said Mistle. "You couldn't have known."

"The damage is still done. And that's why I'll not let the cure for it be destroyed. Fire's off the table as a strategy."

"Well then what do you suggest?" asked Horace.

"When the Wild Hunt tried to take me at Kaer Morhen, they made use of a navigator, Caranthir, who was able to teleport their forces directly into the castle," she said. "With my abilities, we should be able to do the same, meaning we won't have to fight through all their lines of defense. We just need to know where Houvenaghel is first."

"My money's on that fighting arena," said Lambert. "But the Hunt was only able to slip past us like that because they had the numbers to distract us. Not to mention they froze us first."

She nodded, considering that. Mistle squinted, tilting her head to the side as something occurred to her. "Maybe we don't need to sack the town ourselves."

Ciri craned her neck back. "What?"

"We both saw the Wild Hunt cross the moon a few nights ago. What if we tricked them into targeting Claremont? That way Houvenaghel's forces will be too busy dealing with wraiths to notice us."

"How do you plan to draw their attention?" asked Keira. "By dangling Ciri in front of them as bait?"

"That's actually not a bad idea," said Ciri. "I don't fear the Hunt. Not anymore. If I make my presence known to them and they follow me into the city, they'll carve up anybody in their way."

Lambert grimaced. "Including civilians?"

She frowned. "You already know the answer."

"Then fuck that. We're not putting innocent people in harm's way."

"We'd be doing that even without drawing in the Hunt," Syanna pointed out. "But that's not to say we couldn't persuade them to leave by some other means. Maybe even take some of Houvenaghel's men with them."

"How do you plan to do that?"

"Well, I keep hearing this plague come up. What if the city were faced with an outbreak?"

Ciri placed a finger to her chin. "They'd leave."

"Or use up my cure," said Keira.

Syanna smirked. "Do you honestly expect Houvenaghel to give that to anybody without charging for it? I'm willing to bet he'll hoard it for himself and his closest associates. He probably won't even give it to the guards."

"You make a fair point."

"I can get on board with that," said Ciri.

Lambert nodded. "Me too."

"In that case, I'll get to work mixing a solution that can replicate the symptoms of the plague without actually putting anyone in danger." She frowned. "That just leaves the matter of actually summoning the Wild Hunt, and hoping we're strong enough to defeat both them and Houvenaghel."

"We just need them to cause a distraction so his forces will be occupied," said Ciri. "After that we can just slip away."

"And what if they track you?" asked Lambert. "Once you have their attention they won't just let you go that easily."

"They know how to track my powers," she answered. "So we'll have to leave the old fashioned way. Without Eredin and his generals I doubt they'll be as persistent as before."

Syanna raised an eyebrow. "If that's so, how do you expect to get their attention in the first place?"

"Believe me," she insisted. "I know how to bring them running. A sufficient display of power ought to do it."

"If you say so."

"At any rate, we've talked enough. Now it's time to put our plan in action."

They all nodded in agreement.

Later, in their tent, Mistle placed a series of kisses over Ciri's neck while wrapping her arms around her from behind. Ciri moaned and tilted her head to the right, closing her eyes as she surrendered to the sensation. Her lover continued to nuzzle and caress her, but didn't sink her fangs in just yet.

"You know, in all this confusion," Ciri said as the ministrations continued, "It occurs to me you never gave me your last wish."

"Mm." Mistle began to nibble on her left ear. "I didn't think you'd be in such a hurry."

"It's been over a week since I gave you the medallion," she replied. "And I'd rather not wait for O'Dimm to show up and force you to come up with something. We can't live on borrowed time forever, Mistle. Just tell me your final wish so we can move closer to getting you free."

She began to stroke Ciri's breasts with her right hand, and Ciri quivered under her touch. "And what if I don't want that yet? What if I like knowing for certain that you have to stick around?"

"I won't abandon you," she promised. "Especially not after everything we've been through. Do you not believe I can outsmart him?"

"I've no doubt. But what I believe doesn't matter. Gaunter O'Dimm is ancient and clever and I've been wrong about him so many times before. I don't know if I can take that chance."

"Then you do have doubts."

"In myself? Yes. In you? Never."

"Then trust me. Trust that I'll know what to do."

She drew Ciri closer to her, pressing their heads together. "Why? Because it's your destiny?"

Ciri shook her head. "When I first met Geralt, we traveled deep into the Forests of Brokilon. The dryads there made me drink of their sacred water, trying to turn me into one of them. They said the water would make me forget who I was, that all my worries would cease to matter. But it didn't work. Do you know why?"

"Elder Blood?"

She nodded. "There was a greater destiny in store for me. There was something they said to Geralt that day. Something that stuck with me for years."

"What did they say?"

"Duettaeánn aef cirrán Cáerme Gláeddyv. Yn á esseáth," she recited. "The Sword of Destiny has two edges. You are one of them. Don't you see? Destiny isn't a predetermined path set in stone with no way for us to influence it. We have to choose that destiny. We have to walk that path. Sometimes we know where it leads, and sometimes we don't. But things have a habit of working out for me in the end, even when I've lost so much along the way."

"Easy for you to say. I've never had control over anything that happened to me."

"But your response to it was your own," she rebutted. "That's what it means for the sword to have two edges. You can only control one of them. Not both."

"In that case…" She inhaled deeply, then breathed against the back of Ciri's ear, causing her to tremble. "My final wish, after we've finished this business with Houvenaghel of course, is to marry you. In Cintra, where you were born. I wish for all those you care for to be present, so they can see us come together. I wish to spend all day and all night with you, until the twelfth bell rings at midnight. After that… let the cards fall where they may."

Ciri jolted upright, not quite breaking free of her embrace. "You want to marry me?"

"Of course. Is it really so surprising?"

"I just didn't imagine this is how you would ask."

"Well, you did tell me to come up with a wish. And that's what I want most in this world."

Turning around, Ciri tackled her to the ground with her lips. "Yes. A thousand times yes. But it'll be complicated."

"How so?"

"Well for one thing, marriage between two women isn't recognized by any kingdom or empire."

"Like that matters. It only has to be real to us." She smirked. "Besides, you're the rightful heir to Cintra, aren't you? You can make it legal."

"You're forgetting. Cintra has been under Nilfgaard's control ever since I was nine," she replied. "And the Emperor still believes I'm dead."

"After all we've been through, you're still worried about him? Ciri, if he was going to force you into doing anything then why did he let you go after Stygga Castle? Why make you an offer you had the option of refusing when you saw him on your way to Bald Mountain? By all accounts he's a horrible man, but he's always given you a choice."

Ciri blinked, staring at her for a few moments.

"Did you think I wasn't listening when you told me that long story the first night we were reunited?"

"What? Of course not. I'd just never thought of it like that before."

Mistle sat up, dragging Ciri up with her. "To my mind you've wasted far too much effort running from a destiny you never had to embrace to begin with. Even if he found out you're alive, I'm sure he'd understand."

"I somehow doubt he'd approve of this arrangement enough to leave it alone," she responded. "He could barely stomach me being under Geralt's tutelage. Traveling with bandits, plotting the death of a powerful merchant, knocking boots with a vampire… it would bring such terrible shame to his legacy. If he had any sense at all he'd continue letting the world believe I perished fighting the White Frost."

"At any rate, a wish is a wish. It's your job to make it happen, overbearing Emperor of a father or not."

She smiled. "Forget that, how am I going to convince Yennefer?"

"Your problem, not mine."

They collapsed, laying down side by side. "Have you ever given any thought as to what you'd do with yourself if you had the luxury of a normal life?"

"I did have a normal life, until the bandits showed up. Never really appealed to me all that much. I think I'd die of boredom if I went back to that."

"Would you, though?" she asked. "For me? If we survive all this and I win your soul back from O'Dimm, would you finally settle down and start an honest life? If I were to have one wish in all this, I think I'd choose that. A simple life, where no grand destiny would ever threaten me again."

"I'm not sure I know what an honest life is anymore," she answered. "But I could try. For you."

She turned on her side, facing Mistle. "Then I promise you the wedding of your dreams."

"Sounds perfect." Their lips met, and for a moment everything around them disappeared.