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The first thing Ciri spotted upon their return to Haven was Triss' distinctive blue roan at the water trough. A smile broke out on her face, and she nudged Olgierd as they dismounted.

"Will you find Triss, see if she made it safely?" she asked. "Cassandra's likely to pull me into a meeting."

"She should be easy enough to find," Olgierd said. "Odds are she's with Evelyn or her brothers."

As Ciri thought, Cassandra had already handed off her reins to the groom, and she beckoned to Ciri with an impatient look.

"The fun never ends," she sighed. With a gentle pat to Zephyr's neck, she removed the saddlebags and led her over to another waiting attendant.

"Do you have Solas' sketch?" Cassandra asked as they walked off toward Haven's main gates, faces tucked against the frigid wind.

"In my purse," Ciri said. "Frallon's letters from Papillon, too."

Cassandra's hand strayed to the hilt of her sword. "This will lead to trouble. Mark my words."

"From your lips to your Maker's ears."

People called out greetings as they passed, and Ciri tried to return the eager hails with a smile or a nod. None of them were at fault for her predicament, though their reverence still unnerved her. After twelve days of travel, she was no closer to deciding whether to leave Thedas after closing the Breach or not. The deification was a strong argument in favor.

The icy wind cut off abruptly as they stepped into the chantry. In one of the alcoves, a Chantry brother sang, his voice rising and falling with the words of the Chant.

"Blessed are they who stand before
The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.
Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.

"Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow.
In their blood the Maker's will is written."

I wonder how many Templars used that verse to justify atrocities? Ciri turned to Cassandra. "I'll meet you in the back room. I need to put my bags away."

"Very well, but be swift," Cassandra said. "We have much to discuss."

Ciri took no time at all to duck into her room. She stopped abruptly, struck by the faint familiar scent of lilac and gooseberries. She glanced about the room and saw a folded letter placed neatly on her pillow, and a large wooden crate, its lid slightly askew, set by the foot of her bed. She rushed to her bed to grab the letter, unfolding it eagerly.

Dearest Ciri,

Triss stopped by to let us know what you've been up to since we saw you last. Dear daughter, you certainly know how to find adventure! Geralt was keen to ride out to the new school the moment the word 'explosion' left Triss' mouth, but cooler heads prevailed. You'd come to us if you need assistance.

You're no fool.

I admit that I fear for you. Between the rumors of impending sainthood and Triss' tale of the dangers you've faced recently, Geralt and I have been wearing grooves in the floorboards. I know how capable you are, darling, but this news of strange magic in your hand does not sit well with me. Should things get worse, please consider coming home. There is no shame in breaking a contract when your life is on the line.

In lieu of storming Haven to rescue you – you needn't worry, we'll not be doing that – we've put together a care package of sorts. No doubt you're running low on some supplies, and I'm sure you'll want new clothes to wear. I know you only packed enough to get through a week. We tucked some Sepremento in the bottom, and Marlene packed a hamper of her cooking for you.

Be well, darling. You're strong and smart. We have faith in you, but do remember that you can always come home.

With all our love,

Yennefer

P.S. I trust your abilities. But I also remember that you don't like it when I hover. So we're doing our best to help from a distance. Say the word and we'll be right there. Take care of yourself, and stay safe. – Geralt

She looked from the letter to the crate. It was already open – had Leliana or her people gone through it? Had they read her letter? She re-read it quickly, skimming it to see if there was anything that might give away the game. No, no, everything seemed fine. The contents of the crate tempted her, but Cassandra and the others were waiting. She'd come back after. And she'd share the bounty of Marlene's cooking with Triss, Olgierd, and the Trevelyans.

She set the letter down on her bed and hurried to the back room, heart lighter than it had been in weeks.

"That took longer than I thought," Cassandra said as she shut the door behind her.

"Sorry," Ciri said. "There was a letter."

She looked around and saw that the full complement of Inquisition advisors awaited her this time. Josephine stood ready with her clipboard. Leliana hovered half-in and half-out of the shadows. Cullen looked over the Orlais portion of the map with weary eyes, hand resting on the pommel of his sword. Chancellor Roderick sat in the lone chair against the wall, rubbing his temples. And Cassandra tapped her foot impatiently, eager for the meeting to get underway.

"The letter from your mother?" Leliana inquired. "Your friend Triss Merigold delivered it. She arrived a few hours ago. Another mage friend to the Trevelyans, I understand."

"Yes," Ciri said, "Though I've known Triss since I was a child."

"She mentioned that." Leliana looked curious, not suspicious. "Both Owain Trevelyan and Raúl de Medina have vouched that she was an apprentice at the Starkhaven Circle before it burned down. Knight-Captain Rylen doesn't remember her, but then, he admits his memory isn't what it was."

So that's the story Triss is going with. It's not a bad one.

"Lyrium does have that effect, I hear," Ciri said.

Cullen grimaced. "Knight-Lieutenant Owain and his compatriots are certainly free with their information."

"I asked, Commander. I wanted to know how I might help." Ciri studied Cullen's complexion. He still looked slightly waxen, with deep circles beneath his warm brown eyes. The withdrawal was clearly taking a toll.

"And was there anything?" Cullen asked.

"Nothing. But I'm not giving up."

He nodded fractionally and turned to Leliana. "You were saying about Triss Merigold?"

"Triss looks much too young to have been near the age for her Harrowing when Starkhaven Circle burned, as Owain says, but she claims to be older than she looks," Leliana said. "It's odd, but not unbelievable. It's certainly impressive that she evaded the Templars for ten years."

Cullen shook his head. "I'm uncomfortable allowing another un-Harrowed mage into our ranks, but if you know and trust her, it appears I have little choice in the matter."

"I trust Triss," Ciri said firmly. "She's a good friend of my family and a talented mage."

Leliana smiled at her, shooting a sharp look at Cullen. "Then that settles it, does it not, Commander?"

"At any rate, it's a relief to know your parents are real people," Josephine said. "My apologies for reading your mother's letter. Leliana thought I would wish to know that the story you gave me and the letter aligned."

"We're not lying to the Chantry? Oh, thank the Maker," Chancellor Roderick muttered.

Leliana picked up a pewter marker of a raven and idly tapped her fingers on the Free Marches. "They aren't in Markham, though. Are they, Lady Ciri?"

"That was your fiction, not mine," Ciri pointed out.

Leliana smiled.

"But they are a knight and a mage, yes?" Josephine asked.

Ciri nodded. "They are."

"Then that is all that matters."

"For now," Leliana added.

The advisors gaining proof of her parents' existence did put a crimp in their plan to advertise them as 'sadly deceased,' Ciri thought. Still, she had little interest in how Leliana and Josephine intended to handle this new wrinkle.

"Enough of this," Cassandra said impatiently. "Markham or no Markham, knight or no knight, Ciri has been critical to our success in the Hinterlands, and recruited two new people to our cause while we were in Orlais."

"Grand Cleric Oudine approved of her – tentatively," Chancellor Roderick added. "I feel it's more of a pragmatic move on her part than a belief in Divine Justinia's proclamation. But we have the Chantry's support."

"That support will likely come with strings attached," Leliana said. "Lady Ciri, what was your impression of the grand cleric?"

"She seemed stressed, overwhelmed," Ciri said. "She said she felt the best way forward for the Chantry was through the Inquisition, that she wished to keep it from splintering further. She feared the grand cleric of Cumberland might follow in Agnesot's footsteps."

"Your thoughts, Josie?" Leliana asked.

Josephine frowned. "Cumberland would be a grave loss. Our support is eroded in Orlais thanks to this schism. I dread to think of what should happen if Nevarra falls prey to the same infighting. A common religion is all that ties our disparate cultures together. If we lose that in these troubled times, I fear the Inquisition will face a steep battle to win support from foreign nobility."

"I agree," Leliana said. Her hand holding the raven token hovered over Val Royeaux, then withdrew. "We must do something about this Grand Cleric Iona."

Chancellor Roderick stood from his chair and joined them at the table. "Revered Mother Anastasia is her direct subordinate in Cumberland, I believe. The word at the Grand Cathedral puts them at frequent odds."

"Perhaps calling in favors to support this revered mother would be helpful," Josephine suggested. "It may make Grand Cleric Iona think twice if even her local clerics don't agree with her position."

"Yet if she feels alienated from the Chantry, she may be more inclined to break away," Leliana countered.

Cullen rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "What if we posted soldiers at the Grand Cathedral? A display of force might frighten her and others into compliance. Some of these grand clerics don't seem to understand that they no longer have the protection of the Templars."

Cassandra nodded in agreement, but Chancellor Roderick scoffed.

"If we do that, we'll see her run back to Cumberland, and take her people with her. The fence-sitters will hop with alacrity. We're meant to be united with the Chantry, not taking steps to intimidate them."

"You're holding back, Leliana," Ciri said. "What do you suggest?"

Leliana sighed. "It may be best if Iona were simply no longer a problem. As it stands, she is a danger to the stability of the Chantry. A well-placed agent could ensure that danger no longer remained."

Cassandra recoiled. "Assassinate a grand cleric? Leliana!"

"This is my job, Cassandra, like it or not," Leliana snapped. "I see what must be done and I do it. The Left Hand is always bloodier than the Right."

"Not this time," Ciri said. "We'll use Josephine's plan, call in favors for Revered Mother Anastasia. If that fails – well, we'll have to hope it doesn't, won't we?"

"We cannot afford the luxury of ideals at a time like this," Leliana warned as Josephine placed her key-shaped marker on Val Royeaux.

"If not now, then when?" Ciri asked. "When ideals cost us nothing? It's when ideals are hardest to hold to that they're needed most. Otherwise, we just stumble from one dark choice to another, or refuse to choose at all."

"Very well," Leliana said. "I hope you're right."

As do I.

"The scouts reported that you encountered other troubles," Cullen said. "Nobles playing their games, and an assassin."

Ciri nodded, and she filled the advisors in on the encounter in the bazaar with le Coq, Vivienne's setup at the salon with the marquis named Alphonse, the scuffle with Rolet Frallon and his men and the revelation of a mysterious backer, and finally, the thwarted assassination attempt just twelve nights ago. Cassandra and Chancellor Roderick interjected in places. She laid out the sketch of the assassin's face with the tan lines outlined and the stack of letters from the Frallon estate as she finished speaking and waited for them to weigh in.

Leliana reached out and picked up the sketch. "It is uncommon, but not so much so that I can say who it belongs to for a fact. The Blanchards of Val Montaigne have a mask in this shape, as do the de Chalons and the Doucys. It was a popular shape for bards' masks five years ago. These things come and go in style for commoners. Noble families' masks do not. They stay the same for generations."

"So that's hundreds of possible bards and three noble families and their retainers and servants," Cullen said, shaking his head. "Maker's breath, how are we to track down an assassin's identity in this mess?"

"Not to mention this Papillon," Josephine said, flipping through the letters. "What do you make of this, Leliana?"

"A bard," Leliana said without hesitation. "Many bards adopt animal motifs to maintain anonymity. The Black Fox, for one."

"Or the Nightingale?" Cassandra murmured.

Josephine laughed at the irked look Leliana shot Cassandra, and said, "It's common in Orlais for young nobles to put on a different mask and learn to play the Game as a bard. If this Papillon has the influence they claim, then they're a well-placed noble, and one who's played the Game as a bard for many years."

"I will put my agents on these matters. Discreetly, of course," Leliana said.

"And I will write to contacts who may prove friendlier than the nobles you've crossed paths with," Josephine said. "Vicomtesse Elodie de Morreau is not particularly influential, but she's very well-connected."

"Further correspondence from the Grand Cathedral will most likely come to me," Chancellor Roderick said. "I doubt they'll be foolish enough to interfere in how we run things, but I've learned over the years to never underestimate the dangers of mob mentality combined with the power of bureaucracy. Lady Ciri, try not to provoke any rash responses from Val Royeaux. We do need their support."

"What would they consider a provocation?" Ciri asked. "Because honestly, I feel like all I'm doing is running about putting out fires and dealing with other people's messes. That's hardly anything for the Chantry to get offended over."

"And yet you, Messere Olgierd, Solas, and now Triss Merigold are all here, apostates and un-Harrowed mages," Josephine said gently. "Magic that exists outside of Templar supervision is often frightening to the Chantry, no matter how pure or good a mage's intent is."

Ciri scoffed. "So I am the 'malign influence' the grand cleric warned about?"

"An exception can be made for you. Even for the select few you surround yourself with. But more than that, and the Chantry will take notice," Chancellor Roderick warned. "We may wish to reach out to the Templars to appease the Grand Cathedral."

Ciri balked at the idea of having to deal with Lord Seeker Lucius again. He'd stood out to her as an entirely different sort of fanatic, one who'd easily fit in with the witch hunters and the Temple Guard back in Novigrad. Worse, Cullen and Cassandra were nodding in agreement. She looked to Leliana and Josephine, hoping to see some sanity in the other advisors.

"Let's not be too hasty," Josephine said. "We have an invitation to Redcliffe from Grand Enchanter Fiona, which gives us an opportunity to assess the mage rebellion. We have no such inroad with the Templars."

"Yes, and the scout's report on Lord Seeker Lucius was...concerning," Leliana said. "That is not a man we want to be involved in the Inquisition's leadership."

"We'll have to pick something, and soon, if we wish to close the Breach successfully," Ciri said. "But if my vote counts for anything, I want nothing to do with Lord Seeker Lucius and his 'destiny.'"

"A problem for another day," Leliana said. "In the meantime, I've received troubling reports from my scouts. Grey Wardens across Orlais and Ferelden have vanished."

"Grand Cleric Oudine mentioned as much," Ciri said. "Their fortress in Montsimmard stands empty. She asked us to keep an eye out."

Leliana nodded. "There is one Warden I've heard news of. He's been fighting bandits and demons in the Hinterlands, protecting the locals. Perhaps he might have the information we seek."

"We have to return to the Hinterlands to deal with the mages in the Witchwood, and to recruit Dennet," Ciri said. "What's the status of his watchtowers?"

"Our soldiers built them with little trouble," Cullen said. "Corporal Vale led the effort, I believe. He has a team of 'irregulars' who joined the Inquisition but stayed to help with the mess in the Hinterlands."

"Pass on my thanks in the next round of correspondence. Leliana, we'll look for your Warden. If that's all?"

In response, Josephine held up her clipboard, and Leliana unveiled a stack of parchment. Ciri stifled a groan.

"Varric wants us to look into an issue with a plagiarist," Leliana began.

Ciri settled in for a long meeting. Triss would simply have to wait.


Ciri made her way from the chantry, Marlene's hamper of food tucked under her arm and bottle of Sepremento in her hand. Sweet and savory smells rose from the lid – boeuf bourguignon, she guessed, and some sort of apple dessert. The hamper still felt warm to the touch. Triss must have gone to Corvo Bianco right before teleporting with her horse to Haven.

She felt warm at the thought of the love her parents had put into the 'care package,' like they were reaching out from Toussaint to hug her from a distance. Someone, likely Yennefer, had packed half a dozen more shirts and four more pairs of trousers, as well as a week's worth of underclothes. All were new, soft linen or lambswool, in colors that looked attractive on her. Two high-quality repair kits for armor and weapons had been tucked away at the bottom, with oil and buffing cloths and gnomish whetstones, a small hammer and pliers and a sturdy pair of scissors.

Geralt had sent along more sword oils for her. Yennefer had included a velvet pouch with a pair of cushion-cut emerald drop earrings set in white gold – utterly frivolous, but beautiful and a perfect match to her eyes. She'd carefully laid it all out, tucking the velvet pouch deep in her saddlebags to protect against thievery, and left to find her friends.

She pushed open the chantry door with her free hand, shivering at the gust of icy wind that ruffled her hair and blew down the back of her neck. The evening sun glinted off the patches of snow on the ground, and she shaded her eyes, squinting. With luck, she'd find Triss with Olgierd and the Trevelyans in the cabin, or in the tavern.

"Excuse me," a lightly accented voice said politely.

She turned to see a handsome young man, tanned and smooth-cheeked, with dark brown hair cut much like Olgierd's, though shorter on the top. He wore sturdy, practical armor and stood with a soldier's erect carriage.

"Yes?" she said.

"I have a message for the Inquisition, but I'm having a hard time getting anyone to talk to me," he said.

Ciri glanced up at the sun. This shouldn't take too long. "You can give me your message. I'll pass it along to the others."

The young man smiled. "Thank you. I'm Cremisius Aclassi, with the Bull's Chargers mercenary company. We mostly work out of Orlais and Nevarra. We've got word of some Tevinter mercenaries gathering out on the Storm Coast. My company commander, Iron Bull, offers the information free of charge. If you'd like to see what the Bull's Chargers can do for the Inquisition, meet us there and watch us work."

"We already have mercenaries in our employ," Ciri said. "The Valo-Kas mercenary company. Have you heard of them?"

"By reputation only," Aclassi said. "We hear good things about Shokrakar and her people. They do solid work. They always get the job done."

Ciri felt better about the Bull's Chargers if they were willing to praise a competitor. "Why does the Iron Bull want to work for the Inquisition?"

"He hasn't said. You're the first time he's gone out of his way to pick a side," Aclassi said. "Normally we accept contracts from whoever makes the first real offer."

"Tell me about your commander," Ciri said.

"Bull? He's one of those Qunari," Aclassi said. He gestured to his head. "You know, the big guys – with the horns? He leads from the front, he pays well, and he's a lot smarter than the last bastard I worked for."

"And what can you tell me about your company?" Ciri asked.

Aclassi looked proud. "We're loyal, we're tough, and we don't break contracts. Ask around Val Royeaux. We've got references."

"If I never go back to Val Royeaux, it will be too soon," Ciri said, "But I'll take your word for it."

Aclassi grinned. "Yeah, it's horrible there. But the nobles pay well."

"We'll see you on the Storm Coast, Aclassi," Ciri said. She held out her free hand, and Aclassi grabbed it in a firm handshake.

"We're the best you'll find," he declared. "You won't regret it."

Ciri left him behind, making her way past the spymaster's tent and the tavern and up the stairs to the small trio of cabins. As always, Solas stood outside his cabin at the top of the stairs, watching the people below.

"I see Seeker Cassandra finally released you from the meeting," he greeted her. "I had the pleasure of meeting your friend, Triss Merigold. She tells me she is another apostate, one who fled her Circle when it burned down ten years ago."

"Triss never could stand to be confined," Ciri said.

Solas smiled. "She is brave to leave behind the comfort of the familiar for the danger of the unknown. Many mages would hesitate to do as she did, alone and unsupported by her fellows. I look forward to working with her."

"She's interested in the lessons you've been giving me," she said. "Might we resume them in the Hinterlands? Could we try a spell?"

"I don't see any reason why we shouldn't," he said.

"Would you like to join us?" she asked. She held up the hamper and the bottle of wine. "I brought dinner – you're welcome to have some."

"Another time," he demurred. "I'll leave you to catch up with your friend without a stranger taking away from your reunion."

"If you're sure," she said.

"I am. Go on, da'len. We'll speak later."

She gave Solas a final smile and turned to the Trevelyans' cabin. It always felt like she was taking two steps forward and one step back with him. They progressed well enough as companions, as a mentor and student, as friends, even, but Solas had turned down every invitation to socialize so far. He was thawing, but still, he held himself apart.

The sight of Triss' bright smile put Solas from her mind as she stepped into the cabin. Arms wrapped around her, and she laughed, hugging Triss back with her free arm.

"Wait, wait!" she exclaimed. "Let me put this down!"

Triss stepped back, and Ciri set the hamper and the wine on the hearth where a low fire burned. She looked about the room and saw that all three Trevelyans were present, as well as Olgierd – a tired but cheerful Evelyn reclined on one of the beds beside a shamefaced Maxwell, and Owain sat on his bed, elbows on his knees and a welcoming smile on his handsome face. Olgierd leaned against the wall and nodded to her, warmth in his eyes.

"I brought dinner," Ciri said. "Rather, Triss did, straight from Corvo Bianco."

"Yenna and Geralt were happy to send that package and letter along," Triss said, "Though they wanted me to tell you that they'll be here in an instant if we ask."

Evelyn got up from the bed to open the hamper, lifting out two sealed containers and a small stack of bowls and silverware. A dazhbog rune glowed dully on each lid – that explained the warmth. "Oh, that smells delicious! My compliments to your parents' cook, Ciri."

Ciri accepted a bowl and spoon as Evelyn dished out the boeuf bourguignon. "Marlene is an amazing cook. Which is all to the good, since Geralt is a wreck in the kitchen."

"Just like Mother," Evelyn laughed.

Maxwell seemed to struggle for a moment, eyes on his bowl, then he burst out, "I'm sorry! I apologize, Ciri. Unreservedly. All my plans involved you going back to the Continent after the Conclave – I never intended to cause you so much trouble."

Ciri sighed. "You couldn't have known."

"But I should have," Maxwell argued. "I should have considered it. I should have factored in the possibility that you might remain longer. The Trevelyan family profited, and your reputation suffered in Orlais – badly, as Olgierd said. That's my fault."

"Whatever the case, we have to live with it now," Ciri said. "I forgive you, Maxwell. Just be more careful going forward."

"I will," he promised. "Believe me."

Ciri took her bowl and sat beside Owain. He gave her a warm smile, knocking his knee against hers.

"Olgierd told us what happened in Orlais," Owain said. "It sounded eventful."

"That's one word for it," Ciri agreed. "Did he tell you about Sera and Vivienne?"

Owain laughed. "I look forward to meeting them. Well, to meeting Sera, at least. Enchanter Vivienne sounds more like Maxwell's sort than mine."

"Sera might not look forward to meeting you," Ciri said. "She seemed to have a poor view of nobles. Olgierd, have they arrived yet?"

"Not yet. I expect they'll appear in the next day or two," Olgierd said.

Evelyn pried the cork from the Sepremento and passed it to Olgierd, taking the final bowl for herself and returning to her seat beside Maxwell.

"The salon must have been so elegant – aside from the mess with the marquis," she said. "I was never old enough to attend parties before the Templars took me to the Circle. And after they fell, I had too many responsibilities to the mages in our care. Was it beautiful?"

"It was odd," Ciri said. "Artificial. People there don't look quite real in their masks. And I always had this sense that I was being watched, constantly, and that my every word was being weighed and measured. I wore a Free Marches dress and I stood out like a sore thumb, but it was better than stuffing myself into one of their ridiculous gowns."

Evelyn looked disappointed at Ciri's answer. Owain laughed.

"Don't worry, Evie. There will be other parties, with better company."

Ciri dug into her boeuf bourguignon and groaned with pleasure. The savory flavors burst across her tongue, thick and rich with the taste of beef, mushrooms, onions, and carrots stewed in a hearty red wine. She felt a sharp pang of homesickness at the taste. How was it that Toussaint, in all its pomp and courtliness, had become home in two short years? She had months left here in Thedas before she could return to her old life. But the care package helped ease the longing.

The bottle of Sepremento passed from hand to hand as they ate. Evelyn shared her less bloody tales of the healing tent, and her ongoing attempts to cajole, convince, or badger Cullen into taking the headache potion. Maxwell described his more interesting experiences working with Josephine, and the nobles in Haven he'd placated, bribed, or otherwise coerced on the Inquisition's behalf. Owain didn't have much to say beyond sharing his approval of the soldiers' improvement.

Triss had a wealth of stories to share – tales of the Markham mages, of Casteldaccia, of Margarita and Keira and Lambert, and of Geralt and Yennefer. Ciri had the feeling that Triss had spoken of these things to the others already, but they were politely quiet as Evelyn dished out the tarte tatin, letting Triss' words of the Continent carry the conversation over dessert.

As the last bite of the spiced apple tart disappeared along with the early autumn sun, Owain turned to Ciri. "You'll be heading back to the Hinterlands soon, won't you?"

"In the next few days," she said. "We'll need time to rest. We've been traveling nonstop for almost four weeks, with only the one night in Val Royeaux."

"Hardly enough time for a body to think, let alone breathe," Olgierd said. "Ifrit could use the rest. As could I."

"You don't have to come with me back to the Hinterlands," Ciri said.

He raised a coppery eyebrow at her, lips twitching in a smile. "And leave you to have all this fun without me? Never."

"I'll be coming, too," Triss said. "I want to see what this mage rebellion is like in person."

"Bloody," Olgierd said bluntly. "They wish for freedom. The Templars would deny them any such opportunity. Poor farmers suffer from the conflict."

"Can we help them?" Triss asked.

"It depends," Owain said. "The Chantry would have us help them right back into the Circles. And everyone else has a different idea of what freedom looks like. I like the idea of open Circles – schools for mages, with apprentices living there until their Harrowing. Some people would tear it all down. Others think mages can't be trusted with any degree of freedom."

"You begin to grasp the problem," Maxwell said dryly.

"For what it's worth, the Ostwick Circle wasn't bad, but it would have been better if I could have come and gone," Evelyn said. "I know I had it better as nobility, and many Circles had troubles that the Ostwick Circle didn't. But I agree with Owain's proposal. Mages do need education as apprentices, and the Harrowing serves a purpose."

Olgierd snorted. "I fail to see how forcing children to face demons serves any sort of purpose."

"Teenagers," Evelyn corrected, "Or young adults."

"Oh, much better."

There was a harsh edge of unease to Olgierd's sarcasm. Having heard his story from Geralt, Ciri understood why he was so repelled by the thought of the Harrowing. She agreed. It seemed dangerous and unnecessary. She watched as his hand curled around the neck of the now-empty bottle of Sepremento and wondered if Goetia could bind and summon demons here in Thedas as it did in the Continent.

Perhaps it was better that he not try. They already suspected he was a maleficar. Any magic involving demons or blood, and they might break out the Tranquil brand.

Then they'd learn what it's like to face a Witcher trained by sorceresses in combat.

"Enough about mages," Maxwell said dismissively. "Let's have some music."

Olgierd barked a laugh. "Agreed, better a song than a spat."

"Will you play for us, Olgierd?" Evelyn asked.

"I'm not singing this time," Ciri said. "I always end up singing."

"Nay, fair is fair," he said. "Let's have a song from Thedas."

In response, Owain hummed lightly, eyes on his sister, and Maxwell began to slowly clap. Evelyn blushed but gamely lifted her voice to sing.

"Too long I have traveled, soon I'll see her smiling,
The girl in Red Crossing I'm longing to see.
Oh, I know she is there, daisies in her hair,
Waiting by the chantry to marry me.

"I've dreamed of the kiss I stole 'neath the arbor.
I've dreamed of the promise 'neath the old ash tree.
Oh, I know she is there, daisies in her hair,
Waiting by the chantry to marry me."

As Evelyn sang, Ciri felt herself slowly listing to the side, until her shoulder pressed against the warmth of Owain's strong arm. He smiled down at her, pressing back, and her stomach fluttered pleasantly.

She looked away, unaccountably flustered. Had it really been so long since she'd found someone attractive? And he was good, honest and straightforward – a kinder and less complicated person than Auberon, who'd been disgusted by her human blood and only saw his daughter Lara in her face. She was reluctant to disparage the dead, but he was far and away a better person than Mistle.

In an ideal life, she could pursue him. But once she finished her work here, she'd leave, and she would likely never see him again. She couldn't stay, and he'd be left behind.

She straightened, the pleasant flutter tightening to a sullen pit. Damn it all – this is a complication I don't need.