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"It's incredible," Ciri said as Skyhold unfolded in the distance before them.

Solas smiled faintly, a glint of what looked like pride in his eyes. "I'd imagine anything would be welcome after two weeks wandering the mountains. But it is something to behold."

Its strong, square towers and heavy crenellations reminded her of Kaer Morhen in a way. It sat the same lonely vigil along a mountain, too, just as the Witchers' keep did in Kaedwen. From this distance, it didn't seem quite so damaged as Kaer Morhen, but she braced for the worst. If Solas said it had been abandoned for a century or more, then time and the elements had surely taken their toll.

Olgierd clapped her on the shoulder. She turned to grin up at him. Her poor friend looked quite unkempt as of late, with thick red stubble on the sides of his head and a beard and mustache in dire need of trimming. "Well done," he said warmly. "It's a fine fortress."

"I still have a bottle of Sepremento tucked away," Ciri said. "We should break it out once we get there. Solas, you should join us this time."

Solas inclined his head in agreement. "Save it for when we have good food to savor it with. I'll gladly join you then."

Olgierd cast his gaze down the steep mountainside and out to the long stone bridge leading to Skyhold. "I'll let the advisors know it's time to move out."

"Say hello to Josephine for us," Ciri teased him.

"The cheek on you," he said, laughing. "Teach me to never say never, I suppose."

"I'm happy for you," she said sincerely.

His broad smile shrank and softened into something gentle and private. "As am I."

"I should go with you." Triss leaned on her staff as she, too, took in the magnificent view. "Fiona, 'Madame de Fer,' and Letia will want to organize the mages for the walk across the bridge. I'm sure they have some sort of protocol in mind for who gets to go first."

"I don't envy you their company," Ciri told her. The three mages were tolerable enough on their own but together were a strain on her nerves. They were masters of arch, polite bickering, each of them as proud and forceful as Sheala de Tancarville or Philippa Eilhart.

"I've had experience with their type," Triss said with a wry smile. "Besides, they think they've taken me under their wing."

Ciri understood this game, and Triss played it deftly. The enchanters thought that direct influence over the wayward young apprentice would give them indirect influence over Ciri. Triss expertly played up her youthful looks and inexperience with Thedosian magic, never lingering too long with one mage or the other. The more she could learn of their magic and the state of mage politics, the more she could help them – and the more she could help Ciri and the Inquisition.

Ciri had already half-jokingly warned Triss not to suggest starting a Lodge to Vivienne or Fiona. Thedas had enough problems without adding a Lodge of Sorceresses into the mix. Triss, to her relief, had taken no offense, merely saying that the mages had their hands full with their fraternities.

"Come on, Merigold," Olgierd said, turning and heading back to the waiting caravan. "Time is wasting."

"Right behind you."

The two redheads strode away up the slope, leaving Ciri alone with Solas. She looked out at the great stone fortress again and smiled. Finally. By night's end, they'd have walls around them. A thought struck her and she looked up at Solas.

"Who would even build a keep all the way out here in the middle of nowhere?"

"The answer to that is one even the Fade has forgotten," Solas replied. "Even its original name has lost its meaning. 'Tarasyl'an Te'las,' the place where the sky was held back. Poetic, but whatever the original owners intended by it has been lost to time."

"It was Elvhen?" Ciri asked, and Solas nodded. "Then – would they mind the Inquisition's presence? Mind me?"

"The religious army might give them pause," Solas said dryly. "But of all the successive claimants to Skyhold, I suspect you might be the only one they'd find worthy of it."

She still wasn't sure how she felt about the ancient Elvhen of Thedas. Her brush with a mind-altering amount of power left her questioning the sort of people the long-extinct mages might have been. She thought with no small amount of relief that at least she didn't have to deal with one of them on top of all the other problems she faced.

"Let's go down," she said as the faint sound of voices and a great many footsteps reached her ears. "They're on their way."

Solas gestured at the steep path before them. "After you, lethallin."

Ciri passed off the last of the crates to the waiting soldier and stopped to stretch her sore back. With the third of the carts from the Trevelyan estate unloaded, the quartermaster could finally start distributing supplies as needed. Under Cullen, Owain, and Fiona's direction, the bulk of the surviving army and most of the mages had set up camp along the river below Skyhold, with the healers and their patients arrayed in the lower courtyard.

She flexed her marked hand absently as she looked around at the high, crumbling walls. Whatever it had been originally, she doubted it looked anything like the sturdy gray fortress that surrounded her now. The outer walls were heavily damaged in places, almost as badly as Kaer Morhen, but it had good bones. The Inquisition could use their connections to gain access to a quarry, and skilled workers could be had with the Chantry's coin.

She shook out her hand again. It felt even stranger these last two weeks, ever since Corypheus had used the orb to tear at the mark. Her palm prickled constantly, an irritating pins and needles sensation of numbness giving way to near-painful sensitivity. And each trip to the Trevelyan estate for supplies and feed for the horses had felt – not difficult, but like her hand had become progressively heavier, clay to iron to lead, an anchor against the current.

"We can take it from here, Your Worship," the soldier said, hefting the crate in her arms. "You've surely more important things to do than help us unload."

Ciri wasn't sure she did. Everyone seemed to have everything well in hand. Still, she wandered off to find some way to occupy herself. She had a vague idea of where her companions were. Varric had disappeared with one of Leliana's ravens. The Iron Bull was overseeing the Chargers as they cleared rubble from one of the damaged buildings on the grounds. Blackwall was on the battlements examining the fortifications.

Sera had been tense and agitated in Haven's aftermath, but a quiet, frank conversation had eased her fears. She was off with the scouts somewhere, helping to erect tents for temporary shelters until the buildings were deemed safe. Dorian was helping Flissa and her workers stock the kitchens. Triss was with Fiona, Olgierd with Owain and the soldiers, Evelyn with the healers. Josephine and Maxwell were occupied with reams of paperwork and letter-writing at a desk set up in one of the few stable areas in the main hall.

That left Cassandra, Vivienne, and Solas unaccounted for. Ciri headed down the short flight of stone steps to the lower courtyard in search of Evelyn. She'd likely know where to find her tutor or Enchanter Vivienne.

She stepped out into a quiet, vehement argument taking place not far from Commander Cullen's 'desk' of a board across two barrels. He seemed to be doing his best to ignore the quarrel, accepting missives from scouts and looking over supply lists. As the quarrelers' voices raised, he shook his head and looked up to meet Ciri's eyes wearily.

"What's this about?" she asked him quietly, indicating the way Vivienne and Solas were practically nose to nose in hissing argument, with Cassandra and Chancellor Roderick chiming in to support the First Enchanter whenever Solas took a breath.

Cullen grimaced. "The boy, Cole. Solas says he's no mage, but a spirit. Apparently, he's been using his powers to make people forget him or to go unseen. Enchanter Vivienne says he's a demon and needs to be banished or otherwise done away with. Cassandra and the Chancellor fear what the Chantry might think if we welcome a spirit into our midst."

Ciri looked beyond Vivienne and Solas to the makeshift infirmary where the healers tended the wounded. She spied Mihris making her way methodically between the bedrolls, a boy in an oversized, floppy hat following in her wake like a puppy. Despite the seriousness of the situation, she smiled a little at the odd sight.

"And what do you think of Cole, Commander?"

"I think I know enough to say I can't make a judgment one way or another," Cullen said honestly. "Demons are dangerous, Lady Ciri, and there is always a chance that even the most benign spirit can turn on you. But he sought us out of his own accord for no other reason than to help, and I have to wonder why."

She shot him an incredulous look. "You're suggesting I ask a spirit his intentions? You?"

"Yes, me." He looked down at the missives on his improvised desk, radiating discomfort. "I've had time to think things over. Hewing to Chantry guidelines where magic is concerned has done the Inquisition no favors. While I may personally believe Cole has the capacity to be dangerous, I will accept your judgment if you rule otherwise."

His hand trembled minutely as he picked up the topmost piece of parchment, and Ciri spotted an empty potion bottle half-buried beneath another stack. Evelyn had been by recently.

"I'll do that, then," she told him.

He nodded distractedly. "I'll be here if you need me."

She walked over to Solas and Vivienne, interposing herself between them as Vivienne acidly said, "It's clear, my dear, that you've never been properly educated on the true nature of spirits, or you wouldn't be so quick to try to turn this one into a pet. You can't house-break them."

"Enough!" Ciri interrupted as Solas opened his mouth to retort, his eyes flashing. "There are people recuperating not thirty feet from you. Commander Cullen is attempting to work. Stop."

Chancellor Roderick looked mildly abashed. "This did get out of hand, I suppose. But now that you're here, perhaps you can settle the matter for us."

"What is there to settle?" Vivienne asked impatiently. "That thing is a demon. Whatever motives it had for helping earlier, it won't remain so well-disposed. Make it leave, Lady Hand, for everyone's sake."

"Thank you, Vivienne," Ciri said. She turned to Solas. "And what do you think of Cole?"

"I find him intriguing," Solas admitted. "Most spirits appear strange, even monstrous, to our eyes. Yet Cole has the form of a young man."

"Is it possession?"

"No," Solas said. "He is possessing nothing and no one. For him to retain this form, and to still have a sense of self and purpose, leads me to believe he has been on this side of the Veil since before the creation of the Breach. Months, even years."

Ciri nodded. "And you, Chancellor? Cassandra?"

"The Maker's first children are jealous ones," Chancellor Roderick warned. "There will always be a danger with allowing this spirit to remain, no matter what its intentions are. Moreover, the Grand Clerics have already resorted to sending a spy into our organization, no matter how prettily they've dressed it up. We must not be too controversial."

"Or at least, no more controversial than we already are," Cassandra said. "I dislike this, Lady Ciri. Demons are unpredictable and dangerous. But I have promised to follow your lead."

Ciri looked out to the healers' area again and easily spotted Cole among the handful of healers. He knelt beside a wounded soldier, holding a cup to his lips. "Yes, he seems terrifying," she said dryly. "I assume after he's done menacing the patients with tender care, he'll subject the rest of us to check-ups and admonishments to eat our vegetables."

Vivienne pursed her lips in disapproval. "This is no laughing matter," she snapped. "That thing has no business being here."

"That 'thing' can speak for himself," Solas shot back.

"No," Ciri interrupted. "We're not doing this again. I'm going to go speak to Cole – alone – and I'll see what he has to say. And that will be the end of it."

Cole got to his feet awkwardly as she approached. He brought to mind a half-grown puppy, all long limbs and big eyes, or an animated and particularly ungainly scarecrow. It was an amusing sight. But she couldn't entirely discount the possibility that Vivienne was right, no matter how unassuming he looked. Bruxae looked delicate and harmless at first glance but were among the most fearsome monsters she'd faced. Then again, she thought, if he can think, he can likely be reasoned with.

"They said I could help," Cole said, a note of anxiety in his voice. His fingers tightened around the empty cup. He spoke with Evelyn's crisp Ostwick tones. "'Listen to the wounded, Cole, tell us when their pain gets worse. Bring them water. Thank you, that's very helpful.'" His voice shifted and took on Mihris' lilting accent. "'Put that knife away, boy, no one dies here today.'"

Ciri's hand strayed to her dagger. "Did you try to kill one of the patients?"

Cole fidgeted. "'Every breath a struggle, dagger in my chest. It hurts, it hurts, make it stop, please make it stop' –" He showed her the empty cup. "I gave him water. It didn't help. He wants to die."

"Mihris is right, Cole," she said, forcing her hand away from her dagger. "You need to trust that the healers know what they're doing. Killing their patients isn't helpful."

"I won't," he said, pale eyes wide and fixed on her face. "I want to help."

"Is that why you came to Haven? To help?"

"Yes. The Elder One gave the Templars to Envy, and he turned them, twisted them, broke them to build them back up in his image." He looked past Ciri at Cullen and the others. "The song they sing is painful now. He hurt them to hurt you. I had to help."

Ciri wasn't sure how to begin making sense of that. "Is Envy a demon?"

"Envy wore a face they trusted, so they let it in," Cole said. "Corruption spread like sickness."

"I'll take that as a yes." She'd have to send people to investigate at once. "And now that you've warned us, what do you want to do to help?"

"Listen," Cole said. "Find the hurts and fix them. The pain gets tangled up inside. I find the knot and untie it, tug it free. They're able to heal."

"You listen to people's thoughts?" Ciri remembered a moment in the chantry and took a half-step back. "You listened to my thoughts back in Haven – you spoke in Elder Speech."

"Elder Speech, the speech of elves," Cole said. He cocked his head quizzically. "But not Elven. Sorry. You're...very bright. Things come through, but you're hard to hear. Zireael, Lion Cub. You're a long way from home, little ugly one."

"Don't call me that – don't call me any of those. And don't repeat that to anyone."

"Sorry," Cole said again.

Ciri lowered her voice, looking past him at the prone patients and the roving healers. "Did you say anything to anyone else about me?"

"Solas asked me," Cole said, matching her tone. "'Elder Blood,' Lara's legacy. He thinks it means something else. It made him happy, so I didn't explain."

"No," Ciri said. "He didn't want to know."

"'It would be a kindness,'" Cole agreed in Solas' gentle accent.

"How did you – never mind." Ciri shook her head, changing the subject. "Commander Cullen tells me you can hide from people, make them forget you exist. Is that true?"

Cole nodded.

"If I let you stay, will you hide from the Chantry officials? From Revered Mother Kordula and Revered Mother Giselle? And the rest of them?"

"I can," he said. "Should I hide from Chancellor Roderick?"

"No, he's a member of the Inquisition."

"The Inquisition, Justinia's last edict," he said. "He follows where she led."

"Exactly."

"So I can stay?"

"You can," she said, "So long as you keep people's secrets to yourself. People value their privacy, Cole."

"Like –" He shut his mouth, blinking rapidly. "Oh."

She patted him on the shoulder. "Just like that. Keep up the good work."

She walked back to Solas and Vivienne. "I see it's still there," Vivienne said curtly.

"For now," Ciri said. "He seems to be driven by a desire to help. We'll let him, but we'll keep an eye on him. The Chantry is not to know of this. He's agreed to keep out of their sight."

"And when it inevitably turns on us?" Vivienne asked.

"Should that happen, he's surrounded by an army of mages and former Templars," Ciri told her. "He won't get far. But I won't stand for him being provoked into doing so." She met everyone's eyes squarely, waiting for their nods of understanding. "Good."

She left them behind, stopping by Cullen's desk and lowering her voice. "We have a problem."

He looked up from his paperwork immediately. "Where?"

"Therinfal Redoubt. Cole said a demon took command of the Templars and fed them red lyrium, that it wore the face of someone they trusted."

"Maker's breath! Could that be Samson?" He glared at his paperwork and sighed in frustration. "No. Samson was no one important back in Kirkwall. It would have to be one of the Knights-Vigilant or one of the captains. How Samson became so powerful is beyond me."

"He didn't say," Ciri told him. "Cole's way of speaking is a bit opaque. But I'd suggest sending the Bull's Chargers to investigate at once, along with a Templar or two, perhaps a healer. There may be Templars left who survived whatever happened there."

"Raúl de Medina is an obvious choice," Cullen considered. "Rona Fisher has been unwilling to have much to do with the Order lately, but they work well together. I'll send them both, and have the Iron Bull pull his men off the work crews."

"The sooner the better," Ciri agreed.

Cullen caught her by the elbow as she began to leave. "Thank you for this. I'd hate to leave anyone at the mercy of a demon."

"We'll figure this out, Commander," Ciri said with an assurance she didn't quite feel.

He let her go, and she wandered off again, in search of something else to do.

Ciri descended the dusty steps and opened the small door leading into the throne room. After a long, grueling week of labor, half the buildings had been cleared for living and working, and Leliana and Josephine had designated the spacious room at the top of the main hall as her quarters. It held nothing in the way of furniture yet, but it provided shelter and privacy, both things she'd been lacking in for weeks.

Despite the Inquisition's military hierarchy, the advisors and her companions were given priority in choosing their rooms before the others. Triss and Olgierd chose small, private rooms overlooking the badly overgrown garden behind the main hall. Solas had to be coaxed into taking a room with an actual bed instead of simply camping in the rotunda. And Vivienne's attempt to commandeer the balcony overlooking the main hall was deftly redirected to the second largest of the rooms running along the outside of the garden.

She eyed the cobweb-covered throne at the end of the hall with a sinking feeling. Somehow, she'd end up sitting in it. She just knew it.

She'd almost reconciled to the idea of leading the Inquisition. She'd been doing the work for months. But the sight of a throne stirred up feelings she'd thought she'd dealt with long ago. Witcher or not, she'd been raised as Queen Calanthe's heir. She remembered her grandparents' lessons on statecraft and leadership. But that was for a different time and a different throne. She served people differently now, hunting monsters and ridding villages of graveirs and wraiths.

Cintra was lost to her forever, and she'd faked her own death rather than let the plots of the great and powerful succeed at turning her into a broodmare for Tankred or Emhyr. Her destiny lay on the Path, with Zephyr and her silver sword as her closest companions. That cobwebbed throne was a trap, and she could feel its iron jaws slowly closing around her.

It was past time to tell the advisors, before the jaws snapped shut. She'd failed to do so in Haven, having been rushed off to the Storm Coast on a month's journey there and back, then failed again in the brief frenetic days before closing the Breach. There'd been no good time to pull Cassandra or Josephine aside on the trek to Skyhold. And they hadn't been able to stop to even think this past week.

With luck, she'd get through the coming conversation with her skin intact – and without another unwanted title.

She was so lost in contemplation that she missed Triss coming to join her, and her friend had to call her name to get her attention.

Ciri turned away from the throne. "Are they all in the new War Room?"

"Yes." Triss hesitated, unable to hide her worry. "Ciri – this is a terrible idea."

"Olgierd wants to be honest with Josephine, and I understand his reasons." She agreed, even. She hadn't intentionally set out to hide her full background from the Trevelyans, but somehow keeping her origins from Owain brought a prickle of guilt lately, like she was doing something wrong.

"That's fine, but the others?" Triss pressed.

"In that future Alexius threw me into, Cassandra knew the truth. She asked me to tell her when I returned, and I neglected to. There's never going to be a right time to tell them. Now, when they're filled with goodwill toward us, is as good a time as we'll ever get."

Ciri started walking toward the side door that led to Josephine's new office, and the new War Room beyond that, and Triss fell into step beside her.

"Their church –"

"Their Chantry," Ciri emphasized, "Is not invited to this discussion. I'm aware of the risks, Triss. They need us, need me, more than we need them. And they know it. I'll swear them to secrecy."

"Secrets," Triss said ominously, "Almost never stay that way when you involve this many people."

"Then we shouldn't be counting on the entire Trevelyan household to hold their tongues, nor the mages we sent through the portal." Ciri sighed and opened the door, lowering her voice as they walked on. "We're standing on shifting sand and we all three know it. The best way to manage this is –"

"A controlled release of information?" Triss interrupted.

"Precisely."

"I reserve the right to say 'I told you so' if this goes wrong."

Ciri stopped. "You don't have to stay if you're that worried. The Markham mages are safely away on the Continent. The mage rebellion is free of the Venatori and allied with the Inquisition. We've accomplished what you wanted to do. And I'm sure King Tankred is missing his advisor."

Triss sighed and gave her a regretful look, reaching out and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I failed you once when you needed me most. I put the Lodge ahead of you, ahead of Yennefer and Geralt. I couldn't live with myself if I left you here alone."

"But?"

"But nothing. We'll do this your way. And if they try to harm you, I'll make sure they live just long enough to wish they hadn't."

They found Olgierd lingering outside the door to the War Room. He acknowledged them with a short nod. He still hadn't gotten his hands on a razor or scissors. Such items were in short supply around the Inquisition these days.

"Shall we?" he asked. He drummed his fingers on the hilt of his saber – a nervous beat, and the only tell that he was more worried than he appeared.

"No point putting it off any longer," Ciri said and opened the door.

The advisors looked up from the table as she entered. Pleasant smiles quickly turned to puzzled frowns as Olgierd and Triss followed her in.

"Lady Ciri," Cullen greeted her. "May I ask why you had us called away from our duties? We aren't scheduled to meet until later this afternoon."

"Yes, I have a small event planned in the courtyard in a few hours," Josephine said. "Will this take very long?" She scribbled a note at the bottom of the page on her clipboard, then looked up again.

Leliana studied them silently for a long moment, her sharp eyes roving from face to face. "I'm sorry, Josie," she said finally. "Unless I miss my mark, I think our announcement of the new Inquisitor will have to be delayed."

They were what? "Were you intending to lure me out into the courtyard and spring it on me in front of an audience so I couldn't say no?" Ciri asked.

"Essentially," Leliana said with a small shrug. "We were under the impression you had spoken positively about accepting the role to the Iron Bull. Perhaps we didn't need to be underhanded, but the people need a show after what they suffered."

Ciri raised her eyebrows. "You have ears everywhere, spymaster." She'd been certain the only people around to hear that conversation were Krem and the Iron Bull himself.

"That is my job. Now, what brings us here today?"

Ciri looked around the room at the advisors. Josephine appeared curious, while Cullen and Cassandra seemed mildly impatient. Chancellor Roderick struck her as politely attentive, and Leliana nearly unreadable.

"This mustn't leave the room," she said, gravely serious. "I want your word that what you learn here today, you never speak of to anyone. Especially not to the Chantry."

Josephine set down her paperwork. "Is it so consequential?"

"Could be, if we're not careful," Olgierd told her. He gave her a small half-smile. "But I wish to be honest with you."

"Cassandra, in that future Dorian and I averted, you asked me to tell you where we came from," Ciri said. "I'm sorry I delayed, but I'm ready to tell you now."

"I shouldn't be here for this," Chancellor Roderick said abruptly. He raised a hand to the bridge of his nose and pinched it, his eyes closed. "No, I think it's best I leave."

"Chancellor?" Cassandra said, reaching out.

"Someday, quite possibly in the near future, a new Divine will be called," Chancellor Roderick said. He opened his eyes again, looking resigned. "She will ask for a full account of my time with the Inquisition, and I will be obliged to tell her everything. I'm sorry, Lady Ciri, but I think my time as your advisor has come to an end."

"If you must leave for now, then I'll accept that, and even thank you for your integrity," Ciri said. "But I do hope to have you back, Chancellor. I'd prefer you over Mother Kordula any day."

"It's something to consider," Chancellor Roderick said and excused himself quietly.

Once the door was firmly shut behind him, Leliana walked slowly out from behind the enormous carved wooden table that dominated the room, trailing her fingers along the edge. It had been there when they'd arrived, a relic of Skyhold's last inhabitants, with a detailed map of the continent burned into its surface. As Leliana stalked its circumference, she pinned Ciri in place with her intent gaze.

"Those rumors..." she mused aloud. "What a fine bit of misdirection that was. Get everyone looking in different places, each one wilder than the last, and no one would question it when you finally confirmed that the truth was rather dull in comparison. A knight and an apostate. Not interesting enough to look too deeply into."

"I told you the truth from the start," Ciri said sharply. "Just...not the whole of it."

"Then tell us now," Leliana said, "And spare no detail."

"It will sound absurd," she warned her.

"One of the Magisters Sidereal walks the world again, and you traveled through time a little over a month ago," Leliana countered. "Absurd is relative."

"Your word, first," Ciri insisted.

"You have it," Josephine agreed at once. The others were quick to follow suit.

Triss put her hand on Ciri's arm and stepped forward. "We're from another world."

"You're – pardon?" Cullen sputtered.

Cassandra snorted. "Preposterous. If this is a joke, it's a poor one."

"You mean from the lands across the ocean, no?" Leliana said. "This is just a figure of speech."

"Olgierd?" Josephine asked quietly.

He hesitated, then nodded. "You found no trace of us for good reason," he said, equally quiet. "We'd not set foot in Thedas before mid-August."

"But you can't be!" Cassandra protested. "You aren't spirits! We have evidence. There is the Fade, and there is the physical world. You can't come from beyond that."

Ciri was beginning to regret this already. She suspected this would be a headache and a half.

Triss stretched out her hand and gave a sharp twist of her wrist, a commanding, beckoning gesture. The air over the table rippled, and suddenly a platter over-laden with ripe summer fruit lay there, glistening with morning dew as if freshly picked from the orchard. Peaches, plums, apricots, nectarines, and cherries, all giving off a ripe, luscious scent.

"Can your mages do that?" Triss asked, crossing her arms.

Cullen's sword hand twitched as Josephine reached out to pluck a nectarine from the platter.

"Careful," Olgierd warned her, smiling slightly. "It's an illusion."

"But how is this possible?" Josephine asked. She held it up, eyes bright with curiosity. "An illusion wouldn't have scent or weight. If I ate it, would it have flavor?"

"It would taste like the best nectarine you'd ever had," Triss said. "But it's only magic. It's not real food."

Cassandra made a strangled protest, but Josephine took a tiny, tentative nibble and smiled.

"It's marvelous."

"You have our attention," Leliana said coolly. "Another world. Why come here?"

Ciri took a steadying breath and began to speak. It had been easier to explain to Dorian. He'd seen the oddities in the future, overheard things that couldn't be brushed aside. Moreover, he was a mage and a scholar. Still, she did her best. She began with the concept of portals and immediately diverted onto another tangent, then another, as Leliana and Josephine interrupted with frequent questions. Cullen watched with a frown that grew steadily darker the longer she spoke. And Cassandra seemed entirely resistant to the idea of a world beyond what she knew.

"It just can't be possible," Cassandra said for the third time after Ciri explained the circumstances that brought them to Thedas yet again.

Cullen finally spoke up, still frowning heavily. "No, Cassandra. I believe it." He shook his head, glaring at Triss. "It made no sense for Ser Rylen to suddenly start forgetting people entirely. And Serah Merigold is far too skilled to be a simple runaway apprentice. The only reason we believed it is because Ser Owain and Ser Raúl supported her story. A mage of Thedas wouldn't claim to belong to a Circle they'd never been to. The story would fall apart too easily."

He laughed bitterly. "And now I can't even tell Rylen – my friend – that he's perfectly sane and he quit taking lyrium for no reason. Do you have any idea what you did to him?"

"Don't blame Ciri or Olgierd for the story Lord and Lady Trevelyan and I came up with," Triss said at once. "They didn't know what we were planning when I arrived in Haven."

"I don't," Cullen said. "I blame you and the ones who helped you sell the lie. Damn it all." He turned and smacked the table with a muttered curse, his shoulders tense with anger.

Leliana ignored Cullen's ire. "Who are you really, Triss Merigold?"

"Court sorceress and magical advisor to King Tankred of Kovir and Poviss," Triss said proudly, "A founding member of the Lodge of Sorceresses, leader of the mage underground in Novigrad, and graduate of the magical academy of Aretuza."

"Older than you look, indeed," Leliana murmured. She turned her eyes to Olgierd. "And you?"

He made a face that was neither a smile nor a frown – a strange, self-deprecating twist of his lips. "Truly a noble. Truly widowed. Truly the last of my family." He paused, then added, "The rest is for Josephine's ears alone."

Josephine mustered a small smile for him. "I will listen to whatever you have to say."

"And you, 'Lady Hand'?" Leliana asked. "You called yourself a Witcher, a monster hunter for coin. You say your adoptive parents are themselves a Witcher and a sorceress. You confirmed Maxwell Trevelyan's most outlandish rumor of Elvhen blood, yet that cannot be possible if you're of a different world. How can that be?"

"We suspect the ancient elves of Thedas share an origin with the Aen Seidhe and Aen Elle of the Continent and Tir ná Lia, but we can't be certain," Ciri said. "My ancestor, Lara Dorren, was one of the Aen Elle. Her magic was exceptionally strong, but –"

"Unpredictable," Leliana finished. "You said as much before. So your Fade step..."

"It's no Fade step. I could travel home in the blink of an eye if I wanted to," Ciri said. "Stepping from one world to another is as easy to me as walking from one room to the next is for you."

"With the Chantry breathing down your neck and the assassination attempt in Val Royeaux, why didn't you leave?" Cullen asked, looking back around again.

Ciri clenched her marked hand reflexively. "I stayed because I saw the Breach and knew I could help. You needed this mark, this anchor. I couldn't walk away."

"Admirable," Leliana said, narrowing her eyes. "And unusual. Not many people would take on such a burden willingly."

"I was raised well," Ciri said. "By a great many people."

Leliana looked unimpressed at her non-answer.

"I want proof," Cassandra said. She crossed her arms and frowned deeply at Ciri. "Take me to this Continent of yours. Introduce me to your Witcher father. I want to see it for my own eyes."

"And if I do?" Ciri asked. "What then?"

"Then I accept that the Maker is far greater than I imagined," Cassandra said simply. "That Andraste in Her infinite love gave the Trevelyans the idea to ask for help from another world, where His Hand would be called across the Void to serve Him here."

"That's essentially what you said in the future," Ciri said.

"And for good reason," Leliana said. She looked reassured by Cassandra's words. "We must put our faith in the Maker, Lady Ciri. Surely you, too, are a part of His plan."

"I can accept that," Cullen said reluctantly. "It certainly helps that Lady Ciri and Olgierd have been staunch allies, and have given much of themselves to our cause. And you, Serah Merigold."

"We appreciate your candor, of course," Josephine said. "Maker, I'll have to make your backgrounds airtight! No one can find out – imagine the panic that would ensue. The Chantry would assume you were spirits and demand your heads over this."

"Thank you," Ciri said with feeling. She held out an arm to Cassandra. "We can go now if you like. It should only take an hour or two to show you around."

"Very well," Cassandra agreed. She reached for Ciri's arm and wrapped her strong, callused hand around her bicep with a firm grip.

Ciri smiled a little. Despite the circumstances, it would be good to see Geralt and Yennefer again – so long as they didn't insist on involving themselves in the dangers she faced. Her marked hand a leaden weight at her side, Ciri pulled on her magic, drawing herself and Cassandra through the ether and out into the sunny courtyard of Corvo Bianco.

All thoughts of her family fled. Her legs dropped out from under her as she collapsed to the flagstones screaming in pain, her marked hand flaring like a miniature sun.