beta-read by brightspot149. Thank you!

Ciri and Cassandra disappeared from the war room in a flash of pale green light. A strained silence fell over the advisors as they stared at the space Ciri and Cassandra had just occupied.

"They're really in a different world?" Cullen asked, his voice hushed. "Are they – is it entirely safe?"

"Ciri knows what she's doing," Triss assured him. "They'll be back soon."

"An hour or two, according to Lady Ciri," Leliana said. "I suppose I can get some work done while we wait. There is much to do."

"In my office, please, Leliana, or in the rookery," Josephine said quietly. "And you, Cullen, and Triss."

Olgierd's mouth went dry at the pensive, careful look she gave him, and he nodded to her. No, there would be no more secrets between them.

Leliana caught their look and narrowed her eyes. "Absolutely not. Josie, this man may have turned your head, but you know nothing of him beyond that he's probably from another world and has some dark past. As your friend –"

"As my friend, you'll let me make my own choices," Josephine interrupted. "Go, Leliana. Please. I'll call you back if I need your help."

Leliana still looked resistant.

Triss cleared her throat, pulling all eyes her way. "I could use some help tracking down Clemence Fisher and Evelyn Trevelyan, Commander, if you have the time."

"What do you want with them?" Cullen asked, resting his hand on the pommel of his sword.

"I have some skill with alchemy," Triss explained. "I can't undo the damage of my lie, but with some help and the right equipment, I may be able to come up with something better than the potion Evelyn's making for you and the Markham Templars. We might even find some answers to why lyrium is so addictive."

Cullen sighed. "Does it have to be now, Serah Merigold? As you said, you don't have the equipment. And to be completely honest, I have a pressing need to not be anywhere near you."

"I don't blame you." Triss looked at him earnestly. "I wasn't there when Owain and the others explained how serious lyrium addiction is. I didn't come up with the story, but I went along with it, and Owain and Raúl couldn't contradict it without bringing trouble down on our heads. I'm sorry for what it cost Ser Rylen."

"I can't forgive it. Not yet," Cullen said. "Perhaps if your alchemical studies bear fruit. But for now…"

"I understand."

Cullen dropped his hand from his sword and stalked off toward the door, calling over his shoulder as he pushed it open. "Don't worry. I'll keep quiet."

"I should see what Vivienne is up to, if he's not going to help me," Triss said as the door closed behind Cullen. "I'll be back in a couple of hours."

She followed Cullen out the door. Leliana lingered, her scowl not quite managing to disguise her worry.

"I won't hurt Josephine," Olgierd told her. The very thought was abhorrent. "You have my word."

"The word of a professed liar is hardly credible, but I will accept it for now." Leliana tossed her head and turned to Josephine. "I'll be at your desk, Josie. Scream if he so much as offends you."

"Go, Leliana. We'll be fine."

Leliana turned on her heel, disappearing out the door in a faint clink of mail. Alone with Josephine at last, Olgierd found himself at a rare loss for words. Back in the mountains, he'd been certain he was ready for this. Now that the time had come, his nerves were failing him.

Josephine looked intently at the illusory nectarine still cradled in her hand. "Will you offend me?"

He couldn't help his faint huff of wry laughter. "Much of my past is offensive, I fear."

"I find that hard to credit." She set the nectarine down by the platter of false fruit and met his eyes kindly. "But I can see you believe your words, so I'll remind you that we spoke of this before. Neither of us would judge another by their past. Whatever you have to say, it will not change my fondness for you."

"I feel the same," he admitted. "But I'll not hold you to that if you change your mind."

She took his hand and led him off to a cluttered corner where a handful of crates and barrels still waited to be opened. "Sit with me," she invited him, perching on a barrel and spreading her skirt across her lap. Her warm perfume wafted lightly toward him, and despite himself, he found the hard knot in his stomach relenting just the slightest bit.

He took a seat on two stacked crates, his knees brushing against hers. She twined her fingers through his and rested their joined hands on her knee, and he absently stroked the back of her thumb with the pad of his as he gathered his thoughts.

"You don't need to say anything if the memories are so painful," Josephine said softly. "I would prefer you say nothing if that's the case."

"Nay, I fear I must," he said. "You deserve to know who you're keeping company with."

"Then start with what hurts least to tell, and work from there." She squeezed his hand gently, her hazel eyes filled with compassion he hardly deserved.

What hurt the least? He struggled for a moment to think of something to say. Then he had an answer. He addressed it to their joined hands. "I spent over thirty years unable to die," he said. "Unaging, unchanging. Unable to feel. A curse laid on me by a being I sought out on my own accord. Ciri's father freed me from the curse four years ago."

He looked up at her soft, quiet inhalation. "Oh, Olgierd." She reached out with her free hand, her fingertips grazing the deep, curved scar on his skull, half-hidden by the growing stubble. "How many of these injuries would have killed you?"

He didn't have to think. "Perhaps forty or so. The others were serious enough to scar, but not life-threatening."

"Maker." She fell silent for several seconds. "If you didn't age for over thirty years, then…"

"How old am I?"

"If that's not prying."

"Seventy-one, dove."

Her eyes widened, then she looked down. His heart gave a pang at the uncertainty that crossed her face. "I must seem young to you."

"You did when we met," he admitted. "Young and beautiful, and very accomplished. A rare flower in the Inquisition's field. But I came to Thedas a heart-sore, tired old man. Ciri has been a true friend, kept me from brooding, forced me to treat this like the second chance at life I wish it to be. I've begun to feel the age I am in body, rather than what my mind insists I must be."

She slowly looked back up, the uncertainty fading. Her deep hazel eyes searched his. "And how old is that?"

"Thirty-eight, perhaps a bit older," he said and shrugged. "I fear the intervening years between the curse taking hold and its lifting blur together a bit."

"You look like you suffered during those years," she said and squeezed his hand again.

"I wouldn't have called it that," he said slowly. "I felt nothing. No joy, no angst, no fear. Just a deep void that ached to be filled by the thrill of new experiences. I was an empty shell of a man. I fear it's others who suffered my curse in my drive to relieve that void."

"Tell me," she entreated him, then shook her head. "No, if it's not too difficult a question – how did you come to be cursed to begin with?"

His hand tightened around her fingers convulsively. "I was a blind, grasping, prideful fool who couldn't leave well enough alone."

He couldn't bring himself to look at her as he started to speak, his eyes on the golden dust motes dancing in the sunlight by the window above her head. The past coiled around him, dragging him further down with each reluctant word. He could almost smell the wet mud by the Oxenfurt docks, feel the wind tangling his robes as he rode on Lurtch or Mulbrydale. Could almost hear the crack of his father-in-law's skull hitting stone.

Only the feel of Josephine's soft hand in his and the sweet, spicy scent of blackcurrant blossoms, cardamom, and vanilla anchored him in the present.

He started, as was only right, at the beginning. With two brothers from an old Redanian family, encouraged in their wildness. With a family of noble-born marauders, who earned their gold over the generations through war and pillaging villages just across the border while the Redanian crown looked the other way. And with a band of raiders so feared by peasants in Velen that the mere mention of their leader's name could incite panic among the rabble.

He didn't linger over the depredations as her fingers twitched in his. He spoke instead of a young woman, an artist, and a chance meeting on the docks of Oxenfurt. Of her goodness, and his wish to have such goodness in his life. Of their courtship, and the broken engagement as his family's fortune disappeared and his parents died in penury.

His despair and desperation when he learned of another suitor, and Iris' refusal to elope.

Master Mirror...Gaunter O'Dimm...appearing to him when he thought all hope was lost. And all he needed to do to regain his love and fortune was sell his soul and damn himself forever.

His voice sank to a whisper as he admitted his most shameful trade.

"That raid...the table overturned on Vlod's head, killed him instantly. And on my return to Oxenfurt, the von Everec fortune was restored to my family, to me, and Iris' parents approved our engagement again."

His eyes stung. He looked away from the sunlight streaming in through the window, blinking rapidly.

"The final wish –" His voice failed him. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I wished to live as if there were no tomorrow. And at first it was marvelous. All my senses were clearer than ever before. But a hole grew inside me, hollowed me out so gradually I failed to notice until –"

"Stop."

Josephine's voice cut across his. He turned to her reluctantly and saw tears misting her eyes. "Stop," she said again. "Olgierd, please."

"My apologies," he said at once, stricken. He fumbled for her handkerchief with his free hand and held it out to her. "I've hurt you. It wasn't my intent."

"Oh, you are blind," she sighed, dabbing at her eyes. She scrunched the handkerchief and tightened her grip on his hand. "I don't need to hear the rest. Maker, I never should have asked. I don't recognize the man you describe, and it pains me to know you have such heartache in your past."

"Josephine...dove, I'm the cause of it."

"Yes," she agreed. "And you're also the man who helped a fledgling Inquisition restore order in the Hinterlands without the promise of pay or reward. Who fought demons beneath the Breach when it first opened. Who chose to be Harrowed rather than abandon a friend. The man who befriended a busy young woman with thoughtful discussions on books and music, and earned her regard with his kindness and chivalrous spirit.

"I don't know this man from the Continent. I sincerely hope I never meet him. But this man in front of me?" she said, reaching out to cup his bristly cheek. "He is a good man."

"It's a kinder judgment than I deserve."

"It's not a judgment," she said. "I'm not a magistrate or a Chantry mother. Did you bare your soul to me expecting me to weigh it and find you wanting? To extract some measure of punishment for crimes you didn't even commit in Thedas? Or did you tell me so this secret wouldn't plague you any longer?"

"I could not court you honestly and not tell you all of it," he said hoarsely, looking down at their entwined fingers. Her eyes were too knowing. "As to the rest – perhaps it's so. I hadn't considered it when I thought to tell you."

Her hand caressed his cheek gently and drew back. "You are unkind to yourself, and I will not be used to help you hurt yourself further. Perhaps I am as naive as Leliana believes I am. I haven't had much experience with romance. But I've always thought it was meant to be a partnership, where joys and sorrows are shared and support is offered unstintingly."

"Your vision of a partnership is a lovely one," he said. The thought warmed him. "I suspect we've near the same amount of experience in romance, given my abject failure in my only other relationship. Perhaps we can learn together if you truly don't see my past as an obstacle."

Josephine looked at him hesitantly from beneath her long lashes. "The same amount? There was only ever Iris?"

"I had my dalliances and flirtations before I met her, but I've always been a faithful man," he assured her, reluctantly amused despite the heaviness of their conversation. "Knowing how to flirt doesn't make me a libertine."

"I apologize," she said with a faint blush. "It's hypocritical of me to ask that and tell you not to share your history at the same time."

"I don't begrudge you your questions," he told her. "Whatever you wish to know, whatever will set your mind at ease. Ask, and I'll tell you if I can."

"Will this 'Master Mirror' come back for you?" she asked. Her voice was level, but he could see the worry in her eyes. "Are you safe from him?"

His heart skipped a beat, and for a moment he was back at Lilvani's temple standing on a faded mosaic of a moon, filled with dread and the sudden, inescapable knowledge that he was about to suffer a fate worse than death. He shook his head firmly. "Nay. He plays his games but once. The Witcher beat him by his own rules. I suspect I've seen the last of him. He'll have moved on to easier prey."

"And the curse?"

"Gone for years now," he said. "When I'm wounded, I heal as a normal man should. The lines on my forehead are a mite deeper as well since I've started aging again," he added ruefully.

"You look very distinguished," Josephine said with a fond smile.

"And you are radiant, my dear. I lose my breath when you smile at me." She laughed softly, shaking her head, and he said, "Merely keeping to our agreement, dove. We mustn't leave work unfinished."

"Oh, I should throw you at some of our visiting dignitaries when we're set up to receive them," she told him, her voice filled with amusement. "Fifteen minutes with you and they'll agree to anything."

"I haven't a patch on your skills with diplomacy," he demurred.

He watched as her smile faded slowly, and the hand holding the silk handkerchief tightened to a white-knuckled grip. "Ciri has family back in your world. Her whole life is there. And Triss is a king's advisor. I don't see them staying in Thedas for longer than absolutely necessary. But you...are you going to return as well?"

"I'm staying." He laid his free hand over her tense fist, gently stroking the clenched fingers with his thumb. "Whether we continue our courtship or part as friends, I'm staying here. I like the man I am in this world. The Inquisition has allowed me to do good, to begin to balance the scales."

"When do you think you'll stop trying to atone for your past?" she asked him.

"It's not atonement, not truly. If it were, I'd try to make amends back in Velen."

"A fresh start, then?"

"When I'm very, very old and completely gray," he said, "I'd like to look back on my life and find I've not wasted the second chance the Witcher granted me."

"I don't believe you have," she said as her hand slowly relaxed beneath his. Her tense posture loosened, and she gave him a small smile that warmed him through. "You are a good man. Your actions prove as much. And you belong in this world now. I've bribed and bargained with enough people that Olgierd von Everec of Hunter Fell and Denerim is as real as I can make him."

"Then may a penniless half-Ferelden mage pay court to you, Lady Josephine?" he asked her.

"Messere Olgierd, I shall be quite displeased if you don't."

Relief broke over him like a wave, washing away the last of his gnawing doubts and fears. There was still much left unsaid about his past – the enumeration of his sins against Iris and her family had been cut off before he could speak of them – but perhaps Josephine was right. Perhaps it was time to lay his years in Redania to rest and start anew, wiser for the experience.

He stood, drawing her to her feet with him. "Thank you," he said quietly, with painful sincerity. "For listening."

She withdrew her hand from his and smoothed out the crumpled silk handkerchief, folding it into a small, neat square and pressing it back into his palm. "We do not judge each other's pasts," she said again, her hazel eyes warm. "I look forward to sharing my joys with you."

"As do I."

"Come," she said, twining her arm through his and leading him to the door. "We should reassure Leliana that she doesn't need to defend my honor by trying to assassinate my suitor."

"I spent the first week in the Inquisition afraid she'd slit my throat over those abomination rumors," Olgierd confessed. "I've no desire to give her another reason to want to kill me."

"She's been a bard for many years. Trust does not come easily to her, and she's protective of those she does consider trustworthy," Josephine said. She looked up at him and smiled. "Don't worry. I won't let her harm you."

"No man has ever had a more capable defender," he said as he tucked her handkerchief back up his sleeve.

She went up on tiptoe and brushed a kiss across his unkempt, bearded cheek as she opened the door. "Never underestimate an Antivan when romance is on the line."

He followed her out the door, startled into laughter, the ghostly sensation of a kiss lingering on his skin.

Ciri screamed. She curled into herself, clutching her hand at the wrist as pain wracked her body. The emerald light flared violently, blindingly bright. She held agony in the palm of her hand. It tore at her bones and muscles from the inside out, rending and flaying. She could do nothing but sob as her hand seemed to tear apart, sending white-hot lines of fire up her arm as it did.

Cassandra dropped to her knees beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She asked something, her voice urgent. Ciri shook her head in incomprehension.

"–Happened?" Cassandra asked again, the question breaking through the wall of pain.

"Don't. Know," Ciri choked out. She gritted her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut against the flaring light.

A door slammed. Pounding feet, three pairs.

"Ciri! CIRI!"

Geralt grasped her by the chin as Lady Yennefer swore and started to intone a spell in Elder Speech. She forced herself to open her eyes, looking at him through a sheen of tears.

"Go back," he ordered her. "Now."

She took a hitching, sobbing breath and tried to pull on her magic. Her hand flared again, wildly bright, and she collapsed forward into his arms, her body screaming in pain.

"I can't – I can't!"

"It's not responding," Yennefer said tersely. "Gather my supplies, Geralt, and ride to Casteldaccia. I'll take Ciri to the portal there."

"I won't be left behind," Cassandra protested. "My duty is to the Hand."

"And mine is to my daughter," Yennefer snapped. "Ride with Geralt."

"I'll send them by portal," Keira said from over Geralt's shoulder. "It will save time."

Geralt didn't disagree.

Yennefer pulled Ciri to her feet and drew her arm around her shoulders, keeping her braced with a firm grip around her waist. "I have you, Ciri. Hold on to me."

Her mother gestured with her free hand and a portal yawned open in front of them, stirring the dusty cobblestones and pulling at Yennefer's skirt. They stepped through together, Ciri leaning heavily on her mother's shoulders.

For a breathless, merciful moment, she felt nothing. Then they exited in a familiar courtyard, and the pain returned in a rush. She staggered, a cry of pain escaping her.

"I have you," Yennefer said again, leading her forward. "Be brave, my daughter."

"Yennefer?"

Ciri raised her head to see the tall, statuesque form of Margarita Laux-Antille step out from through the door she, Triss, and Olgierd had broken into only a few months ago. "Ciri!" she cried out in shock, running forward to help. "What happened to you?"

"There's no time, Rita," Yennefer said as she allowed Margarita to help take some of Ciri's weight. "We need access to the portal to Thedas at once."

"I thought she was dead!" Margarita hissed over Ciri's head at Yennefer. "How could you let me think that, Yenna?"

"Not now!"

"Hiding," Ciri gasped. "Don't – don't tell. Emhyr mustn't know."

Ciri only caught a glimpse of the renovated interior as the two sorceresses rushed her through the door and toward the dark portal. Every surface gleamed, and the old, rustic table had been replaced by a low, elegant sofa and armchairs. The harsh green light streaming from her hand cast the room into sharp shadows. Two young mages jumped up from their seats, startled, as they burst in.

"Rector!"

Margarita gripped Ciri tighter. "Back to your studies, Demelza, Aric."

"But –"

"Hush, Aric. Yes, Rector." The young woman tugged the teenage boy down, and they both watched in silence avidly.

Margarita replaced the power crystal with her free hand, and the portal hummed to life with an eerie blue-green glow. "I want answers when you return," she told Yennefer, letting go of Ciri and stepping back.

"You'll have them," Yennefer said. "Geralt is coming with supplies and another woman –"

"Cassandra," Ciri managed to whisper. She sobbed as pain tore through her hand anew.

"–Shortly," Yennefer continued. "Send them through after us, Rita, without delay. Please."

"Whatever you need," Margarita said. "Take care, little one."

Yennefer helped Ciri stagger to the portal, and with a lurching step, they crossed through the glowing surface. For another breathless moment, her pain vanished. Then they were back in Ostwick in the small walled courtyard of the Trevelyan estate. Ciri's knees buckled as the agony wracking her abruptly fled, and she cried out in relief.

"What? What is it?" Yennefer asked, frantic with worry.

Ciri stumbled upright, shaking. "No. It's – it's better now."

Her hand felt heavier than ever before, like her veins were filled with stone, and her palm tingled with that horrible pins and needles sensation, but the pain was gone. She trembled, raising her good hand to her eyes to scrub away the tears.

"Ciri, what happened?" Yennefer demanded.

She swallowed dryly, pushing down the panic threatening to engulf her now that she could think. "I don't know. It's never done this before!"

"You haven't come home since you got this mark," her mother said. "Damn it. Damn it. We should have come to you sooner."

Two liveried guards rushed through the gate, hands on their sword hilts. They stopped short at the sight of Ciri and Yennefer, and both bowed shallowly.

"Lady Cirilla, welcome back," one of them said, dropping his hand from his hilt. "Lord Trevelyan is visiting Lord Angove's estate presently, but Lady Trevelyan is home if you've come on business. Lord Liam and Lady Alondra are here as well."

"Take us to them," Yennefer said at once. Her tone brooked no dissent. "Ciri needs rest and a restorative, and we'll need a place to sit where I can examine her hand. Her father and Cassandra are coming through shortly. You'll need to escort them to us when they arrive."

"Cassandra Pentaghast," Ciri clarified at the guards' puzzled looks.

"Right." The guard who spoke nodded and turned to his partner. "Peder, you stay by the portal and wait for Seeker Pentaghast and Lady Cirilla's father. I'll show the guests to Lady Trevelyan."

They followed the guard out of the courtyard and down the trellised path leading to the wide front yard. Ciri chanced a look at the main gate as they walked and saw it wasn't barred from the inside anymore. Apparently the Trevelyans no longer saw it as necessary with the mages gone.

The interior of the manor was just as Ciri remembered, cool and airy. The guard led them up the stairs to the private family rooms, and as they passed through the portrait hall, Yennefer made a small sound of surprise.

The guard entered the withdrawing room ahead of them, speaking in a low voice to the people within. He came back out shortly and bowed again.

"Lady Trevelyan will see you."

Ciri and Yennefer entered together, Yennefer's hand a steadying presence on her back. Lady Trevelyan sat with Alondra on one of the couches together looking over a sheaf of papers while Liam stood by a bookcase along the wall. Alondra rose from her seat in alarm at the sight of Ciri, abandoning the papers to Lady Trevelyan's lap.

"Maker, you're white as a sheet! Come, sit."

"Liam, there should be brandy in the sideboard," Lady Trevelyan said as Alondra and Yennefer fussed over Ciri, guiding her to an empty armchair. "Fetch a snifter for Lady Ciri, would you dear?"

Liam came to her side with a generous measure of brandy in a small stemmed glass. "We hadn't thought to see you again for a while after your last visit. Halden said you came through the portal, you and – who is this?"

"My mother," Ciri said, accepting the snifter glass with a shaking hand. "Lady Yennefer of Vengerberg."

"Ah, of course. Mistress Merigold and Rector Laux-Antille both spoke highly of you, Lady Yennefer," Liam said.

He and Alondra sat on the couch with Lady Trevelyan, who tidied the stack of papers and set them aside neatly. Lady Trevelyan looked on approvingly as Ciri sipped at the strong brandy.

Yennefer knelt before her. "Give me your hand, Ciri."

She extended her heavy, tingling hand and hissed in shock as Yennefer turned it palm up. "That's – no!"

Green light spilled out from a spiderweb of cracks, like a broken pane of glass across her palm. Where there had only been one line before, now there were nearly a dozen. Long, short, fat, thin – the tips extended to the base of her fingers and the top of her wrist.

"And it didn't look like this before?" Yennefer asked with forced calm.

Ciri took another sip of her brandy and set the glass on the arm of her chair. "No." She traced the original line with her finger. "That's what the mark was just ten minutes ago."

"Triss told us what you said about it when you first showed her. Has it been getting worse?"

"For a while, I wasn't sure. Then Corypheus used a magical focus to try to tear it away, and now...now, yes, it's been getting worse for a few weeks," Ciri admitted. She stared in sick disbelief at her palm as it shone up at them. It had only been a few minutes! How had things gone so unbelievably wrong?

Yennefer sat back on her heels, still holding Ciri's hand. "Have you been keeping things from us, or is Corypheus a new problem?"

"I've kept nothing from you," Ciri denied. She picked up her glass again for another sip, avoiding her mother's judgmental eyebrow. "I only learned of Corypheus three weeks ago. He's the one who created the Breach in the Veil."

"And why didn't you come to us immediately?"

Ciri was saved from having to answer by the arrival of Geralt and Cassandra, who hurried into the room in a muted clatter of steel. Geralt held out a large, polished wooden box with a silver clasp to Yennefer, and she dropped Ciri's hand to take it.

Geralt knelt by the other arm of Ciri's chair, his eyes filled with worry. "Are you all right?"

"I don't feel like I'm being torn apart from the inside anymore, starting at my hand," Ciri said. "But all right? I sincerely doubt it."

"She's not all right," Yennefer said sharply as she rifled through her box. "Unless we separate that magic from her hand, she's tied to this world for good. And I fear it will only get worse."

Ciri's heart dropped as Geralt swore.

"This is my fault," Cassandra said. She shook her head in recrimination. "I insisted you take me to your world; I doubted you. Your pain is on my head. I apologize, my lady."

"You couldn't have known," Ciri said. "None of us could have known."

"No!" Cassandra insisted. "I should have had faith in you. The Maker's ways are mysterious, but Justinia saw clearly. If there's anything I can do to make amends –"

"You can sit quietly and not distract me while I work," Yennefer said. She finally set the box aside, a milky green stone shaped like a large coin held in her hand. "Your palm, Ciri."

To Ciri's surprise, Cassandra did as Yennefer ordered. She held out her glowing hand, and Yennefer pressed the stone disc to her palm, incanting quietly in Elder Speech.

The stone began to faintly glow. Ciri flinched as the pins and needles sensation worsened, verging on painful, but her mother held her fast in an iron grip, still incanting. The milky green became translucent and brightened, taking on a distinctive emerald hue.

Yennefer's voice rose as her hand spiked with pain. The stone abruptly cracked in two and fell to the floor, both halves shining nearly as intensely as her palm.

"That shouldn't be possible," Geralt said, staring at the broken disc with a thunderous frown.

"You don't need to tell me that," Yennefer snapped. She closed her violet eyes and took a deep, calming breath before catching and holding Ciri's gaze. "Do you remember anything, anything at all, about how this magic got on your hand?"

"Nothing," Ciri said. "I'm missing memories. Why? What just happened?"

"I pulled enough magic out of that mark to power Garstang's wards for a year," Yennefer said, "And there's still another century's worth in your hand, at least. And the feel of it is strange, as if it were almost but not quite yours."

Geralt hummed thoughtfully. "Like Dandelion had played one of his ballads in a minor key? Still recognizable, but –"

"Very similar, yes."

The panic began to creep back in. Ciri took a somewhat larger swallow of brandy. "What do we do?" she asked. "How do we get it off?"

She refused to be stuck here any longer than necessary. And now Geralt and Yennefer were involved and worried. She'd have an uphill battle sending them back home.

Cassandra cleared her throat. "Solas may have suggestions, my lady. He spoke of the mark being Veil magic, and he is an expert on the Fade."

"Forgive me for not trusting in your expert's skill if things have deteriorated so badly under his care," Yennefer said.

"Cassandra may be right," Ciri said. "He's been teaching me magic, Mother. I can use the spells of this world. I think he's trustworthy. If he saw the state of my hand now, he'd make helping me a priority."

"Ciri, your ability with those spells likely comes from that mark," Yennefer told her. "Its magic is affecting you."

She stilled. "And if I stopped using their magic?"

"You may have an easier time removing the mark. Relatively speaking."

Slowly, reluctantly, Ciri closed her gleaming hand. "I need it for now. There are tears in the Veil that will only respond to this mark. Demons slip through the tears if they're left open."

"Ciri, you're not listening," Yennefer said, leaning forward. "That thing is going to kill you eventually. The only reason it hadn't reached this point until today is you'd never left the bounds of the Veil, and your magic is similar enough that it isn't trying to cannibalize it."

"And you can't come home until it's gone," Geralt added.

"I know, damn it!" Ciri exclaimed. "Don't you think I hate that? But I have responsibilities here!"

"Oh, fuck your responsibilities," Yennefer said flatly. "Your life is in danger. That thing comes off as soon as possible."

Lady Trevelyan rose from the couch, and with a gesture, Alondra and Liam followed suit. "We'll leave you to have your discussion in private," she said graciously. "Lady Ciri, it's always a pleasure to see you."

Ciri nodded to the Trevelyans as they passed through the door, leaving a fraught silence behind them.

Geralt gave Yennefer a look, and she stood, taking her box and moving to the recently vacated couch. Ciri flexed her hand anxiously. She felt penned in, smothered. Trapped. If her mother was right, then the mark was a death sentence, and her headstone might be carved on a foreign world she was too stubborn not to help.

"You didn't answer me," Yennefer said. "Why didn't you come to us for help the moment you learned about Corypheus?"

Ciri looked away. "You said to ask you for help if I needed it. I didn't."

"Funny," Geralt said dryly. "Now let's try the real reason."

She polished off her brandy, the alcohol burning the back of her throat as she swallowed the last large gulp. "Fine. You want to know why? You died. I was thrown headfirst into a future where nearly everyone was dead and you, Yennefer, Eskel, Lambert, and Keira came from the Continent to find me. We barely had twenty minutes together before Corypheus' army attacked. And you died."

She would never, ever tell him who'd killed him.

"I had to watch you bleed out in front of me," she continued. "I couldn't do anything. It was just like Rivia. I've watched you die twice now, Geralt. I refuse to see it happen a third time."

"And where was I in all this?" Yennefer asked, her face pale.

"You had all been fighting on the other side of a barrier of fire," Ciri said. "Then you screamed, so loudly, and Geralt's body came flying past the flames. What became of you, I don't know. I went back to the present not long after."

Geralt stood and cupped the back of her head with a strong hand. "Hey. Look at me."

She did, dragging her eyes up to that pale, scarred face she loved so much.

"No Witcher has ever died in their bed, Ciri."

She glared up at him. "Don't you dare die for Thedas."

"The same applies to you," Yennefer said. She studied Ciri carefully. "If we stay, you'll fret yourself sick, won't you?"

"I can't lose you," Ciri said helplessly. "Not after everything we've been through."

"And how do you think we feel?" Yennefer gave her a stern look that had her fighting not to hunch her shoulders up around her ears in shame. "Did Geralt not travel half the Continent searching for you? Do you think I wouldn't endure Vilgefortz' torture all over again just to see you alive and well today?"

"That's not fair," Ciri whispered.

"Not fair is asking us to turn around and leave you to deal with this on your own," Geralt said.

Yennefer shook her head and sighed. "We'll do it anyway, Geralt."

Geralt shot Yennefer an incredulous look. "You're kidding."

"I wish I were." Yennefer cast her gaze at Cassandra. "How much trouble would we cause her if we were to show up at your Inquisition's headquarters?"

"Given that the cover story is that Lady Ciri's parents are deceased, a considerable amount," Cassandra said. "Add to that the Chantry's fear of apostates, and Ser Geralt's unconventional appearance, and you would raise a host of questions we would struggle to answer. That's assuming no one tries to kill Ser Geralt as an abomination on sight."

Geralt ran a weary hand down his face. "Damn it."

"You're brave and talented, Ciri, and I have every faith in your abilities," Yennefer said. "I don't like it. But I understand. You're a woman grown and we've trained you as well as we can."

Geralt grumbled. "Fine. Don't think this means we're leaving you completely on your own, though. Triss comes back whenever she gets a chance to slip away, and if she thinks we're needed, we're coming. No arguments."

Ciri gave a jerky nod. She'd be making sure Triss knew not to summon them for anything short of another near-apocalypse.

Yennefer opened her box again and withdrew another five milky green stone discs. "Give these to Triss. She'll know how to draw magic into them."

Ciri tucked them away in her belt pouch, and Cassandra spoke up again.

"I will protect your daughter," she said. "She will return to you, you have my word."

Yennefer turned on her with fiery eyes. "Will you protect her from your Chantry? Triss told us of this 'Hand' nonsense, and what happened to the last person your religion raised to such heights. If they come for her, will you stand between them?"

Cassandra looked momentarily conflicted, then set her shoulders firmly. "I will. I swear it."

"We'll hold you to that," Geralt warned her. "She's not your prophet or a saint. She's a person, flesh and blood. Remember that."

"Geralt will be the least of your worries should you fail to keep Ciri alive and well," Yennefer added.

"I won't fail." Cassandra seemed to take the parental threats in stride.

Ciri interrupted before Geralt and Yennefer got it in their heads to add more conditions to her independence. She was twenty-four, damn it, and a trained Witcher. She could handle herself. And constantly watching over her shoulder to make sure nothing had killed Geralt or Yennefer while she wasn't looking would strain her nerves to their breaking point.

"I'm sorry our trip to Corvo Bianco didn't work out," she said to Cassandra. "But you wanted to meet Geralt, and he's here now. If we keep to our schedule, we have another hour and a half for you to ask all the questions you wish." She glanced at her parents and added reluctantly, "You as well. I'm sure you're curious."

Cassandra and Geralt spoke over each other.

"What made your eyes look that way?"

"Where's your sword?"

Yennefer stood and walked to the sideboard. "More brandy, I think. Ciri?"

"Please."

How was she supposed to explain losing Zireael to a corrupted dragon, an explosion, and an avalanche? She groaned quietly. They'd not be pleased to hear what she'd been up to.