Ciri woke up feeling warm and relaxed for the first time in months.
The straw inside her mattress poked through the itchy fabric and scratched against her skin, but she didn't mind. The thick furs that were draped over her were just heavy enough to feel snug but not too constricting, and the fire in the hearth sent a comforting glow over the walls.
She would have stayed curled up under the pelts if her stomach hadn't started growling. The bread and jerky she scarfed down last night had been the only real food she had eaten since yesterday morning. Slowly, she sat up and tossed the furs off of her, shivering as the cool air washed over her skin.
Ciri padded across the room and grabbed her dress off of the chair in the corner. She pulled off her nightgown, tugged the dress over her shoulders, and tied the laces in the back as best she could. Even though she didn't have a mirror to look into, she knew they weren't nearly as straight as they would be if one of her chamber maids had done them. Or that her hair didn't look as nice as it did when they combed it with special oils each morning.
She supposed that didn't matter. She was safe, and that felt better than any sort of pampering she would have had in Cintra.
Ciri put on her boots and left the room after running a comb through her hair. It didn't do much other than make her curls poof out a bit more than usual, but at least it looked like she tried do something with it. Grandmother always said messy hair made a lady look lazy. She definitely didn't want to come off as lazy today, not after seeing the disapproving looks the witchers gave Geralt when he introduced her.
The corridor was quiet except for the muffled sound of snores she heard as she passed Jaskier's closed door. She had no idea what time it was, but him still being asleep didn't do much to help her gauge the hour. They would have left their makeshift camps on the road far later each day if Geralt hadn't nudged the bard awake each morning, more often than not getting mumbled pleas for "five more minutes" in return.
Geralt's door was open and his room was empty. Ciri had no idea where he might be, but she figured the great hall was a good place to start looking. She wouldn't know where else to look, anyway.
Soft rays of sun streamed in from the few windows Ciri passed as she made her way through the keep, trying to remember where the great hall was. Or, ideally, finding where the kitchens were.
Ciri had just walked by the third animal pelt hanging from the keep's walls in a row when she first felt the air turn cold. A gust of wind pick up a few strands of hair from her shoulders as it brushed against her face. She shivered and wrapped her arms around her torso, missing the warmth of her bed, but kept walking forward.
She turned the corner and found a large chunk of the keep's wall and floor missing, the morning sun and freezing air streaming in from the outside. She moved closer and gasped when she saw it wasn't just a small part of the hall that was missing. Instead, it looked as if an entire section of Kaer Morhen had been blown away, the crumbled foundation and a few jagged walls the last bit of it standing.
She was about to turn away when her eye caught a faint glimmer of sunshine reflecting off of a sword that was laying on the ground under a dying tree near the collapsed walls. The tired branches had kept the snow from burying it, and several more swords were strewn about in other spots that hadn't been covered in snow. Some of the weapons had rusted, but others simply looked darker; like the tarnished silver some of the maids in the Cintran palace used to make their children clean as a punishment.
Ciri took a step closer to the edge to get a better look at the scene in front of her. But when her foot pressed down on the floor, the cracked stones suddenly broke apart. Her heart dropped into her stomach when she started to fall to the snowy ground far below. She was about to let out a shrilly scream when a large hand grabbed the neck of her dress and yanked her back, releasing her on the part of the floor that was still intact.
"What are you doing down here?"
Ciri jumped and spun around when she heard the gravelly voice ring out in the corridor. The tall, brown-haired witcher who she briefly met yesterday - Lambert, she remembered - was standing in front of her with his arms crossed.
"I was looking for Geralt. Or the kitchens, I suppose," she said, trying to calm her pounding heart while she straightened out her dress.
"Food's that way. Not down a corridor little girls should stay out of," Lambert said.
"How was I supposed to know? No one told me," she frowned and stood up. "And I'm not a little girl."
"Yeah? How old are you?
"Thirteen."
"Ooh, thirteen. A right grown woman you are! Should I help my lady down the stairs? Or bow? Forgive me that I didn't when I first saw you falling to your death-"
"I wasn't falling to my death!"
"Right, because little girls - excuse me - women like you can fall into a snow drift that deep without a cloak or gloves and dig their way out before they freeze."
Ciri took a deep breath as she glared at the witcher.
"Could you just tell me where the kitchens are?"
"Go down stairs at the end of the hallway on the left and go through the door next to the library. Can't miss it," he grunted. She turned to leave but he spoke up again. "What are you even doing up this early? Aren't princesses supposed to sleep until noon at least? You know, getting your beauty sleep?"
"Aren't you supposed to be sharpening your swords or killing something?" she shot back.
She was surprised when Lambert chuckled.
"I guess. Though I was a bit busy saving your hide."
Ciri was about to protest again when she was cut off by a deep voice.
"Saving her from what?" Geralt said as he stopped next to them. Ciri jumped slightly at his sudden presence. She was quickly learning how light witchers were on their feet. She could always hear someone walking down the stone hallways in Cintra, even the ladies who wore soft slippers and always tried their best to seem unassuming - a trait Grandmother always hated.
"Your kid nearly tumbled out of the keep when the floor gave way," Lambert said, speaking up before she could. "Caught her before she could break her neck."
"My neck would have been fine," she huffed. "I was just on my way to get breakfast."
"And you were down here?" Geralt asked. He didn't seem angry. Just a bit confused.
"I got lost trying to find the kitchens. I didn't want to fall through the floor," she frowned.
"Shouldn't have stepped so close to the edge then," Lambert muttered. Ciri sent him a glare.
"Doesn't matter now," Geralt sighed. "Come on, we'll get breakfast. Eskel left some bacon and bread in the great hall."
He nodded at Lambert before turning back around and walking down the hall. Ciri gave one last disgruntled look to the smirking witcher before she followed. They were halfway down the hallway Lambert had mentioned when Geralt spoke again.
"It's not safe in that part of the keep."
"Hadn't noticed," she muttered. He looked down and raised an eyebrow at her. "Sorry, just hungry and annoyed. Is he always so aggravating?"
"It's not bad when you get used to it," Geralt said, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "It's almost funny when he gets Vesemir going. Until he gets mad and assigns us all more chores."
"Sounds like Grandmother. She'd make Grandfather and I attend her excruciatingly boring meetings with the master of coin if we talked too much at royal engagements. But most of those were so dull we couldn't help but talk."
"I bet," Geralt said, smiling slightly.
"What sort of chores does Vesemir make you do?" Ciri asked as they walked down a large staircase.
"Mostly rebuild fallen walls. And dusting," Geralt grunted. "Lots of dusting."
Ciri nodded. That prospect didn't sound great, but it had to beat old Ser Eike droning on about how much the palace spent on pork each month.
She recognized the doors to the great hall once she stepped down from the last step. They walked quietly into the room, which was warmly lit by a fire in the large hearth. She straightened up when she saw Vesemir sitting at the table with a plate of food in front of him.
"You're eating late," Geralt said as they approached the table. Vesemir shook his head as he bit off a chunk of the bacon in his hand.
"I would have been here earlier if it weren't for the damned gnomes in the gardens again. I had to chase a pack of them away from the pumpkins. Little shits kept running back every time I turned around."
"I thought you got rid of the those years ago," Geralt said. He sat down on a chair across from Vesemir, as did Ciri.
"Thought I did, too, but must have missed a few. They're everywhere now," Vesemir grunted. "Damned little fuckers breed like rabbits."
"Hmm," Geralt hummed in agreement. He grabbed a plate and put some bread and bacon onto it before handing it to Ciri, who muttered a small thanks, and took a helping for himself.
"The last of the autumn crops are nearly in. Eskel said he would haul what's left to the store house this morning."
"The gnomes will be disappointed," Geralt said.
"Good. Let them rot, for all I care. A fat one nearly bit my leg last week," Vesemir grumbled. "I saw a few in the village when I went down before the chill set in. Goddrick said they've been terrorized by them. And werewolves."
Geralt swallowed the last of his bread and reached for another slice. Ciri bit into the bacon and chewed the tough meat as best she could. It didn't taste bad, per say. Just like it had been over salted and left to dry for too long before it was cooked.
"There hasn't been a werewolf near the mountains in a century at least," Vesemir continued. "That blacksmith tried telling me the beast stole his best sheep over the summer. When I asked what it looked like, he said he didn't get a good look at it. Just that it wasn't much bigger than his boy."
"Could be a young one."
"I doubt it. He tried telling me once a horde of butterflies destroyed part of his crops. The man doesn't know a butterfly from a grasshopper, much less a wolf from a werewolf," Vesemir shook his head. "He offered me a contract for the beast. I almost came out of retirement for the coin until he tried to sell me silver for 50 crowns more than what it was worth."
"I would have paid you the 50 crowns to see that," Geralt said. "When was the last time you took a contract?"
"Well before you came here, wolf," Vesemir said. He took a drink from the mug in front of him. "I assume you haven't had one in a while."
Geralt looked down at Ciri from the corner of his eye. "It would have been too much of a risk. And we didn't need the coin."
"Hmm," Vesemir grunted. Ciri thought he sounded eerily like Geralt. She was about to take another bite of bacon when the door to the hall opened again.
"Good morning!" Jaskier said with a chipper smile. It faltered a bit when he looked over at Vesemir's gruff expression, but the bard seemed to shrug it off well enough. "The birds outside were incredibly loud this morning - who knew you still had songbirds up here in the mountains? Ooh, is that bacon I smell? Haven't had much else other than crow and squirrel in ages. Though I can't complain - squirrel tastes a lot like chicken, to be honest. Looks like it too, if you squint hard enough while it's cooking. The skin's almost the same color and-"
"You ever see the stable hands clean out the barns at that palace of yours, girl?" Vesemir grunted, his hard but not unkind gaze meeting Ciri's. She sat up straighter and nodded.
"Good. You can help the bard," he said and stood up. "The stalls need new hay and could use a good scrub."
Ciri felt her shoulders droop. Jaskier's eyes widened.
"Stalls? Scrub?"
"Aye, boy. Geralt will show you where the rags and buckets are," Vesemir said. He grabbed his plate and mug before nodding at the white-haired witcher and leaving the room.
"You never told me making guests do hard labor was apart of the witchers' guide to hospitality," Jaskier sighed after the door shut. He sat down in one of the chairs and took a slice of bacon from the center of the table.
"You never asked," Geralt said.
Jaskier bit into the bacon, his eyes growing wide with surprise as he tried to chew the tough meat. "Any other things I should know as a guest?" he said around the bacon filling his mouth.
"Don't talk with your mouth full."
"Ha ha, Geralt. Very funny," Jaskier said. "Though I'll have you know it's hard not to when your meat is as tough as leather and you can't just swallow it! Even the jerky last night wasn't like this. How do you even make it this way?"
"Ask Eskel, he does most of the cooking."
"Is that the one with the scary scars?" the bard asked. Geralt nodded. "I'll pass. Wouldn't want to offend him."
"Hmm. Chew faster then. You'll offend Vesemir if you're not out working soon."
Ciri came out of the stables smelling of hay and horse dung. She liked Roach a lot. The mare was strong and sturdy, yet still leaned into Ciri's touch whenever she rubbed her nose or combed through her hair with her fingers. Ciri just never noticed how badly her dung smelled - or how much of it she could drop in a day.
Ciri's knees were raw from kneeling all morning to wash the floors and stalls, and her right arm was stiff from how hard she had to scrub the grime from the stables. Hay stuck to her cloak and patches of her skirt were still wet from the puddles she accidentally knelt in as she cleaned, chilling her legs as she and Jaskier walked back inside the keep with wooden buckets in hand.
They found Geralt near the closet where he had gotten the buckets earlier. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his hands, which were holding a spade and a pail of cement used for grout, were covered in gray dust.
"Done?" he said, opening the door. Jaskier dropped the bucket down on the floor of the closet with a thud.
"Finally. When was the last time anyone cleaned that place? There were shit stains under the shit stains!"
"Probably when it was Lambert's turn," Geralt shrugged.
Ciri put her bucket down beside where Geralt and Jaskier left theirs. "He needs to learn to clean better then," she muttered.
"Vesemir's said the same for years," Geralt said. He took a pile of dirty, wet rags from her and Jaskier handed him another bunch of suspiciously brown cloth before wiping his hands on his pants, which were adorned with hay and specks of dirt. He frowned when he saw a stain on his white shirt from when he accidentally knocked a bucket of brown water off of one of the thick fences inside the stables.
"Ugh, I better go change before this sets in. Do you have any soap?"
"There's some in the bathroom you can use," Geralt said as he stacked their the supplies on shelves that didn't look strong enough to hold a pile of paper, yet somehow didn't break. "Do you remember where it is?"
"Of course. Making my way around new castles and keeps is a talent of mine! Comes in handy since I usually have to sneak out."
"Why do you have to sneak out?" Ciri asked, brow raised. She thought Jaskier almost sounded nervous when he chuckled.
"Ah, well, just a typical thing for bards. Have to shake off all the fans. Right, Geralt?"
The witcher just looked at him.
"Right, well, I'm going to have a desperately needed bath," he said and started walking down the hall. "See you at dinner!"
Ciri looked over at Geralt.
"He wasn't talking about fans, was here?"
"No," Geralt grunted as he closed the door of the closet. He glanced at the late afternoon sun that streamed in through a small window before looking back at Ciri. "Go change. I'll meet you in the courtyard to start training after."
Ciri smiled and nodded, quickly turning to head to her room. She was about halfway down the hall when Geralt called out to her.
"Do you know the way?"
"I think so!" she yelled back over her shoulder. She was pretty sure she saw Geralt shake his head before she turned back around.
She weaved through the corridors and up the keep's large stone staircases as fast as she could without actually running. She found her room without issue and quickly traded her dress for breeches and a long sleeved shirt. Ciri tied her hair back with a thin piece of leather she found at the bottom of the bag Geralt had left in her room the night before.
She tugged her cloak around her shoulders and made her way back through the keep. The large wooden door that led to the courtyard was heavy, but she was able to open it enough to slip through. Geralt was waiting for her near an area of the courtyard where the snow had been pushed away into large piles against the aging outer walls.
The witcher stood up from his seat on a large stone when she approached him. She was a bit surprised to find that he didn't have any swords with him, even more so when she found a strip of dark cloth in his hand instead of some sort of weapon.
"Where are the swords?"
"We won't use those yet. The first lesson is to listen."
"Listen?" Ciri felt her excitement start to fade. Her etiquette tutors had lectured her endlessly on how important it was for a lady to always listen to others. And those lessons had always been incredibly boring.
"To your surroundings," he said. "Opponents can sneak up on you anywhere. If you aren't always on your guard, they can kill you before you know they are there."
Ciri nodded, her disappointment ebbing away. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.
"It's easy to hear a rustling bush or a horse carrying its rider, but detecting silent footsteps or a flying arrow takes practice."
Geralt handed her the cloth. It was thick, dark, and clearly worn. She thought it looked like a scrap from an old wool cloak.
"Put that on and see if you can tell where I am."
Ciri wrapped the fabric around her eyes and tied the ends in a knot at the back of her head. She could only see darkness.
"Listen to the sound of my voice," he paused for a moment. "Where am I?"
His voice had moved to the right of her. She pointed at the spot.
"Good," he said, going quiet again. "And now?"
Ciri gestured to the far left side of where she stood.
"Right. Now listen for how close I am."
"That's a trick question," she said. "You could be speaking louder or softer without moving."
"The tone of your voice changes when you do that - a yell sounds more strained. An echo, unless you're inside, usually means they are farther away. And if you can hear a whisper, they're close even if they aren't right next to you," he grew silent again. "How far?"
His voice was close but not as close as before, though not far enough to sound strained. Ciri thought for a moment before she spoke. "Ten paces."
"And now?"
"Twenty paces."
They went on like that for 20 minutes at least. She had to guess how far he was and what direction he came from. She got it right most of the time, though it became harder to tell just how far he was when he moved farther away. When she guessed correctly at least a dozen times in a row, he moved on.
"Now listen for my footsteps. Point at the direction they're in when you hear them."
Ciri nodded. It wasn't hard at first - by the way he shuffled his feet, it was obvious he wasn't trying to mask his sound. But as his steps grew more silent, the less she was able to tell where he was. After his steps had become entirely quiet and she kept answering wrong, she pulled the blindfold from her head. He wasn't farther than three steps in front of her.
"I can't hear your footsteps when you're that quiet," she huffed.
"You're listening for the wrong thing. Most men can't hide the sound of their breathing perfectly if they have been walking through the forest all day. Or the way their leather clothing squeaks when they move. And if they're soldiers, their armor usually clinks. You might not be able to hear all that from far away, but you should always listen for it. Sometimes your hearing will surprise you."
"And what if I'm about to be attacked by a witcher who can move without making a single noise?"
"Depend on your sight. Animals moving in the same direction, or if they are moving quickly, it means there could be a threat. Same with people in a village. Even if they don't seem alarmed, it could mean an attacker is coming."
"And if no one's around to observe?"
"Trust your gut. If a voice is telling you something isn't right, listen to that."
Ciri was skeptical. She knew there were always hidden threats in the world - Grandmother had told her that plenty of times already. But to react to what you didn't know was there sounded nearly impossible. Holding back a frown, she tied the fabric back around her eyes and waited for Geralt to move again.
She did her best to listen to his breathing, the rustling of his clothes, or anything else that could give his presence away. But like before, his silent movements were too hard to detect.
Ciri was about to pull down her blindfold again in frustration when she suddenly felt a sense of unease tugging inside of her. She shot her right arm out and quickly turned around, nearly jumping when she made contact with Geralt's wrist.
"Good. See what I mean?"
Ciri nodded. He moved away and continued on with the exercise. Every now and then she heard him step on a branch or make his footsteps crunch lightly in the snow. Mostly he was quiet, leaving her to sense him on her own. She couldn't do it every time, but that was OK. She felt her confidence start to grow each time her instinct was right.