Geralt's hand were raw. Still, he kept sanding the wood until it was smooth like the finest of Yen's silk dresses. As soon as it was, he looked at the coffin with a dispassionate glare. It was not good enough, but then again, nothing would ever be. He brushed off the sawdust and reached for the scented and stained oils on the shelf of his workshop.
He realized he didn't know Ciri's favourite scent. In the past few days he had realized loads of things he didn't know about her, that he'd never asked. Now that it was too late, he found each oversight devastating. Why hadn't he asked Ciri about her favourite colour? About the story behind the scar on her forearm? What kind of father didn't know his daughter's favourite scent? Why had he wasted so much of their time together on meaningless things?
In the end he grabbed the closest bottle. What did it matter anyway? She was not there to enjoy it. What did any of this matter? He slammed the bottle against the coffin. It blew open and an uneven stain spread over the wood.
"Geralt?" Yen came in, wrapping her arm around him. "Why don't you take a break? See if you'd like to eat something? Barnabas-Basil has prepared a meal."
Geralt shook his head. He had barely slept and couldn't touch food. He had been in the workshop, making this stupid coffin. He had made sure he was left alone there. Alone with his thoughts. Alone with his grief.
"Celia worries about you", Yen said. She wasn't playing fair. She knew how to make him react. "Geralt, it's been three days. I worry about you, too. You look like a wraith."
"So in these three days I was supposed to get over it?" Geralt snapped. "To forget about her, to accept and move on. She died and it was because of me."
"No it wasn't", Yen said patiently. "And I know what you are doing. You are trying to push me away. I won't let that happen."
"Maybe you should", Geralt grunted.
"Won't you at least read it?" Yen said. She referred to the letter. Ciri's letter, her last words. Geralt had refused to touch it and had forbitten Yen to tell him anything about it.
"What good would it do?" Geralt said, turning so that Yen's arm dropped. He stormed outside into the rain.
Yen and Celia were in Celia's bedroom, curled up next to each other. Celia was crying her heart out. Yennefer was crying too and for once Tissaia's favourite phrase didn't cross her mind.
"She - she told me", Celia sniffed, "she basically told me and I didn't realize at all."
They had gone over this many times. Ciri had wanted to see Celia alone before they left for Rissberg. She had told her little sister a series of seemingly unrelated things. Things an older sibling might teach their sister. About life, love, decisions and growing up. She had told Celia all the things she had planned to teach her over the coming years.
It was that part Yen found hard to accept, that Ciri had known about her fate in advance and she'd done little to prevent it. She had tried to explain it in the letter addressed to Yen and Geralt, but still Yen felt things might have gone differently had she been with them in Rissberg. Though Ciri's trances and dreams had always been accurate. It was hard to fight back when your opponent was destiny.
Yen continued to rock Celia lightly, soothingly, back and forth, over and over. Yen knew she had to keep going now that both Geralt and Celia were in pieces, but later, she'd have plenty of time to crumble. Ciri's death was unfair, unexpected and seemed unreal to her for now. She could have been in Skellige or on the Path. But she wasn't. She was lying in Corvo Bianco's deepest and coldest wine cellar, protected with spells against the natural processes the body went through after death. Waiting for the moment she'd be rest to lay in peace. But that moment could not come, until Geralt would read the letter. Yen had been making preparations, but she had to wait. Wait until Geralt was ready.