The main room of the Emerald Tankard smelled of fresh bread, ham, and the smoke of hearth fire. It was the kind of place that Geralt would have chosen to spend a night at after a successful hunt – plain and comfortable – and a brief survey of the patrons confirmed his impression. They were simple people, most of them wearing the practical garb of workers and travelers. The place was quite crowded, considering that it was already two hours past sunrise, and Geralt lingered in the doorway for a moment, trying to get an overview of the crammed space. It seemed that all tables were occupied, a fact he attributed to yesterday's execution that had drawn more people than usual into the city.
"Geralt! Over here!"
Prompted by the call, his eyes shifted to a table at the window, where he spied Jaskier in his red doublet. The bard waved at him, apparently concerned that his mere calling might not suffice to get the witcher's attention. Unfortunately, the maneuver was working so well that right now, literally every head was turned in Geralt's direction.
Geralt scowled, trying to ignore the stares and hushed whispers as he made his way towards Jaskier. Naturally, after yesterday's hanging, his name was on everybody's lips, and since he had avoided showing himself in public for the past two weeks, people were excited to see him. Not all of the faces were friendly though, and he noticed the openly hostile glances from two bulky men at the bar. The taller one had a nose that had obviously been broken several times and he murmured something to his comrade, eyes dark with disdain. Geralt made a mental note to keep his eyes on them. He didn't doubt his capabilities to take them on, but considering the recent events, he wanted to avoid another public row at all cost.
Stoically, he picked his way between the tables, careful not to show his discomfort at the sudden silence, and lowered himself into the chair next to Jaskier with a mumbled greeting. The position allowed a good view of the location as well as the street, and thankfully, he could sit with his back facing the wall. He placed his bag and the bundle that contained his swords within arm's reach. People resumed their conversations and the men at the bar turned their backs.
"Good morning to you too," Jaskier responded lightly, genuinely happy to see the witcher. "I'd like to say that you look well-rested, but unfortunately the opposite is the case. I hope you don't mind me saying that you look terrible. Holing up at Triss Merigold's place apparently isn't doing you any good."
Geralt chose to ignore the bard's comment and let his eyes wander around the table. Jaskier was currently treating himself to a substantial breakfast. He saw bacon, scrambled eggs, fresh bread, two kinds of jam, cheese, cold roast beef, and a bowl of fruit. The pitcher in the middle of the table contained apple juice, and there was a plate with different kinds of cake. Apparently, the bard had ordered the complete menu and by the contented look on his face, he was enjoying it heartily.
"Didn't you get anything to eat the past days?" Geralt grumbled.
"Don't be silly." Jaskier smiled around a bite of scrambled eggs. "I'm merely enjoying the comforts of civilization as long as I can. After all, I have to prepare for the hardships of another journey, and knowing you, there will be little in terms of culinary delight." He swallowed and gestured at the food, fork in hand. "Help yourself. There's more than enough."
"No, thanks," Geralt replied, not feeling particularly hungry despite the fact that he had already skipped breakfast with Triss. "I'm not really -"
"Nonsense," Jaskier interrupted him and called out across the room, waving at the busty brunette behind the bar. "Betty! Could you bring us another plate and a cup for my friend?"
The tender looked up from her conversation with a bearded man at the bar and set down the glass she had been cleaning.
"Coming up!"
She flashed Jaskier a very toothy smile and readily disappeared into the kitchen.
"The bread here is really good, and the honeycomb cake is pure poetry. You should try some." Jaskier nudged the plate in Geralt's direction. "My treat."
Given the bard's enthusiasm, Geralt found it difficult to refuse. With mild curiosity, he eyed the pastries, wondering which one was the honeycomb cake, and settled on a golden brown piece with countless small air-pockets. The way Jaskier grinned, he had made the right choice.
"Have you accidentally come by a large amount of coin?" Geralt asked, taking a bite and realizing at once what Jaskier had been talking about. The airy texture combined with the round taste of caramel, cream and butter was a revelation. He rarely ate sweet baked goods, a habit that went back to his childhood days at Kaer Morhen. Food like that lacked the nutrients needed to build muscle, and as such naturally had no place in a witcher's diet. As a boy, he had sometimes missed Visenna's cookies with a vengeance, but that craving had faded with time, and after he had completed his training and set out into the world, he had found that somehow his need for sweets had disappeared completely.
This cake, however, was something he could get used to. He must have actually smiled because Jaskier beamed at him like a proud mother hen.
"Not at all," the bard continued. "I have merely become good friends with the innkeeper's daughter."
"Betty?"
"The very same." Jaskier reached for a slice of bread and buttered it generously. "She is such a lovely girl, and talented in so many ways. Musical, too. It has been a while since somebody showed that much appreciation for my work as an artist. After my performance here at the inn, we spent a very romantic night together. In the haystack, of course, since her father would have firmly disapproved if he'd found out. She has the body of a goddess - " His hand trailed an imaginary curve and Geralt rolled his eyes.
"Please spare me the details."
The dreamy expression remained on the bard's face for a moment before he remembered the buttered bread on his plate and reached for the strawberry jam. He scooped an impressive amount onto his bread and licked the spoon clean.
"Anyhow, she enjoyed my skills as a lover just as much as my poetry and now I'm getting breakfast for free." He paused pondering his previous statement. "Well, at least I'll get a discount. Probably."
He took a relishing bite. From the corner of his eyes, Geralt saw the brunette emerge from the kitchen with a plate and cup, making her way towards them. She placed the dishes in front of Geralt with a polite smile, then cast Jaskier a flirtatious glance.
"Is there anything else I can get you?"
"Thank you, sweetheart. We're fine." Jaskier reached around her waist to pull her close and she slapped his hand, tutting.
"Not in public," she chided. "Do you want to get me into trouble?"
She nodded at Geralt.
"You're the White Wolf, aren't you? Is it true what they say about you? That you saved Miss Merigold?"
It was a lighthearted question and she probably didn't mean anything by it. Still, Geralt involuntarily tightened his grip around the cup.
"It's not that simple."
She raised her brows. "I bet it's quite the story. Maybe Jaskier can make a song about it."
Geralt's frown deepened. Here he was, having to deal with the prying questions of strangers when all he wanted was to forget about the whole incident. He had been mind-controlled and almost sold into slavery, worse, had even managed to drag Triss into this mess, wasn't that enough? Did he constantly have to be reminded?
Jaskier must have noticed the look on his face because he interjected before Geralt could respond.
"Or I'll compose a song about our next adventure. Right, Geralt?" The bard said hastily. "We're about to hit the trail to Twin Brooks," he added, looking at Betty. "I told you about that, remember?"
"Well, I hope their monster is worth a song.," she mused. "Just make sure you return in one piece. Would be a shame."
She lightly touched Jaskier's hand, and he straightened, assuming what was probably meant to be a heroic posture.
"Don't worry, I've helped Geralt slay countless monsters before. By now, I'd even say I'm something of an expert. Before you notice, I'll be back with the monster's head and a great tale to entertain you with."
"Looking forward to it." Her lips twitched in amusement. "Let me know if you need anything else."
She winked at Jaskier, who shamelessly gazed at her rounded bottom as she left, a dazed smile on his face.
"She is really something, you know."
"I bet," Geralt said tersely. Actually, he had hoped to just drop by, find Jaskier already packed up, and hit the road. Now it seemed like he would have to spend yet another hour in the city, bearing the glances of just too many people. From the corner of his eye, he saw the two men at the counter get up and leave.
"Look," he said pointedly, "if you like her that much, you can stay here and enjoy her company a while longer. Maybe you'll even get a love song out of it. I was actually planning to get on the trail."
"Don't push," the bard replied indignantly. "You haven't even finished your cake."
Geralt took another bite just to shut him up. For a long while, Jaskier just munched on his bread, jam dripping down his fingers, and apparently doing his best to finish breakfast before the source of his next tale lost his patience and decided to leave without him. However, being who he was, Jaskier couldn't keep silent for long.
"You should know," he went on eventually, "that I found out about Celaena."
Given how many people had been at the hanging, it had only been a matter of time until Jaskier heard about it. Still, Geralt felt his jaw tense as the bard mentioned her name.
"Congratulations."
"Sarcasm." Jaskier commented dryly. "Why am I not surprised? Look, Geralt, I get it. You don't want to talk about it. But people will continue to ask questions, and you might want to decide about what story to tell them."
"I'd rather not tell them at all."
"Not a smart choice," Jaskier retorted. "In my experience, unanswered questions create a void that needs to be filled. If you don't present any answers, people will come up with their own, and they might not be very flattering."
Not particularly keen on continuing the discussion, Geralt's glance strayed toward the window, where he could see the two men walk down the street, leisurely as if they had all the time in the world. The one with the crooked nose presumably had just made a joke, because his friend was clapping him on the back, laughing. Considering the direction they were taking, they were heading for the market.
"Look," Jaskier continued. "We have put so much effort into building your reputation. Why destroy all our hard work?"
Two city guards on horseback passed the inn, sunlight reflecting on the hilts of their sheathed swords. On the other side of the street, a couple of children were skipping and leaping, playing some sort of game. A small brown dog tagged along, running back and forth among them and jumping at their legs. The sight was a welcome distraction from Jaskier's inquiring eye.
"Well, if you won't do it for yourself, you could do it for Miss Merigold. People are talking about her, too."
That touched a sore spot, and Geralt's eyes snapped back at him.
"Leave Triss out of this."
It came out harsher than intended, and Jaskier raised his hands defensively.
"Tell that to the people. Do you know how many stories I've heard since I arrived? In some of them, you are actually the one who abducted her. Don't look at me like that. I know that's not what happened. But maybe you're getting my point here."
Jaskier was right. It was hard to admit, but the way he argued, he was actually making sense. The trial itself hadn't been public and the information given to the townsfolk had been carefully chosen. Maybe it was a good idea to come up with a story that would satisfy the people's curiosity. However, it didn't necessarily have to be the truth.
"Just make something up," he grumbled.
"Wouldn't you rather have the story be true?"
Geralt's eyes zeroed in on the bard, dark with anger and pain. "As if you care. Not one of your songs tells what really happened. So just take some artistic license and make up your own version."
"Ouch. That hurts. You do realize that I'm trying to act in your best interest here, don't you? That when I occasionally stray from the truth, I do it only to aid your reputation? To help you?"
And to help yourself, Geralt mentally added. He wasn't so daft as not to realize that Jaskier made a better profit from singing a hero's tales than sticking to the plain truth. However, he decided to keep that particular insight to himself, knowing that in the past, Jaskier had done his best to keep up his side of the bargain. Geralt redirected his eyes toward the window. A covered wagon rolled by, obstructing his view of the playing children.
"Fine," Jaskier conceded. "Have it your way. If you don't feel like sharing, then don't. I won't bring it up again."
Geralt watched the wagon pass the window to reveal a slender woman standing on the other side of the street. She stood among the playing children, undisturbed by the ruckus, quietly observing the inn. Her pale hair was neatly pinned up, the diagonal scar across her face visible even across the distance, the long sleeve of her gray dress concealing the stump of her right arm.
He felt an icy hand clutch his heart.
It couldn't be. He had seen her die. Yet, even as he blinked in confusion, the vision remained the same.
Memories flashed across the screen of his mind, immediate, vivid and almost tangibly clear. His sword slamming into a guard's throat at her bidding, his blade gutting a young man in front of his friends. His hands closing around Triss's throat, her heartbeat fluttering under his fingertips, her eyes screaming with panic. He could almost hear the witch's voice in his head again, commanding him not to hold back. Commanding him to kill.
Cold sweat pooled on his skin as he realized that she had come after him again. That she was here.
"Look, why don't you join me outside when you've finished," Geralt said hoarsely and pushed to his feet, picking up his swords.
"What… why? I already told you that I wouldn't bring it up again."
Geralt ignored the bard's confused protests and weaved his way through the crowded room, heading for the door. So his instincts had not lied to him. Ever since he had watched her die, he had wondered why he still felt her presence, why her grasp on him hadn't abated. She was still alive. Somehow, she must have been able to fool the crowd, maybe she'd had help from an accomplice. But this would end now.
The chill autumn air bit into his face as he stepped outside, hand curled tightly around his swords, and stared at the spot where he had seen Celaena not even a minute ago. She was gone.
His heart hammered in his chest as he crossed the street in a few strides and approached the children. Seeing him coming, they scattered away from him, their small dog yapping agitatedly. A blond boy tried to run past him and he managed to catch him by the arm.
"Where has she gone?" He demanded, voice rough.
The boy squirmed in his grasp, eyes wide with fear.
"Who? I don't know what you're talking about!"
"The woman! You must have seen her, she was standing right here among you."
"I didn't see anyone! Let me go!"
"Don't lie to me," he insisted. "I know what I saw."
"Let me go! You're mad!" The boy screamed, jerking at his hand in a futile attempt to break free. He started kicking at him, but his legs were too short and missed.
"What are you doing? Let the boy go!"
Geralt spun on his heel to stare at the elderly woman who had approached him from behind. Muscles taut and ready to strike, he froze, gaze wandering across her stained apron and the headscarf she wore to keep her gray hair from her face. In her hand, she was holding a broom.
It must have been something in her down-to-earth stance that brought him around, maybe it was the firm stare of her eyes, but suddenly awareness returned. Realizing just now how much the boy was struggling, Geralt released his grip and watched him dart toward the other children who were looking at the scene from a safe distance, hiding behind a deserted cart.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, casting down his eyes, "I thought I'd..." He wasn't able to finish his sentence, appalled at himself. He felt his face burn with shame. He had no idea what had gotten into him.
"You'd better stay away from the children, or you'll have me to contend with," she warned.
"I'm sorry," he repeated the words from before, wishing very much to be someplace else. He had been so sure that he had seen her, but now as he felt the terrified glances of the children, the disapproving glare of the woman, he became painfully aware of his mistake.
Unable to meet her gaze, he turned, marching back to the inn where he lingered a long moment in front of the door before deciding not to go back in. He wondered how many people had witnessed him, wondered if Jaskier had seen. What he had to be thinking. He decided that he couldn't go back inside, couldn't bear the thought of everyone's glances on him. He would have to, eventually, his bag was still in there after all, but it could wait.
He had tied Roach next to the entrance, and she nickered softly, sensing that something was amiss. Putting his swords down beside her, he softly patted her shoulder, then pressed his forehead into her neck. She was warm and firm. Beneath his hand, he could feel her muscles work as she shuffled slightly. She was definitely here, solid, real, and he found that her familiar presence grounded him.
"What's wrong with me?" He murmured against her fur, and she threw her head back in response, snorting.
Gently, he took hold of her bridle, turning her head towards him, and noticed with annoyance how much his hands were shaking. Celaena hadn't really been there, he realized that now. She couldn't have been, neither in flesh nor in the form of a wraith, the reaction of the children had made that overly clear. There was only one other explanation he could think of, and it scared the hell out of him because it meant that he was losing his grip on things. What if the curse had affected him more deeply than he had thought? What if he was virtually falling apart?
He closed his eyes, trying to take hold of a clear thought. This had never happened before, not as long as he had stayed at Triss's place, so maybe it wouldn't happen again. Maybe it was just the lack of sleep that had gotten to him or Jaskier's insistence to talk about the matter, and the bard had promised not to bring it up again. Wistfully, he wished for Triss to be here, to be able to ask for her advice, but she had left in the early morning hours and wouldn't be back for a couple of days. Until then, he had to do something, had to stay somewhere. The idea of leaving the city still sounded mighty appealing.
But what to do about Jaskier? Would it be safe for him to tag along? Should he leave him behind? He cast Roach a questioning glance.
Maybe that wasn't even the correct question, he pondered. Jaskier would probably tag along whether he approved or not. Maybe the better question was if he should tell him, and he wasn't so sure about that either. The more he thought about it, the more he came to the conclusion that he was probably overreacting. He had been mistaken, no big deal. Maybe it had just been a reflection in the glass of the window.
He must have stood there longer than he thought because a voice behind him startled him from his thoughts.
"So, shall we go?"
It was Jaskier, lute strapped onto his back and all packed, Geralt's bag in his hands. The smile dropped from his face the moment Geralt turned to face him.
"Shit, Geralt. You look like you've seen a ghost. Are you alright?"
He nodded despite himself. "I'm fine. Just needed some air."
Jaskier scratched his head and smiled a bit sheepishly. There was a stain of strawberry jam on the lapels of his jacket.
"I guess I was a bit annoying earlier," the bard added apologetically. "Sorry about that. Here, I've brought something to make up for that."
He handed him a bundle wrapped in clean linen, along with the bag Geralt had left at the inn. Geralt didn't have to open it to know what was inside. It smelled of honeycomb cake.
"Jaskier..." he began, not knowing how to react. He was still shaken by what had happened and confronted with this unexpected apology, he found himself a little overwhelmed. He wasn't used to people being nice to him, and the fact that he hadn't exactly been affable earlier, didn't make it any better. In fact, he felt utterly undeserving.
"You're welcome," Jaskier smiled and gave Geralt a friendly pat on the shoulder, apparently not surprised by the reaction. "So, I think the city gate is that way."
He marched ahead, turning when he realized that Geralt wasn't following.
"What are you waiting for? Earlier you couldn't leave soon enough, and now you're standing there like an idiot. Come on, let's get going!" He made a wide gesture as if he wanted to embrace the world. "Adventure, Geralt!"
Ignoring the uneasy feeling in his stomach, Geralt stacked the cake safely away in his bag and gathered his few belongings. Then he untied Roach's reins, mounting his mare in a single, swift movement. It took him mere moments to catch up with Jaskier, who had pulled an apple from his pants and was polishing it on the sleeve of his jacket.
"Still hungry?" Geralt commented dryly.
"Well, you made me skip dessert." Jaskier took a bite and continued with his mouth full. "And with you as my travel companion, there's no telling when we'll stop to rest."
"So you're still intent on tagging along."
"You bet."
The way Jaskier's smile broadened, Geralt was sure that the bard had not witnessed the scene in the street. It was a relief of sorts, knowing that he wouldn't have to explain. However, he couldn't shake the uncanny feeling of being watched. That she was watching. When he was sure that Jaskier wouldn't notice, he cast a brief glance over his shoulder, scanning the people on the street behind him. The children had resumed their game, and there were several pedestrians, most of them heading in the direction of the market. Not one of them looked even remotely like her.