"And that's that."

Ciri buckled her rucksack closed and took a final look around her room. Nothing had been forgotten; everything was packed away and ready to go. Lidia's borrowed shirt lay at the foot of the bed for laundering. The discarded garlands were still on the floor, stray petals scattered forlornly around them.

She hefted the rucksack's strap gingerly onto her mostly healed shoulder. She'd dawdled and tarried as long as she could. Now there was nothing left to do but say her farewells and go home.

The downstairs was unusually empty for this time of day, save for Marta and her sister bustling from table to table clearing off used plates and cups. A pit grew in her stomach. Had they left without saying goodbye?

She hurried to the counter at the far end of the room and set her key atop it. The gray-haired matron from the night she arrived gave her a tired look and closed her hand over it firmly, as if to keep Ciri from taking it back and staying another night.

"Where are the von Everecs?" Ciri asked her.

The woman jerked her head at the wall facing the yard. "Whole band's in the stables readying their horses. Haven't left yet."

Ciri rushed out the door and across the yard, her rucksack bouncing against her back with each long step. She could hear nickering and whinnies as she neared the stable, and the sound of rough, bantering voices through the open door.

A man she only vaguely recognized looked up from saddling his horse and smirked at her entrance. "Oi, Vlodimir! It's your guest!"

"Don't be a shit," Vlodimir called back. "Fiona!"

Ciri tossed her head and made her way past the bandits tacking up their horses, suddenly acutely aware of how many of them must have been listening last night. No warm flush rose to her cheeks this time. She'd thoroughly enjoyed herself, and what they thought was of no import. Not when they'd never see her again.

The crowd of horses and bandits gave way to the emptier end of the stable, where Vlodimir and Olgierd adjusted Falka and Barghest's tack. At the sight of her, both brothers stepped away from their mounts and drew closer.

"You're riding out so early," she said, and she held back a wince at the plaintive note in her voice.

"Olgierd caught wind of a merchant caravan unloading wares in a village in Velen," Vlodimir told her. "We're off to take advantage before the opportunity passes."

Ciri glanced at Olgierd and stopped, her breath catching in her chest at the turmoil in his eyes. At the grief. He noticed her scrutiny, and with a blink and a small, swift smile, the storm disappeared behind the warmth he always had for her.

"And you're off as well," he observed. "Back to your employer?"

"Back to my employer."

She fell silent, uncertain what to say, how to even begin to say goodbye. Vlodimir solved the dilemma by closing the gap between them to catch her in a strong embrace, and she hugged him back tightly.

"Ahh, dewdrop," he sighed. "We'll miss you terribly."

"I'll miss you as well," she said into his shoulder. Her eyes stung. She scrunched them shut until the feeling passed.

He slowly released her, his hands trailing down her arms to catch her hands and squeeze them gently. Then, reluctantly, he let go and stepped aside.

Olgierd took in the two of them with nothing more than slightly raised eyebrows as he reached out for Ciri's hand. He held it in the space between them for a moment, her fingers against his callused palm.

"You'll always be welcome here," he said at last. "No matter what brings you back to Oxenfurt."

"Someday, if it's possible," she said softly, unwilling to turn down the invitation outright.

"You've been a true pleasure to host," he continued. He reached out with his free hand and carefully tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear to reveal the tourmaline earring dangling from her earlobe. "I hope your employers value you as highly as we do."

"Olgierd…" She broke off. "In another life, perhaps."

He raised her knuckles to his lips, his eyes fixed on hers. "Perhaps," he said quietly.

A large, warm hand settled on the small of her back as Vlodimir drew closer again. He turned her to face the stalls behind her and pointed to the last one still occupied.

"We want you to have her," he said with a nod toward Umbra. "We've no one to ride her once you leave. Might not for weeks, if not months. You treat your mounts with the respect they deserve, and a fine horse needs a good rider. The two of you belong together."

She jerked around to look between the brothers and found no disagreement on Olgierd's face.

"She's one of the best horses in the stable!" she protested. "You can't just give her away; she's worth a small fortune."

"We can and we will," Olgierd said. "You must take her. The best horse should have the best rider, and you need a mount for your journey. Allow us the privilege of providing one."

Vlodimir cut off her argument with an arm around her shoulders, pressing his lips to her temple as he had last night. "Don't argue, skylark. She's been yours since you beat me in that race."

"You're too generous by half," she said. "Thank you, both of you."

"It's the least we can do for such a delightful woman."

He drew her to him and pulled her into a slow, warm kiss that sent a shiver down her spine. She leaned in, kissing him back desperately, uncaring of the audience, her chest tight with too many emotions.

His thumb stroked across her scarred cheekbone as he slowly broke away. "If you ever change your mind about that little cottage," he said, his voice low, "one bedroom or two. You know where to find us."

Her vision swam, wet and blurry, and she blinked away the tears and sniffed impolitely. "I'll remember that."

"No tears, beauty. We'll see each other again, I've no doubt." He winked at her. "Now tell me I'm awful and send us off with a smile."

"You're awful," she said fondly, and the words felt like the softest of endearments in her mouth. "Go on. And stay safe, both of you."

"No peasant has got the better of us yet," Vlodimir said with a laugh.

He swung up into Falka's saddle as Olgierd did the same by Barghest. On some unspoken signal, the band began to ride out the door in ones and twos, slowly emptying the stable. The brothers looked down at her for a charged, lingering moment, then Olgierd nodded and raised his hand.

"Farewell," he said simply. "And take care."

"You, too."

Ciri watched them ride out, her heart cracking as they grew smaller in her view. Then, finally, they disappeared from sight. She took a deep, unsteady breath and turned to Umbra's stall.

"Looks like it's just the two of us now, girl."

Umbra stuck her head over the door and nickered at her, and Ciri stroked her nose and unlatched it to lead her out.

"Let's get you saddled up."

Her shoulders didn't hurt quite as much reaching up for the tack on the wall this time. She saddled and bridled Umbra without difficulty and mounted her with only the barest wince at the pull to her arms. Her mare walked obediently out of the stable at a gentle nudge of Ciri's knees to her sides, and she proceeded out the yard and down the dirt road to the same out of the way place they'd used to travel to Tretogor.

Ciri leaned forward and stroked her neck. "Just like before, girl. Easy does it."

She reached for her magic, feeling for the strands of time that surrounded all things, everywhere and everywhen. A pale green glow suffused the air around them as she found the path forward. And with a single step, they left the past behind.

The glow faded. A chill nipped at her through her blouse. She glanced at her surroundings to see she was right where she'd left, though the hedges were taller, wilder, and the sky was an iron gray threatening winter rain. She nudged Umbra's sides again to turn her back toward the inn.

She didn't recognize the weedy blond stable hand who leaped to his feet when she rode in, though there was something familiar about his face.

"Will you be staying long?" the boy asked, reaching for Umbra's reins. "There's room at the inn, if you're looking for lodging."

"No; I won't be more than a few minutes," she said. "Keep her saddled for me. I'll be right back."

The inside of the inn hadn't changed much at all. The tables and benches were right where she'd left them a few minutes ago, though the patrons were entirely unfamiliar. She passed a trio of casually chatting men who looked like traders to her eyes and went to the counter where she'd just deposited her key.

Marta squinted at her in distant recognition. The intervening years had given her face the soft lines of middle age and threaded strands of white into her blonde curls, but Ciri knew her at once.

"In need of a room?" she asked. "We only have the one left."

"In need of information, actually," Ciri said. "The von Everecs. Where can I find them?"

Distaste crossed her face as her hand fell to the knife at her belt and then recoiled like she was touching poison. "What could you want with them? Most are dead, and good riddance. The last one up and disappeared a few years ago. His bloody free company's still causing trouble without him at the helm."

Ciri swayed, her heart dropping. She braced herself on the counter and shut her eyes against the news.

"The last one?" she heard herself ask from a great distance.

"Aye, Olgierd von Everec. Ataman of the Redanian Free Company." Marta snorted disdainfully. "Little better than bandits, that lot, and him a heartless whoreson to boot. Pity Lady Iris, marrying into that family. Wouldn't be surprised if he had a hand in her death."

Ciri's pulse pounded in her ears. Her hands trembled on the counter. It couldn't be—this couldn't be what Geralt meant for her to let happen. This couldn't be what O'Dimm had wanted her out of the way for.

"Vlodimir is dead?" The question came out faint and pained.

"You been living under a rock?" Marta asked. "Man died over twenty-five years ago, on one of those damned raids of theirs. Hmph. No one'll miss a man like that, I tell you."

"I will," Ciri said fiercely. She opened her eyes and glared at her. "I'll miss him."

She shoved away from the counter and strode out of the inn, slamming the door behind her. Frost-covered grass crunched beneath her frantic steps as she raced back to the stable. Marta's words echoed in her head. Disappeared. Heartless. Widowed. Vlodimir was dead.

The weedy boy blinked at her as she stormed in. He held out Umbra's reins, taking a careful step back.

"Sure you don't need a room, miss?"

"Very," Ciri snapped.

She mounted Umbra again and urged her out the stable doors at a gallop. Once out of sight of any passerby, she reached for her magic again and sent them halfway across the continent in the space of a heartbeat.

Umbra's hooves clattered on Corvo Bianco's cobblestones as Ciri reined her in. Geralt and Yennefer turned abruptly from the front door at the sound. She hadn't been gone long, though it had clearly been long enough that they'd decided to wait inside.

"Ciri!" Yennefer called out. She picked up her skirt and hurried down the stairs, Geralt at her heels.

Ciri jumped from Umbra's back and rushed past Yennefer to shove Geralt. He rocked back with the blow, his face holding nothing but sympathy.

"Why?" she cried. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Her cheeks went hot and tight as her vision blurred. She shoved him again and stiffened as his arms closed around her, rucksack, sword, and all.

"They were—" Her voice cracked. "I liked them."

"They liked you, too, from what I was told." He held her close, his hand on the back of her head as if she were a child again. He still smelled like harvested vampire parts.

"Why?"

"You couldn't draw O'Dimm's attention," he said quietly. "Olgierd was going to survive. I'd meet Vlodimir's ghost and hear about you that way. Getting involved, changing things—it was too dangerous."

"I could have—"

"You couldn't."

A sob broke free. Then another. Geralt's shirt grew damp beneath her face as she wept miserably into his shoulder. He rocked her gently back and forth, his hand still cradling her head.

"Why does it hurt so much?" she asked him wetly. "He's been dead for decades."

Geralt held her closer. "He's been dead for minutes. It's all right, Ciri. It's allowed to hurt."

She sniffed hard and pulled away, scrubbing her eyes roughly with the back of her hand. "I want to know how you met them," she said. "But… later. First, I need to stable Umbra. And then we need to talk about the manuscript."

Yennefer came to her side and cupped her wet cheek. She looked Ciri over carefully, her sharp eyes not missing a thing. "They gave you a horse," she said with raised eyebrows.

Ciri looked away. "She didn't have a rider."

"My daughter," she said softly. "Come inside. We'll clean your face. I want to take a look at what's under those bandages as well. Geralt, you can see to Ciri's new mare."

Her mother set a guiding arm around her back and led her up the stairs and into the villa. Without a word, she took the rucksack from her shoulder and unbuckled her sword belt, laying them on the floor beside the dining room table.

"Sit," she said. "I'll be right back."

Ciri dropped into the indicated seat and slumped forward. Her eyes caught on the saber hanging on the wall, and another sob choked her.

Disappeared. Heartless. Widowed. Vlodimir dead.

"Look at me." Fingers tilted her chin, turning her face from the wall, and she blinked to see Yennefer kneeling beside the chair with a wet cloth. Her mother dabbed at her face, watching her in silence.

"You're not going to tell me there's nothing more pathetic than a sorceress in tears?" Ciri asked through a tight, clogged throat.

"Shh." Yennefer set the cloth aside and stroked her hair back. "I recognize heartbreak when I see it, and quite frankly I'd be worried if your eyes were dry. If he's worth your tears, then shed them. Composure can wait until tomorrow."

Ciri screwed her eyes shut as tears leaked from the corners. "He—he said we'd see each other again."

"Oh, darling." A soft sigh escaped her mother. "Were you planning on taking up with him? A sixty-year-old man?"

"No." She sniffled. "I don't know."

Yennefer's hand left her hair, and fingers deftly plucked the tie holding her shirt closed. The bandage on her left shoulder slipped off, and her mother hissed under her breath.

"Ciri, what—"

"A fleder," she said tiredly. "It's the same on the other shoulder."

She felt a brief, light touch, and after a pregnant pause, Yennefer said, "At least they're healing well."

"Mm."

"You'll have to tell us how you encountered a fleder."

"The manuscript," she said with a limp gesture toward her rucksack. "It couldn't be avoided."

The door opened behind them, and Geralt's even, quiet footsteps came around to the other side of the table. He sat in the chair beside her and gave her another sympathetic look.

"So…" he began awkwardly. "They treated you well?"

"Oh, don't," Ciri said. She bent to unbuckle her rucksack and pulled the manuscript out to thump it on the table. "There. Melchior Fabin's manuscript. And it's worthless, by the way. He invented spells for controlling vampires—it's why they killed him. If you use the wards, they'll know you have his book."

Geralt cursed under his breath.

"We considered the possibility it might be pointless," Yennefer said, though her lips thinned at the news. "Who had it? It couldn't have been the library if you encountered a vampire."

"Albrecht de Rycher, in Tretogor, and before him, Ilona van Jonne," Ciri said. "I killed her, but he got away. Do you know him?"

"Only by name and reputation." Yennefer finally got up from her crouch to sit at the table. "He's a cold, ambitious man by all accounts. The last I heard, he'd fled with most of Redania's other mages to Kovir and hadn't returned despite Emhyr's amnesty."

"Then I'll have to avoid Kovir for the next several decades," Ciri said. "He got too good a look at me, and whatever he had planned with that manuscript, I'm the reason it failed."

"I'll ask Triss for more information about him," Yennefer said. "If he's still holding a grudge, or up to new tricks, we'll soon know."

"It wouldn't be the first country I had to keep out of," Ciri sighed.

Yennefer shook her head and looked to Geralt. "Well? Shall we pack up and spend the winter elsewhere? Or do we call on Triss or Eskel after all?"

"Maybe… hm." Geralt leaned back in his chair. "Don't know. Let's give it another night and see what we think in the morning." He glanced at Ciri. "And you're injured again, so—"

"Fine." She stood from the table and grabbed her rucksack and sword belt. "I'll be upstairs. Let me know what you decide."

She ducked the concerned hands reaching for her as she hurried off to her room, her boots loud on the wooden stairs. Her burdens fell unceremoniously to the floor, and she collapsed onto her bed to stare blankly at the wall.

Disappeared. Heartless. Widowed. Vlodimir was dead.

If this was what she'd agreed to stand aside for—

She buried her face in her pillow and wept.

A presence at her doorway woke her from uneasy slumber. She stirred and peered out at Geralt, rubbing gritty, puffy eyes with the heel of her palm.

"It's over?" She beckoned him in. "You and Yennefer weren't hurt, were you?"

"Only a little," he said. He came and sat at the edge of her bed beside her legs. "Swallow took care of it."

"I'm nearly healed; you should have let me help."

"You needed the rest." He slumped forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

"And?" she asked. "Are we leaving Toussaint for the winter?"

He shook his head. "Maybe. Gonna try giving the manuscript to Orianna first, see if she can arrange some kind of peace with them."

"I thought she couldn't control the local vampire population."

"Not like Dettlaff could. But this is a bargaining chip, not a higher vampire power. Willingly handing over a book like this has to be worth something to them."

"I hope it works." She plucked at his sleeve and wrinkled her nose. "Make sure you bathe thoroughly before you go. You don't want her to smell dead vampires on you when you're giving it to her."

"Hm. Good point." A strained silence fell between them. Before it could become unbearable, he asked in bewilderment, "Vlodimir von Everec?"

"Don't," she said again, kneeing him as she sat up. "He was—"

"A boor," Geralt supplied. "A hothead and a lecher."

"If you're trying to make me feel better by telling me he was awful, you can save it," she snapped. "I told him as much frequently. And never seriously. He was sweet, Geralt. An incorrigible flirt, but that was part of his charm. He was funny. He loved to laugh, loved to have a good time. No one in the world meant more to him than Olgierd.

"I didn't care that they were bandits," she said. "Even if they claimed to be more than that. They were my friends. If things had been different…"

"Sorry," he said quietly. "I hadn't thought—I guess you got to know him better than I did."

"How did you meet his ghost?" she asked. She drew her legs up beneath her to sit cross-legged on the mattress beside him.

"Part of a contract I took on for Olgierd," Geralt said. He seemed to choose his words with care. "He wanted me to show his brother the time of his life, only he was dead. So, I had to summon his ghost. Shani needed a date for a wedding, and—"

"This is only leading to more questions," she scolded him.

"I'll get there," he said. He grimaced. "I had to let him possess me for the reception in order for him to have his fun. He was—" He glanced at her. "—a flirt. Boisterous. Had more life in him than most living men."

"That sounds like him." She scooted a bit closer and let her head fall to his shoulder. "And he's the one who told you about me? How you knew I'd go to the past to begin with?"

"He told me about his death on one of their raids. Said it wasn't so bad, though, because he spent his last night alive in the arms of the most beautiful woman in the Northern Realms."

"He did not," Ciri scoffed.

"Honest truth," Geralt insisted.

"If he was bragging to another man and there were no women present, he'd have said he spent it between my legs," she said. She laughed around the lump in her throat. "Don't try to clean him up now. He was a rogue, and I liked that about him."

Geralt chuckled. "Can't get anything past you. Yeah. He, ah, got descriptive in praising your assets. I've been through some awkward situations, Ciri, but being possessed by a man who slept with your daughter has to be near the top of them."

Laughter escaped her in an inelegant snort. "Oh, no."

"Oh, yes."

"That must have been some wedding reception." She nudged his side. "Did you show him a sign? He told me he always wanted to see one."

"Yeah, showed him Axii."

"Geralt!"

"On a dog. He wanted to know if it would eat its own tail if he told it to."

She snickered. "He had a wicked sense of humor. I can't believe you thought he was serious."

"We didn't get off on the right foot."

Geralt put his arm around her and pulled her in, and she sighed and slumped against him, her amusement slowly draining away.

"He said it was his last night?" She cursed inwardly at the fresh tears that brimmed in her eyes. "Then that morning, when they rode off—"

"I'm sorry."

"You were wrong, you know," she told him bitterly. "I stayed out of it; I didn't get involved in their problems. O'Dimm still found me in Tretogor."

Geralt's arm went tight around her shoulders. "Did he—"

"He offered me the information I needed to get the manuscript so long as I told Olgierd and Vlodimir that I was leaving them and wouldn't return." She gave her eyes another hasty swipe. "I agreed."

"That was the right choice," Geralt said at once. "O'Dimm is dangerous, more dangerous than you can imagine. If you'd tried to challenge him—"

"What, like you did?" She pulled away and glared at him. "Why did Olgierd want you to show Vlodimir's ghost a good time? How did you even meet Olgierd? Why do you have his saber? Why did the maid at the inn call him heartless, say he disappeared?"

"Ciri." He caught her by the shoulders and met her gaze squarely. "It's a long story. And not a nice one."

He touched one of the earrings she'd forgotten to take out and gave her a significant look.

"Tell it anyway." She glared harder at the reluctance in his eyes. "You kept things from me before and look how it turned out. Don't you dare do it again."

"I can't." He shook his head. "Can't do that to you. If you want to find out for yourself, then I won't stop you. But I won't be the one to take both of them from you."

Ciri flopped backwards onto the bed and stared up at the dark ceiling.

"He's still out there, then? Alive?" She forcefully pushed away the dread of what his words could possibly mean.

"Yeah. But he's not going to be how you remember him."

"It's been over twenty-five years. I know."

"Not like that." He shifted uneasily at the edge of her bed. "He's… damaged. Been through a lot. Just—don't go in with expectations. It's all right not to go at all. You only knew him a few weeks."

"No." She sat back up abruptly. "If he's alive and alone out there… I must go. At least to see that he's all right."

Geralt nodded reluctantly.

"I'll leave when the winter's over," Ciri decided. "It can wait that long. But no longer than that."

He hesitated a moment before patting her leg and standing. "Yen can scry for him before you go. Give you a good starting point."

"Thank you."

"This is probably a bad time to bring it up, but—" He gestured at the corset and heeled boots she'd failed to remove before crying herself to sleep. "Let me commission armor for you. Please."

"Manticore," she agreed reluctantly. "And I'm keeping my boots."

"Good enough for me." He turned in the doorway, his face in shadow once more. "I hope you find what you're looking for."

"So do I," she said to her empty room once he'd left.