She had made the right call.
The words had become her mantra in the course of the day. As Triss got to her tasks to prepare the ritual, grinding the herbs for the incense and purging one of the vacant rooms at the temple from its aura of sickness, she mentally repeated the words over and over. She mumbled them to herself when she drew the complex chalk layout on the floor so she could start to layer the spells that were needed, and they were still on her mind when she lit the candles when it became dark outside. She had made the right call.
Even now, she couldn't see any other way to save him. He was coming apart, had suffered for weeks already, and there was no end in sight. From now on, it would only get worse. If at least time hadn't been an issue, she would have returned to Aretuza and tried to find another way. But the moment he had mentioned suicide, she knew that she'd have to act now, or she'd regret it. So, in her desperation, she had ignored all thought of what was right and used her powers to sway his mind, forcing his consent to the most intimate connection imaginable.
It hadn't been hard either. His mind had already been weakened by the curse, vulnerable to manipulation, and she had taken advantage of that. Without much effort, she had erased his short-term memory and subdued his doubts, so he would allow her to try and cure him. It had been the only way to help him. She had made the right call, she knew that. So why did she still feel so guilty?
She sighed, running a hand across her face. No matter how often she mulled this over, it would do nothing to ease her mind. Deep inside, she still hated herself for what she had done, for going behind his back like this, betraying his trust. No matter how noble her intentions, no matter the outcome, nothing would ever change that.
May the gods help her if he ever found out.
She had taken precautions against it, of course. It had been the first thing she had done after they had parted ways this morning. The mind-meld would allow him to read her thoughts, and the way she felt right now, he would easily catch on to her shame. So, she had used one of Corinne's spells to create the mental equivalent of a box, a chest of secrets. It would free her of those painful feelings for the duration of the ritual and allow her to focus. Most importantly, it would also keep them from Geralt's grasp. She had postponed the moment for as long as she could, unsure how long the locks on the chest would hold.
With the ritual prepared and the sun setting, it was about time. She settled on the floor, back straight, and closed her eyes. The calm of meditation didn't come as easy as she was used to, but eventually, the nagging thoughts quieted enough for her to slip into a trance. The small chest was still there, waiting silently, just as she had left it. She ran her fingers across its carved lid, making sure the rune of silence was firmly embedded. Then she recalled the fateful minutes she had spent with Geralt this morning. Her futile attempts to make him see reason. Her emotional outburst. The final moments when she had pushed past his mental defenses to force his decision. When the last detail slipped into the chest, she snapped its lid shut and fastened the lock. Then she stored it away in a dark and silent corner in the back of her mind.
When Geralt entered with a soft knock at the door, it was already dark outside. She opened her eyes to greet him, a small smile on her lips. She was ready.
"Geralt. You're just on time."
He lingered in the doorway, as if unsure whether he really wanted to come in. She saw his eyes travel the room warily, taking in the bed in the corner and shuttered windows before dropping his gaze to study the chalk pattern on the floor. The outer circle was lined with candles.
"Looks complicated," he commented. Nervousness transmitted in his words, and she had to suppress an impulse to actually take him by the hand. She knew he wouldn't take it well.
"You'll be fine," she said instead. "We both will." She gave him an encouraging smile and nodded toward the center of the circle. "Why don't you sit? I'll be with you in a second."
She caught a movement at the doorway and noticed Jaskier sticking in his head. He looked a little worse for the wear, as if he hadn't gotten a lot of sleep lately. As far as she knew, he had never left Geralt's side, so her estimation was probably not far from the truth. She was grateful for it. His presence had been a great help, not that Geralt would have ever admitted it, and when the bard had learned about what Triss was trying to do, he had readily agreed to stay close, just in case.
"Thanks for coming." She nodded her appreciation. "Could you please wait outside?"
"Um, sure."
The disappointment on his face stuck out a mile. Obviously, he had hoped to watch.
"I'll call you if we need you."
He cast Geralt a questioning glance as if to make sure he would be alright, and when the witcher nodded, Jaskier retreated without complaint. He even closed the door behind him.
Triss watched with concern as Geralt lowered himself to the floor, settling in the exact spot she had indicated. A wince accompanied his stiff movements as he knelt, the standard pose of meditation less than perfect. It had to be his ribs that still gave him trouble. The bandages on his arm and chest glowed in the light of the flickering candles. He looked pale; the color of his face almost as ashen as his hair.
"Why don't you lie down?" She suggested. "I'll get you a blanket to make you comfortable. The ritual will work just as fine."
He gave a wan smile and shook his head.
"Let me do this the proper way. It'll be easier to focus."
Stubborn as ever. However, she didn't feel like arguing and he might even have a point.
"Alright."
She settled on her knees opposite of him, mirroring his pose, and their eyes met. There was a nervous silence between them, a certain shyness. Sure, she had been in his mind before, but not like this. This would be far more intimate. There was no telling what they would learn about each other, what memories they would stir.
"Anything you would like to talk about before we start? Any questions?"
They had already discussed it, had gone through every singular step over and over again. He knew what to expect, what to do, and what not to. They had agreed to respect each others' spaces as much as possible, refraining from touching things if it could be avoided. As far as everything else was concerned, they would just have to see.
He shook his head.
Hushed voices sounded from the corridor, engaged in low conversation, and she could make out Jaskier's baritone. The knowledge that the bard was waiting outside was a great relief. He would get help, in case either of them resurfaced from the connection in a state of emotional turmoil. In case something went wrong.
"I'm ready."
His eyes met hers, defenses down, and he gave a small nod. He trusted her with this.
"Okay then," she mumbled. "Try to relax, I'll go slow."
She took a deep breath to center herself, then summoned the chaos around her. She felt it sizzle in the air, traveling along the chalk lines to culminate in the center, ready to be channeled according to her will. The candles flickered as if from a gust of wind.
Tentatively, she reached to touch the junction points of energy on his face to initiate the connection.
"Close your eyes," she prompted, voice low, and his eyes slipped shut.
It was easy to guide him into a trance. His mind was pliant, non-resisting, and she proceeded gently, as if easing a child into the bathing water. She waited for the tension to leave his shoulders and his breaths to deepen. Then she followed.
The room was furnished in a practical way that bordered on austere. She looked at a simple bed in the corner, covered with furs and a roughspun blanket, a plain oak chest at its side. The fireplace lay cold. Her gaze traveled across rough, black stone walls and well-worn floorboards, passed over narrow, diamond-paned windows. Shafts of stale, gray light fell inside. The color of winter.
Kaer Morhen. The information appeared in her mind as if from nowhere. The witcher's castle, hidden away in the blue mountains of Kaedwen. Geralt's retreat.
The place felt like him, vibrant with the energy she remembered from the first time she had entered his thoughts, yet at the same time, something felt terribly wrong. It was like a dissonant chord in a song, the taste of milk gone sour. This place was diseased. Rotting. She frowned, noticing the chill that seemed to seep in from nowhere, the underlying scent of mold. The wall beside her wept with moisture. Pensively, she touched her fingers to the bricks, feeling the damp cold, and snapped her hand away when a flash of memory struck her mind.
Voices screaming in the darkness, the echo of scornful laughter. Celaena.
She blinked, confused. Not what she expected.
"So, you can sense it too."
She turned to find Geralt standing behind her. He looked exactly like the day they had first met in the woods, a travel-worn black cloak over studded armor, his swords strapped to his back. His arm was healed, just like the wounds on his chest.
"I do," she confirmed, troubled by the overall feeling of decay that hung in the room. "Has it been like this the whole time?"
No wonder he couldn't sleep. If her mental refuge felt like this, she wouldn't be able to sleep either. Now that she thought about it, the atmosphere bore an uncomfortable resemblance to the castle Foltest had abandoned. The one haunted by the striga.
"Ever since I awoke at your place, yes," he admitted openly. He furrowed his brows, tilting his head to listen. "The whispers have gotten louder though. It's almost as if she knows we're here."
A tremor ran through the walls at his words, the earth shivering beneath their feet. Plaster crumbled from the ceiling in a fine cloud of dust. She cast a nervous glance upwards and licked her lips. Suddenly she grasped Tissaia's warning in its true extent, Corinne's cautioning. You are planning to travel a traumatized mind.
What if his mental space crumbled around them before they had completed their task? What if they got trapped in the deeper layers of his mind? There was no way to sever their mental connection once they were down there; they would have to fight their way back up.
"You don't have to do this," he said, reminding her that he was well able to read her thoughts. She shook her head.
"I do."
She wouldn't allow fear to get the better of her. She was a sorceress, and a damn good one at that. She could do this. Taking a step forward, she pushed all second thoughts from her mind and focused on her affection for him instead. Her desire to help, her need to see this through for the sake of them both.
His brows creased and he shook his head, bewildered.
"What - ?"
"Come here."
She extended her hands to beckon him closer. He needed to know. He would learn anyway; it would do no good to stave it off. Remembering the way his fingers had curled around hers this morning in the garden, she felt he might understand. At least, he wouldn't think any less of her for it. So, she allowed her feelings for him to surface, trusting that it would be alright.
Touch had a different quality here, she remembered that from her lessons with Corinne, and when he finally gathered her hands in his, she again found it to be true. He was so close now, the barrier dividing them translucently thin. With a quivering exhale, she adjusted to that new intimacy and felt him react the same way. For a moment, they stood completely still, fingers touching, waiting for the ripples on the surface of their minds to calm to reveal what lay below, and suddenly she understood. She realized just how deeply the curse had affected him. She saw the overwhelming feeling of guilt, of utter failure. How hard he had been struggling to contain his suffering, to not become a danger to the people around him. The fear of becoming a monster himself when all he wanted was to protect the ones who were important to him. The ones he loved.
The last word echoed in her chest, and she felt realization dawn on him. Up till now, he had not grasped it, not completely. Now that he did, his eyes widened, and she knew his answer before she had even asked.
"Triss, I – I didn't know."
Why didn't you tell me? He didn't have to say it out loud, she caught the question the moment it took shape.
"Because the right moment never arose." Her voice was softened by regret. "You were so sick. You had other things to deal with, and I didn't know how you would react. I was afraid I would drive you away."
He gazed at her mutely, processing her words.
"You should have said something."
She gave him a small smile. "And how would you have reacted?"
He opened his mouth as if to respond, then closed it. A memory returned to him, and she could sense it as clearly as if it was her own. Him standing on her balcony, gazing into the night after one of his nightmares. His refusal to talk. The way he had exploded right in her face when she had read his mind.
He sighed.
"You're right." His thumb brushed across her knuckles as if in apology, then gently squeezed her fingers. "So, how about now?"
She frowned, trying to get his meaning, and before she could ask, he leaned towards her. Tentatively, as if asking for permission, he reached to cup her face in his hand. The moment his lips found hers, she melted into him, and he responded by pulling her closer. She wrapped her hands around his neck, feeling his breath on her face, his stubble prickling against her skin. All conscious thought vanished, and she held on to the moment for as long as she could, knowing it couldn't last. Because even now, she felt the shadow on his mind, the insistent whispers in the darkness.
The floor trembled beneath them, shaking them both, and she opened her eyes, firmly propelled back into the present. Damn this place. It would do them no good to linger.
Reluctantly, they pulled apart.
"Later," she mumbled reassuringly, and he nodded, repeating her words.
"Later."
It was time to cast her final spell. The one that would truly unite them and allow them to venture deeper. Again, she reached for his hands, but this time, she kept her emotions in check and focused on summoning the chaos to bend it to her will. It worked just as planned. Slowly, she felt the thin layer that separated their minds dissolve, and when she opened her eyes, she perceived the same changes in the space around her she had experienced with Corinne.
It was still Geralt's room, spartan and plain, but it was also hers - bookshelves disappearing into vaulted shadows, candles flickering in near-complete darkness. She made out the shape of a saddle lying next to her desk, spied foreign flasks among her vials. His blanket on her bed. The voices were louder now, taunting and screaming behind the walls and below the flagstones of the floor. The air was scratchy with the scent of mold.
Geralt's hands slipped from hers and he inhaled sharply, eyes wide. She could feel his apprehension as if it were her own, felt his impulse to draw his sword as he scanned the place, looking for a threat. There was none. They were alone. Still, she felt danger nearby, lurking just out of reach in the places the light could not touch. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a small chest hidden away under her bed, its lid adorned with the rune of silence. A single frost-rimmed leaf lay on the ground next to it, reminiscent of the temple garden.
His eyes followed hers, and she felt the frown on his face more than she saw it. Don't look. Heart pounding, she touched his wrist.
"Don't get distracted," she urged him. "We must stay focused."
For a long, terrible moment, she thought he would crouch down nevertheless, reach under the bed to inspect the chest, but then he just nodded.
"You're right."
She breathed a soft sigh of relief, careful not to let it show in her thoughts.
"Do you know the way?"
He was asking for the subconscious spaces of his mind, the rooms that had never seen the light of day, and she nodded. She could sense the entrance nearby. Following her instincts, she strode into the center of the room and kicked away the rug. Beneath it lay a trapdoor, its iron handle seamlessly fitting into the floor. The way down.
The hinges creaked as they levered it open. There was no light down there, stone steps the color of obsidian disappearing into darkness. A gust of cold air carried a putrid scent up from the depths. Mold. Rot. Decay.
Triss shivered and felt Geralt react the same way. She was down there, hiding in the darkness. A living memory. Triss grabbed a candelabra from the next table and made to descend the stairs but was stopped by Geralt's grip on her arm. She saw that he had drawn his sword.
"No." He said firmly. "I'm going to lead the way."
The air was suffocating. Triss lifted the candelabra to light the corridors that stretched either way from the bottom of the stairs. Her eyes traveled down the left one to the point where it melted into darkness, then looked down the other way. There were junctions every now and then, and with an unsettling feeling of foreboding, she realized that she was looking at a maze. Something Corinne hadn't mentioned. What if they got lost down here?
"We won't."
She cast him a questioning glance, raising her brows.
"The draft from the trapdoor," he explained patiently. "The only source of fresh air. I'll always be able to get us back here." A predatory snarl sounded from the distance, echoing strangely from the smooth, alien walls, and the grip on his sword tightened. "Stay close."
Triss made sure to follow his command to the letter. Several times she cast a glance back over her shoulder, the bright beam from the open hatch shrinking behind them, and when they turned a corner, it became truly dark. They passed countless junctions, all of them looking the same to her. However, Geralt didn't hesitate as he led them onward, turning left or right with an unmistakable sense of direction. Gradually, the stench of decay grew stronger. She didn't notice it at first, but when she did, she realized that he was following it to track down its source. Apparently, his heightened senses worked even here. It was a marvel, something she had never even considered possible. Still, the fascination was overshadowed by an urgent feeling of dread. There were eyes in the darkness watching them. Geralt could sense it as well. His apprehension filled her mind, making her skin prick.
They had just turned another corner when he extended a hand and came to an abrupt halt.
Before them, like a ghostly apparition in the darkness, stood a woman, and it wasn't Celaena. Her face was pale, red curls cascading down her shoulders like a fiery waterfall. Her ornamented, linen dress stopped just above her ankles. Geralt's thoughts sounded in her mind as clear as if he had spoken aloud.
Visenna. Sorceress. Mother.
Oh.
She was about to step closer but was held back by Geralt's hand. It was then she realized this was not a pleasant encounter.
"What do you want?" Geralt's voice was hard-edged, tension rippling from him in tangible waves.
She didn't speak. She just stared, studying them with green eyes devoid of emotion, scrutinizing, judging. She tilted her head slightly, and for a moment it seemed like she would respond, but then merely walked past them. Her sleeve brushed against Triss's arm before she seamlessly melted into the darkness. For a moment, Triss felt the overwhelming urge to run after her, driven by the irrational fear to never see her again.
Mother.
She was alone in the forest, cold and frightened to the core. Her mommy was gone. She had left without any word. No explanation, no goodbye. Heart pounding, she veered to look around her, ran down the path they had come, trying to find her mother's cart, the horse. They were gone. Her chest was so tight it was impossible to breathe. I don't know the way home. Why did she leave me? What have I done wrong?
"Triss?"
She felt the grip of a strong hand on her arm and looked up into the face of a stranger. Graying hair, a square chin, the athletic built of a swordsman. 'I have been waiting for you.'
Screams in the darkness. She lay on a hard bed, burning with fever. Her skin was on fire, her blood boiling. Cramps shook her so hard she thought her bones might break. The worst thing however were her eyes. She thought they might burst from inside, throbbing with a relentless force that increased with every beat of her heart. Someone whimpered in the room next to her, a child just as young as herself. Amidst the agony, she was only capable of one coherent thought that repeated itself over and over again.
Ma, why have you left me?
She sobbed, helpless tremors wracking her body. She must have failed her. She hadn't been good enough. It had to be that, there was no other explanation.
"Triss, look at me, damn it."
Calloused fingers grabbed her chin, but she couldn't see. Her eyes hurt so damn much.
She stared at the small bodies in the pit. Lips blue, blood trailing from empty eyes, faces contorted in silent agony. She might as well lie among them. It was a miracle she had survived. A heavy hand came to lie on her shoulder. Vesemir. 'You are stronger than them.'
Golden light trickled down her face, soft and warm. Some sort of crude magic, her dazzled mind provided. Simple, but effective. Bit by bit, the tension subsided, and a sigh trembled from her lips. She was sitting upright, leaning against something hard and cold, a strong hand on her shoulder keeping her from toppling over. The touch grounded her, and she held on to it as if for a lifeline. Only now she became aware she was panting.
"Triss?"
She blinked and Geralt's face swam into focus. His eyes were dark with worry.
"Damn it," she cursed under her breath, rubbing her temples. She still felt the magical residue there, sticky like a coat of honey. Axii. She caught the information from Geralt's thoughts. So that's what a witcher's sign felt like. "What the hell was that?"
"Childhood memories," Geralt said, clearly not in the mood to elaborate. He cupped her chin to gently direct her gaze towards him. "Are you alright?"
Triss shook her head. She was sick, her stomach clenching in the most terrible way. For a brief moment, she thought she would have to throw up. All those children, their small bodies twisted and broken beyond healing, their faces contorted masks of agony. The image didn't want to leave her mind.
He tightened his lips, disturbed by the experience as much as her, and withdrew. The lack of touch was felt instantly.
"Maybe we should head back," he suggested.
The thought made her tense up. She didn't want to give up. They were so close, she could feel it.
"No."
She made to push up, leaning against the wall for support.
"Triss, you can barely stand."
"Just give me a moment."
She felt his concern. He feared for her, more than for himself, and she understood why he reacted the way he did. After all, she had been in his position more than once. But now was not the time to retreat. With overwhelming clarity, she felt that if she went back now, she might not have the courage to try another time. Not after what she had just seen.
She took a deep breath to steady herself, then bent to pick up the candelabra that had fallen from her hand and re-lit the ones that had been snuffed out. The flickering light didn't do much to brighten the space, but it comforted her nevertheless. She took a few wobbly steps down the corridor, hesitating when she arrived at a junction and didn't know which way to go. She turned to cast him a questioning glance and he looked at her doubtfully.
"Are you coming?"
She knew she was being cheeky. Maybe it was his stubbornness bleeding into her in this shared space of consciousness, but she was determined to finish this. He sighed, and she felt his unhappiness as if it were her own. He gave her a tired look, then nodded at the junction opposite hers.
"That way."
The moment they entered the room, Triss knew they had reached their destination.
The rotten stench that had led them here was tangible now, thick and offending. She could taste it on her tongue, feel it wrap around her like a filthy blanket. Here was the source of the decay. This was where Celaena had anchored her curse.
Their footsteps echoed hollowly, reflecting from the vaulted ceiling and shivering across naked stone walls. Reddish light flickered from the braziers that were grouped around an operating table in the center of the room. The place bore relevance for Geralt, she didn't have to ask to know. It was where they had conducted the trial of the grasses when he had been just a boy. The graying man bending over the bloodied form on the table was also familiar to her. Vesemir. The closest thing to a father Geralt had.
The older witcher looked up as they entered, his face haggard. Blood smeared his tunic and reddened his arms up to the elbows. His eyes were dark pools of desperation.
"I have tried to get them out," he addressed them, "but they are buried too deep."
He had to be talking about the anchors of the curse. Troubled, she cast her eyes on the man on the table who lay deadly still, face slack and white. It was Geralt. He was naked to the waist, his chest cracked open, ribs spread by some kind of iron device to reveal his slowly pulsing heart. Dark tendrils of chaos wormed their way from his insides and down the table, blackening the floor beneath him and disappearing into the shadows of the room. The darkness there was throbbing with ill intent.
She felt Geralt go rigid beside her.
"Are you alright?" She mumbled, touching his arm. He nodded.
"You go and have a closer look." His voice sounded strained. "I'll watch the door, just in case."
He didn't have to elaborate. The fact that they hadn't run into Celaena so far, didn't mean that she wasn't around, and she understood if the sight of himself on that table rattled him. She probably wouldn't have been as composed if she had been in his place.
"Agreed."
She squeezed his arm in response. Geralt's hand tightened around his sword as she approached the table. Vesemir watched her attentively. His eyes were catlike, just like Geralt's, but they shimmered in a paler hue. To her relief, she didn't see any hostility in his face.
"My name is Triss," she introduced herself. "I'm here to help."
"You're a sorceress."
She wondered how he knew but then discarded the thought. It wasn't important.
"Yes."
She placed the candle stand on a narrow table that held a collection of operating tools. Most of them gleamed with fresh blood. Her eyes caught on the saw that had been used to open the ribcage and she set her jaw. She wondered how much of what had been going on here had entered Geralt's nightmares.
"Will you allow me to take a look?"
The witcher stepped aside to let her pass, and when she asked for the scalpel, he readily handed it to her. Triss turned to inspect the supine form on the table, casting a quick glance into the still face before tending to the task at hand. He looked almost dead. From up close, she could sense the intense aura of malice that emanated from the pulsing tendrils weaving into Geralt's flesh. She counted five in total. The tissue around them was black and necrotic.
Carefully, she slipped the scalpel under one of the tendrils, and a gust of wind licked at the candles, icy and unexpected. Her head jerked up, trying to locate the source, and noticed that Geralt and Vesemir reacted the same way. Bodiless laughter sounded around them.
"The blond witch," Vesemir murmured, eyes scanning the room vigilantly. "She's close."
Geralt drew his sword, expression grim. "You've seen her?"
"Wish I hadn't. Let's say she is less than pleasant company. Killed her at least a dozen times but she always comes back."
Triss shot him a concerned look.
"Don't worry," Vesemir told her. "We'll keep her off your back. You just get those barbs out."
The witchers exchanged a brief glance, and Geralt tossed Vesemir his sword, which the older witcher caught effortlessly. Then Geralt reached for his silver blade. It slipped from its sheath with a metallic hiss. The laughter around them grew louder.
"Where are you?" Vesemir mumbled under his breath. "Show yourself."
Trusting the witchers to keep her safe, Triss focused her attention on the man before her. Tentatively, she started to trace the cords of chaos and found that they were hooked into the heart itself, boring into the muscle from below. In order to remove them, she would have to touch them, but considering the damage done to the surrounding flesh, it was likely that the mere contact was harmful. She would have to protect herself before she could proceed.
"Geralt, behind you!"
Her eyes shot up as Vesemir shouted the words. Behind Geralt, the shadows had solidified into something human, and he swung around just in time as a woman emerged from the darkness. Wind tore at her pale hair, her gray eyes dark and dangerous like a sky before a storm. Magic sizzled around her single hand. Celaena.
The instant he saw her, fire burst from Geralt's fingers, and a fluorescent dome flickered around the mage as it hit. A force field, Triss assessed automatically. It would be tough to break through. Still, it was two seasoned witchers against one sorceress. The odds were in their favor.
Geralt lunged into battle, ready to get at her with his sword, and Triss managed to tear her eyes from the fight. She had a different task to accomplish.
Trying hard to ignore the way her heart raced in her chest, she worked a protective spell around her hands and gently gathered his heart. She could feel the chaos throb in time with his pulse, felt the tiny barbs that hooked into his muscle. She would have to remove them one by one, employing the same spells she had used weeks ago when she had first tried to lift the curse.
A frustrated shout from Geralt distracted her for a moment, but she pushed it away. She needed to focus. She bit her lip as her fingers brushed over a bump just below the aorta and focused her spell, narrowing it down to exactly this location. It took a beat until the barb dissolved under her fingertips, and when it did, one of the black tendrils came loose. It slipped to the floor with a wet smack, lifeless and slack.
Deciding she could risk a glance, she looked up to see Geralt advance on Celaena. Vesemir, however, stood completely frozen, his eyes vacant. Frowning, she took in the red smears on his tunic where he had wiped his hands, probably to get a better grip on his sword. Then her gaze dropped to his hands, and she swallowed when she noticed the blotches of black on his skin. They resembled the ones on Geralt's flesh where the tendrils had touched.
Slowly, Vesemir lifted his head, and when his eyes settled in her direction, realization hit her like a punch in the gut. His eyes were black with chaos.
For a moment, she thought he would attack her, but then he raised his sword against Geralt, aiming at his back.
"Geralt, watch out!"
It was unnecessary, Geralt had already noticed. When Vesemir charged at him, sword slicing down on him in a controlled swing, Geralt was prepared and parried the strike. But he would have to fight them both now, Celaena and his former mentor, and Triss saw electricity sizzle down the blond mage's hand already. It was the same spell Celaena had cast when they had fought her in the old tower room, and Triss vividly remembered the damage it caused. She had no idea what exactly would happen if they were killed here, but she wasn't eager to find out.
Seeing that Geralt's attention was occupied in the fight with Vesemir, Triss summoned the chaos around her to form a counter spell, trying to stifle the crackle of electricity in the air. It worked surprisingly well, and the lighting that had been about to burst from Celaena's fingers was instantly reduced to a sorry whisper of sparks.
Gray eyes swiveled towards her.
"You!"
Triss could feel Celaena's anger reverberate in her mind, a screaming torrent of blind rage, and she readied herself for another attack.
"Triss! What the fuck are you doing?"
She veered to see Geralt deflect a powerful thrust of Vesemir's sword, then push the older witcher backward with a burst of magic. He cast her a quick glance that burnt with urgency.
"I can stall them. Just do your job!"
He rolled backwards, bringing distance between himself and Vesemir, who seemed momentarily stunned, and slashed at Celaena. The physical attack caused her protective shield to flare up and caught her attention, giving Triss room to work.
Aright, she told herself. Let's do this. Her eyes snapped back to the man before her. She had removed one of the anchors already, which left four more to go.
Now that she knew what to do, it was easier. However, their situation was catching up with her and her hands had begun to shake. Thank Melitele, she didn't have to use a scalpel. Cautiously, she traced the throbbing muscle, feeling for the telltale bumps where the curse was anchored. She was aware of Vesemir grunting as Geralt got a hit in, followed by the green flare of protective magic, but she didn't look up. She had managed to remove two more of the barbs when Geralt's shout rang out.
"Get down!"
She ducked instinctively. It wasn't a moment too late, as a burst of energy jarred the room, sending a blast of pure white light into the wall behind her. Mortar and pulverized stone crumbled to the floor in a cloud of dust.
"Damn it," she ground out between clenched teeth, her heart hammering in her chest, then shouted, "I thought you could handle her!"
"Well, not forever! Hurry up, will you?"
It was easier said than done. She didn't want to accidentally stir the tendrils of chaos and risk tearing at the barbs in his heart. She came up a little, risking a peek across the table at Geralt engaging Celaena and Vesemir in fight. He was barely holding his own, slashing at her protective shield, landing blow after blow while trying to duck Vesemir's continuing attacks. She saw that he was bleeding from a cut at his temple, and he was limping slightly. Celaena's hand was already bright with light as she prepared another spell.
There was a deep rumble from the ceiling, the crack of stone and wood, followed by mortar crumbling from the vaulted ceiling. It seemed like Celaena's spell had done more damage than intended. She wondered how long the construction would hold.
Trembling, she once more gathered Geralt's heart in her hands. There were two more barbs, and then they could get out of here. She heard the clang of steel hitting steel, then a groan that was unmistakably Geralt's. Hurry up, Triss. You can do this.
Pushing the clamor around her aside, she focused on her fingers feeling for the remaining two bumps. There they were, close to each other. She let go of a breath, relieved. Almost done. The first one came apart at her touch of magic, the attached cord of chaos joining the other ones on the floor.
However, there was something different about the last one.
It took a moment until she realized what it was, and when she did, her breath hitched in her chest.
Lightning flashed across the room, and she instinctively dived behind the table, arms protecting her head. Close to her, part of the ceiling came down, taking half the wall with it and burying shelves and vials under the rubble. She heard Vesemir scream, a body hit the ground. When the dust lifted, she saw Vesemir's prone form on the floor, bleeding from a gaping wound in his chest. Further back, Celaena towered over a downed Geralt. The burns on his face and arms told her that the burst of energy had hit him full blast. He was still breathing though, and when Celaena wanted to reach for his sword, his hand clutched around her wrist.
Still, rocks and debris continued to crumble from the ceiling, the rumble above them rolling like thunder. With a surge of panic, Triss realized that they were running out of time.
Geralt must have come to the same conclusion.
"Triss!" he shouted hoarsely, "Finish this already!"
Heart in her throat, she reached into the opened chest for the last time. When her fingers ghosted over the remaining bump, she found her suspicions confirmed. There was not one tendril of chaos connected to the hook, it was two. The second one was thin and more delicate, a thread really, intended not to harm but to gently lace unwanted thoughts. She knew its texture the moment she touched it. This was a spell of hers, and with dismay, she realized that there was no way to remove the last barb without removing her spell as well.
May Melitele have mercy on her, he would know.
Debris crumbled from the ceiling, close to where Geralt and Celaena were still fighting. Somehow, Geralt had gotten back to his feet and stood, swaying, as white light flickered around the mage's fingers again. One more blast of magic and the room would collapse. Once more, Geralt slashed at the sorceress, hitting her force field only.
Triss's hands were shaking. She wanted to help him; it was all she had ever wanted. If she didn't act now, they would both suffer for it.
As the light around Celaena's hand flared up again, Triss brushed her fingers over the last barb in Geralt's heart. It dissolved just as easily as the ones before, the final tendril of darkness coming undone. With it, the blaze of energy died around Celaena's fingers, and the greenish dome of protection vanished. Geralt's blade sliced the air in a precise arc, meeting its mark, and Celaena slumped to the floor.
It was done.
Triss stared at the still form on the ground, hands cold. She felt the shift in the air as the curse lifted and the chaos fled from the room, and with it the putrid stench of decay. It took a while until she was able to raise her eyes to meet his.
The look on his face was terrifying.
The walls around them trembled, the earth shook beneath their feet, and just like that the room started to collapse around them. Bricks hit the floor just an arm's-length away from her, deep cracks tearing through the walls. Shaken from his paralysis, Geralt sprinted towards her and grabbed her wrist, pulling her with him.
She couldn't focus, her heart hammered so fast it hurt. He knows, her frantic mind provided. He knows. Incapable of clear thought, she stumbled behind him through collapsing corridors, black obsidian walls cracking and bursting as they hurried back towards the trapdoor from whence they had come. Her foot caught on a piece of rubble and she fell, her knees hitting the ground hard, but she was roughly dragged to her feet again.
Water started to gush in from nowhere, and he still pushed onward, his grip like a vise. He knew he was hurting her; she could feel it in her thoughts, but he was unwilling to let her go. Together, they clambered up the stairs, drenched in cold water, shaking, exhausted and terrified. The moment she took the last stair, she collapsed, screaming the words that would break their mental connection to get them out of here. Back to the real world. It felt like it had been not a second too late.
She fell forward with a gasp. Her hands met with cold flagstones as they caught the fall. They had made it out just in time. At least she had. Anxiously, she lifted her head to gaze at Geralt and saw his eyelids flutter as he tumbled from his trance. Trembling, she took hold of his shoulders.
"It's alright," she mumbled, fearful, her voice so taut it almost hurt to speak. "You're okay. Just open your eyes."
He did. They were hard, glistening with disbelief and unspeakable hurt.
"What have you done?" His voice was hoarse, the words choked in his throat.
Melitele, what was she to say? There were no words.
"I am sorry." Her voice almost failed her. "I am so, so sorry. I didn't mean to -"
"You didn't mean to – what? Force your will upon me? Use the curse to make me do whatever you goddamn please?"
He shook off her hands with a sharp shrug of his shoulders, making to push up. He stumbled, struggled to find his balance, and when she reached to steady him, he swatted her hand away. She didn't dare to make another attempt, scared of the look in his eyes. He was livid.
"After all that I've been through, don't you think I've been manipulated enough? Fuck it, Triss."
"Geralt - "
"No!" Spit went flying, rage radiating off him in scalding heat. "You had no right. I trusted you, Triss. I trusted you."
The worst thing about it was that she deserved it. She deserved every single word. What could she say? That she couldn't stand the thought of losing him? That she feared he was too messed up to make his own decisions? It didn't change a single thing. She had been in the wrong to begin with, and she knew it.
"Out." His voice was shaking, raw with emotion. "Get the hell out of here."
He was trembling, if from exhaustion or rage, she couldn't tell. Everything in her wanted to step closer, lend a supporting hand at least. Help him over to settle on the bed before he collapsed and hurt himself. But it was clear he wouldn't tolerate it. Her chest tightened, her eyes filling with tears. She saw wetness glisten in his eyes as well.
"Please forgive me." She mouthed the words, unable to find her voice, wanting so much to make it better but couldn't think of a way how to.
She stood frozen, helpless, feeling absolutely wretched. His eyes burned with an intensity that was frightening. Then she turned abruptly and fled. Her legs felt so weak, she thought she might not make it out; it didn't even feel like she was walking herself. Blood dinned in her ears and she fumbled with the handle of the door, clumsy, hands numb and ice cold. She stumbled past Jaskier who stared at her, uncomprehending. He hesitated for merely a second, then darted past her into the room.
She was barely aware of mumbled words from inside, just leaned against the wall, throat painfully constricting but unable to cry. She had lost him. She knew that as sure as she was a sorceress. He would never forgive her. Sure, he wasn't dead, but he just as well might be because he would never speak to her again after this. Melitele, the look in his eyes.
Whatever had been between them, she had destroyed it for good. She managed to make her way down the corridor, one hand against the wall, and when she reached the bottom of the stairs, the strength left her. Slowly, she slid down the wall, a sob wrenching from her lips. Tears stung behind her closed lids, and when they started to run down her cheeks, she didn't attempt to wipe them away.