Next morning, when Tissaia approaches the cell on the lowest level of the huge building complex that is Aretuza, she finds the prisoner lying on his side on the naked stone floor. In a fetal position in a puddle of vomit. For a split second she fears he might have choked to death during the night. But he is breathing and whimpering softly, the sorceress notices with a sigh of relief as she enters the cell through the iron grille door. With a look of disgust and wrinkling her nose up against the putrid stench, she magics away the mess with a wave of her hand. Hm, the man does not look too good. Is he conscious at all? She steps closer. He is battered, pale as a sheet and diffuse tremors are running up and down his body. No doubt the aftereffects of her none-too-gentle interrogation method. When she nudges the prisoner's back with the tip of her shoe, he does not stir. Still unconscious then, but not too deeply so or he would not moan in his sleep.

For a brief moment, Tissaia is unsure what to do. Give the man a break and some time to recover from yesterday's ordeal? Or wake him up for another round of interrogation? As he is lying there curled in on himself, his back curved forward, legs brought up tightly against his abdomen, his head bowed, one arm wrapped around it protectively, she almost feels a wee prick of conscience, a tiny twinge of pity. Forcefully waking him up seems unnecessarily cruel, and, as she told the prisoner, she is not cruel by nature. However, Yennefer might need help, wherever she is. Instant help. A little cruelty against an evil enemy commander, a Nilfgaardian war criminal, seems justified in light of her friend's disappearance, doesn't it? Moreover, Vilgefortz promised he would come join her to see if he can help. He could be here any minute. She cannot appear to be weak, affected by unprofessional emotion in front of him, no. Her mind made up, the very professional Rectoress of Aretuza orders a servant to fetch a bucket of water. No, better make it two. Of course, she could always conjure one up if need be. However, Tissaia prefers to save all her chaos for the task at hand, or rather at her feet.

Not much later and on her command, the servant douses the prisoner in plenty of cold water. It has the desired effect. The man begins to stir and cough. He slowly blinks his eyes open, turns onto his back and tries to lift his head, but lets it sink back to the floor again, groaning. Another gush of water hits him square in the face. With a start the prisoner sits up, leaning forward and coughing violently. Then he looks up and gazes around the cell dazedly.

"Good morning. I trust you have slept deeply and long?" Tissaia asks, sneering down at the dripping wet man. Who is starting to shiver, whether from the cold water, her equally cold voice or the memory of the day before evoked by this very voice, she does not know. Neither does she care.

"Cahir, that is your name, isn't it?" He does not answer, only stares at her, still disoriented and obviously having difficulties focusing. Has she caused permanent brain damage already? Hopefully not too much, or she will hardly be able to gain any meaningful information even if she manages to break through his defences.

"Yes, take a good look. Do you remember me? Do you recall what happened yesterday?" After a long moment the prisoner nods his head. Good. Not brain-dead - at least not yet.

"Very well. Then you know exactly what will happen if you don't talk today either, don't you?" The Nilfgaardian goes even whiter in the face and there is a distinct trace of panic in his eyes now.

"So, what will it be this morning? Your choice." Although he is clearly scared of what is to come, the prisoner looks up at her defiantly.

"Do what you will. If the White Flame asks for my sacrifice, I'm ready for the darkness."

"If that is what you want, Nilfgaardian, you can have it." Tissaia sighs. What a deluded freak. It would be so much easier if the stubborn idiot just gave up the information they need and then they could have him executed without a fuss. But no, he must make it difficult, for the both of them. She sighs once again, then turns toward the servant.

"See to that he is taken to the interrogation room right away. Blindfolded and fettered. I'll be there shortly." She needs a whiff of fresh air first, before the interrogation, to collect her thoughts and her chaos. Maybe a nice cup of tea, too. If Vilgefortz is there before she has returned, even better. Then he can start to grill the prisoner ...

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Vilgefortz is already there indeed when Tissaia enters the interrogation room. The prisoner, like the day before secured to the stone chair with iron manacles, is still blindfolded and shivering in his soggy clothes.

"Here you are. I just wanted to get started, but ladies first, of course," the dark-haired mage bows to the sorceress with a smug smile. "The blindfold is a nice touch, might actually make it easier - for us, not the prisoner."

"He asked for the darkness, one wish we can easily grant, I suppose." Tissaia returns the smile. "Let's get started then, I'm a busy woman and have other things to tend to, too."

"I'm sure you do. As have I. However, you might want to gag the prisoner first. Yesterday's screaming could be heard quite far up in the building. You wouldn't want your students to hear it by accident, would you? Plus, it might help you concentrate. If there is indeed a magical barrier, you will need all your strength."

Tissaia blushes for a second, then mutters a muffling spell. Why didn't she think of that the day before? Would have been a lot easier on her eardrums, too. She straightens the sleeves of her dress, steps behind the chair and grabs the prisoner's hair, pulling his head backwards. He starts to tremble violently and not only from the cold.

"Last chance to change your mind. Where is Yennefer?"

"Fuck you!" the prisoner hisses through clenched teeth, his breath coming in panicked hitches, although she hasn't even started yet. Well, she'll soon give him plenty of reason to panic. Tissaia digs her fingers deeper into the man's scalp and concentrates to focus all her chaos on this one task, pierce Cahir's mind to find Yennefer. And, perhaps, some other useful information, information to support the war effort. However, that is not really her concern. Her priority is Yennefer, only Yennefer.

Like the day before, the Nilfgaardian soon starts to scream from the onslaught of agony, his body tensing up painfully in the chair, but, thanks to the muffling spell, the screams and howling are not half as loud and nerve-wracking. Vilgefortz was right, it does make it easier for Tissaia to concentrate. She closes her eyes. Focuses all her chaos into one spearlike, irresistible force. A force to penetrate the wall of blurry images that has, so far, very effectively kept her from accessing information from the prisoner's mind. With all her might and a scream of her own, she throws the imaginary spear. However, there is only darkness. A stiflingly dense darkness that threatens to pull her into a void blacker than the blackest night, drag her down into an abyss of nothingness. Quickly Tissaia severs the mental connection. When she opens her eyes, she sees what has happened. The prisoner has blacked out from the pain and is slumped back in the chair, blood dripping from his nose and ears. He is breathing shallowly in ragged gasps and spasms are coursing through his body.

"Damn it, I was so close!" she exclaims, very unlike herself cursing in frustration.

"Here, you are bleeding." Vilgefortz hands her a yellow silk handkerchief. Tissaia takes the piece of fabric and dabs at her nose. "Looks like he is indeed an impossibly tough nut to crack. Perhaps you need to look for other ways to locate Yennefer."

"No, I'm not giving up just yet. He'll break eventually. I only need a moment. And another cup of tea. And a few more buckets of water to wake him up again. Can you see to that? We'll continue in the afternoon."

"As you wish, Tissaia, as you wish." Gallantly, Vilgefortz takes the none-too-steady sorceress by the arm. "You might want to keep that handkerchief, though. Might come in handy again."

Together the two powerful mages exit the interrogation room, leaving the unconscious prisoner behind.