A volley of icy water hits him square in the face. He flinches violently, coughs and gasps for breath, the iron chains and manacles clanking and rattling from the sudden movement. A movement that sends jolts of pain through his skull which explode into a dizzying shower of stars. Cahir heaves a groan of agony and squints his eyes tightly shut. The stars are still there, spinning and falling. His empty stomach cramps with the feeling of vertigo. Just so managing to turn his head to the side, he leans over the stone armrest and retches onto the floor, mostly bile and gastric fluid. Another bucket of water is poured over him when he is done retching but does not sit up. Shivering and shaking from the freezing cold water, Cahir still makes no move to straighten up but rests his aching, spinning head on the broad armrest. It is far from comfortable and he must look thoroughly pathetic slumped to the side like this, his teeth chattering, but it helps a little with the vertigo, looks be damned. His torturers have other plans, though. Rough hands grab Cahir by the hair and yank him up into a sitting position. Which makes him black out again. Without making a sound, he sags against the low backrest of the chair.

"I told you it's too early yet, Tissaia." Vilgefortz lets go of the unconscious prisoner's wet locks. He crumples like a soggy rag doll.

"You shouldn't have pulled him up like that. It's obvious that a sudden change in position will have this effect on somebody suffering from head trauma," Tissaia reprimands the younger mage. "I need answers here and now. I have to find Yennefer before it is too late."

"We will find her. Together," Vilgefortz says, putting his hand on the distressed sorceress's shoulder. "I wouldn't worry too much about her anyway. A cat has nine lives and always comes back, you know that."

"What if she has already used up those nine lives?"

"What if the prisoner knows nothing about her?"

"He must!" The sorceress says with conviction, shakes the other mage's hand off her shoulder and takes a step toward the stone chair. "And I will get it out of him, even if it's the last thing I do in this life."

"Don't be overdramatic, Tissaia. It doesn't suit you."

"I decide what suits me and what doesn't. Don't patronise me, Vilgefortz. It doesn't suit you."

"Forgive me." The young sorcerer bows toward the rectoress with an apologetic smile. "You are right, as always. It isn't my place. I only don't want to see you too devastated if the prisoner turns out to be a dead end in your search for your friend. Our friend."

"I forgive you." Tissaia smiles benignly at the handsome mage. His hand on her shoulder felt surprisingly good and she would not mind feeling it there again. And in quite a few other places, if she is honest with herself. It has been years since she was last together with a man, even longer that she was last together with a young, talented and so dastardly attractive one. Perhaps she could invite him up to her room for a cup of tea while they are waiting for the prisoner to come to? Or better still, a nice glass of wine? Yes. There is this expensive bottle of the best of Toussaintois wines in her cabinet waiting for the perfect moment to be enjoyed. Might this be the moment?

"You are right, Vilgefortz," she continues, "it was too early. But maybe it is not too early for an afternoon drink? I have this delicious 1201 Est-Est, an excellent vintage, it must be older than yourself ..." Vilgefortz gives her a nod and another smile, once again placing his hand on Tissaia's shoulder. A welcome feeling of warmth spreads from there into her whole body and she blushes. Let's see where the afternoon takes them ...

They do not make it back down to the dungeons again this day, neither later in the afternoon, nor the evening nor at night. Tissaia protests a little at first, however, Vilgefortz quickly convinces her that she is worrying too much. Yennefer will be alright for one more night and the prisoner will still be there in the morning. Moreover, after a good night's sleep - in his arms - she will feel so invigorated that the magic barrier will stand no chance against her concentrated chaos. Usually not easily persuaded, the rectoress must admit that Vilgefortz is indeed very talented with his tongue. And not only when he uses it to form words ...

Being an obsessively organised person, between one orgasm and the next, Tissaia suddenly remembers that the prisoner is still chained to the chair. She gets up for the briefest of moments, throws her elegant silken dressing gown over her naked shoulders and walks over to her ebony bureau with her xenogloss. Via the magical speaking device and ignoring her new lover's pleas to forget about the bloody bastard and come back to bed, she orders a servant to see to that the Nilfgaardian is transported back to his cell. Leaving him in the interrogation chair all night would be an unnecessary cruelty. And she is not cruel by nature.