The smell of healing herbs and alcohol pulled Geralt from oblivion. Celandine and comfrey were most notable and mingled with valerian, poppy and a variety of others he could not put his finger on.
His brows contracted as awareness returned and injuries started to register in different amounts of discomfort. The cut in his hand seemed mostly healed, but there had been little progress to the wound in his side, which still throbbed painfully. Fresh pain along his ribs told him of newly formed bruises and his head hurt like it wanted to split apart. He reached up to examine the injury gingerly and was surprised to find it tended to.
The rustling of paper prompted him to turn his head and he knotted his brows.
"Triss."
He realized with confusion that he was lying on his bed at the inn. The small table near the window was now a repository for a careful selection of vials and flasks, jars with powders and pastes that continued on the windowsills. A bag with books sat on the floor next to the table. The sorceress looked up from a manuscript when he spoke, putting a smile on her face which was not unlike the one he remembered from the time he had woken up at her laboratory after the striga fight. Only this time she seemed to have taken half her lab to his place. She must have sent for some of her things. He wondered how long he had been out.
"You're awake." Her voice was tangled somewhere between worry and remorse. "I'm glad."
"What happened?"
He attempted to sit up but thought better of it when the jostling of his head sent a ripple of pain down his neck and caused specks of fire to dance before his eyes. He groaned as he lay back against the pillows, a hand pressed against his throbbing skull.
Triss winced in sympathy. "I am really sorry about the concussion. I've worked a healing spell on you but it will need a while to take effect. You probably shouldn't sit up right now."
Geralt took a deep breath, fighting down a sudden onslaught of nausea.
"How did it happen?"
"You don't remember?"
He stopped himself from shaking his head just in time.
"No."
"Well," she paused, taking a seat at his bedside, brows furrowed. "I'm afraid that was me. When you attacked, I had to defend myself."
His gaze fell on the dark bruises around her throat. He swallowed as realization sunk in and reached out a hand to touch them, a frown on his face.
"I did this to you?" He mumbled.
She caught his hand in hers, guiding it back to the sheets. "It's not your fault. You weren't yourself."
So it had happened again. He was relieved that he hadn't killed her or hurt her worse. Didn't know how he would have lived with himself if he had. Still, the realization that he had injured her made his chest tighten. The same helpless fear that he had felt after the fight in the tavern. After he had killed that young man.
"I'm sorry."
It was heartfelt. Triss had been trying to help him. This was not the reward she deserved.
"I'm fine," she assured him. "Mind reading can be dangerous if under a curse like this. She must have been inside your head when I was trying to read your memories."
He tried to recall what had happened but the throbbing pain behind his temples made it hard to focus. The image of a broken pitcher came back to him as if from a bad dream, Triss's fluttering pulse under his fingers as his hands tightened around her throat. He tried to shake the memory, appalled. Ashamed.
Then he remembered why he had allowed Triss into his thoughts.
"Did it work?" Geralt tried to moisten his lips and swallowed again. His throat was awfully dry. He felt as if he hadn't had a drink in ages. "Did you get the information you needed?"
Triss nodded solemnly.
"You don't seem to be too happy about it," he remarked.
She sighed.
"I know her, Geralt. And she knows me."
He shifted on the bed, trying to find a more comfortable position and winced when his injuries made themselves noticeable. Triss had gotten him pretty good, he had to grant her that.
"Doesn't that make things easier? Who is she?"
"Her name is Celaena. She's an acquaintance from Aretuza."
"So she's a mage."
"Well, she does have the gift," she confirmed. "But she was expelled after her obsession with the dark arts became a problem. She was unscrupulous to a degree that even scared some of the teachers. I mean, she experimented on her fellow students. The school council decided that continuing to teach her was too dangerous." Triss smiled humorlessly. "Lots of us had second thoughts about her being merely expelled after everything she had already learned. Some even wished back the old days when unsuitable students were turned into eels. She probably had someone on the council protecting her from a similar fate."
Geralt gave her a sharp look. He had heard rumors about Aretuza and the idea of a practice like that fit right in with the stories he'd heard. What bothered him was how casually she mentioned it.
"What happened to her?"
Triss shrugged. "I really don't know. I've never heard of her again."
"Well, at least we know who we're looking for."
He gritted his teeth as he pushed himself upright and waved off Triss, who leaned in to help. He reclined against the headrest with a soft moan, closing his eyes, and when he opened them again, he realized that she had poured him some water. He accepted the cup gratefully and took a long sip.
"You look pale as a sheet," she stated dryly.
He huffed, raising his eyebrows.
"My natural complexion."
She smiled slightly but her eyes were warm with sympathy.
"Do you need anything to help with the pain?"
He let out a sigh, then gestured towards his bag which he suspected was still on the floor next to his bed. The way the room was spinning, he didn't dare to tilt his head to have a look.
"Give me the vial with the red liquid. There should be one left."
Triss knelt down and started to ransack his bag for the requested item. It wasn't hard to find. She uncorked it for him and he downed it in one gulp before letting his head sink against the headrest again. He felt decidedly unwell but told himself that the dizziness would pass.
"Healing potion?" she asked.
"Hmm."
"Well, while you're waiting for it to take effect, I might as well inform you about the progress I've made."
He curiously opened one eye to glance at her.
"You managed to track – what's her name?"
"Celaena," she prompted. "Well, no. That will need some preparation at my workplace, but I've been through some books, trying to find a way to deal with the curse. As I already told you, the spell cannot be broken. Not without the mage who cast it. But I think I have found a way to allow you to maintain some control."
That sounded like a start. He gazed at her with hooded eyes trying to ignore the painful throbbing behind his temples.
"How?"
"Do you know what a focus is?"
He nodded slightly and regretted the motion at once.
"It's commonly used to aid students during meditation practice," Triss explained unnecessarily. "Makes it easier to calm your mind, harness your impulses. I've taken my old one and latched a second spell onto it."
He heard her get up and retrieve something from the table. When she returned, she held up an amulet for him to see. It was a simple silver disk with a rune engraved in its center. Its design was plain but the magic caused his witcher medallion to tremble on his chest. She pressed it into his hand and his fingers closed around it.
"It won't keep her out of your head, mind you," she explained. "But you'll notice her being there trying to take control. With a little practice, you will be able to put up some resistance, even stop yourself from executing her command altogether."
She smiled hopefully and he reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. He hadn't thought it possible but somehow he felt even worse than before. The pain behind his temples became increasingly difficult to ignore.
"Thank you," he murmured.
"I know it's not what you've been hoping for. But maybe it'll help."
He pressed a shaking hand to his head, sucking in a sharp breath as the pain spiked again. Blood roared in his ears and suddenly he feared he was going to be sick.
"You should lie down again." Triss's voice, concerned.
He started to shake his head, raised a hand to fend her off and instantly realized that it was too late. Moaning, he rolled onto his side as nausea hit him like a fist. Triss snatched the bowl from the nightstand just in time. Her arm wrapped around his shoulder, steadied him as he retched violently, emptying the contents of his stomach into the container. He grimaced when the movement strained his bruised ribs and rekindled the pain in his side.
"There goes your healing potion," she commented with a sigh.
He groaned, paused and vomited again. The hand on his back moved to hold the long hair from his face. He briefly closed his eyes, panting, dizzy and suddenly feeling very sick.
For a long moment he didn't move, unsure whether his stomach had settled, then ran a shaky hand over his face.
"Done?"
He nodded weakly and the bowl disappeared from his vision.
"Come on. You should lie down."
Her hand cradled his head as she aided him back onto the pillows.
"Triss..."
"No. Be still now. And don't move your head."
She didn't have to tell him twice. He really had no desire to repeat that. His hand returned to his head in a futile attempt to ease the mercilessly throbbing pain and he squeezed his eyes shut. He had the vague impression that Triss was moving about the room, heard the clink of glass on glass. Oil being poured. The mattress moved when she resumed her place by his side and his eyes slid open once more.
A blurred Triss leaned above him, a cup in her hand.
"This will help with the nausea and the pain," she said softly. "Don't sit up. I'll help you."
Her hand slid behind his head as she raised the cup to his lips.
"Slowly," she cautioned.
The bitter taste almost made his stomach churn again and he had to take small sips, but miraculously the mixture stayed down. When he had finished all and his head rested against the pillows again, he closed his eyes, utterly exhausted. He really hoped that the medicine would work quickly.
Between the pain and the dizziness, he felt a gentle touch on his forehead, a mist of magic trickling over him. The medallion around his neck vibrated softly.
"What are you…?"
"Shush. I'm putting you in a healing sleep. Don't fight it. You'll feel better when you wake up."
As if he had the strength to fight. He let go with a sigh and tried to relax. Allowed himself to be wrapped in the numbing warmth that floated over his battered body and into his mind, and ever so gently pulled the doors of perception shut. He felt a woolen blanket being pulled up to his shoulders. Felt her hand gently brush along his jawline in a surprisingly intimate gesture, but he was too tired to hold on to that thought. Then there was nothing more.