Triss instantly recognized the man waiting in front of her laboratory as an officer of the city guard. His face wasn't familiar, but he wore the gray uniform of Foltest's men, and the ornate bronze breastplate and matching sword hilt gave him away as a man in command. As she approached, his cold, intelligent eyes settled on her and she realized with slight discomfort that this was no man to be taken lightly.

"Captain Vesten," he introduced himself. "I apologize for the inconvenience but I need to speak with you."

Triss politely inclined her head. She rarely had business with the guards, except for the cases when her skills as a healer were requested, but he wouldn't have waited for her in a drafty hallway if this was just about a wounded soldier. This had to be about something more serious, something he couldn't have sent a messenger for. Her shoulders stiffened in apprehension.

"Of course," she replied guardedly. "I hope you didn't have to wait too long. Please, come in."

She unlocked the door to her workplace and the captain followed suit.

Her laboratory, a set of adjacent rooms connected by arched passages, was dark except for a corner near the entrance where sunlight slanted through an overgrown window, casting a bright rectangle onto the worn floor. Triss left her visitor waiting there while she moved about the place, lighting candles and a small oil lamp on a table. Hands folded behind his back, the captain regarded her from watchful eyes, then turned to scan the place, noting the complex chalk drawing on the floor, burnt down candles placed alongside its circular outline, and the mess of parchments, books and vials on the tables.

"Seems like I have interrupted some important work," he commented.

Triss dismissed the observation with a shrug. She had spent the longer part of the night preparing the elaborate ritual that would hopefully allow her to locate the woman who had cursed Geralt, but hadn't gotten around to begin the ritual itself. After tending to the princess during the morning hours – Foltest had put her in charge of her after the curse had been lifted – and an extended meeting of the royal council, she had hoped to finally begin the search for Celaena, but she didn't see why she should explain that to Vesten. The fewer people knew about this, the better.

She cleared some manuscripts from a small table in a corner and gestured at a chair while sitting down herself. Her eyes burned from lack of sleep.

"I'll get back to it eventually. Please, have a seat."

Vesten settled into the chair opposite of her, taking in her disheveled appearance with a look that was almost disdainful. Triss made a conscious effort to straighten her back and pushed a strand of curly hair from her face.

"So," she began wearily. "You said this was important. What can I do for you?"

He folded his hands on the table. It was a slow, controlled movement, not unlike a wizard summoning his powers. The candlelight reflected on the bronze surface of his armor and glinted in his colorless eyes.

"I am investigating the death of one of my guardsmen, who died at the hands of a white-haired witcher that you are acquainted with. Geralt of Rivia."

Suddenly her mouth felt dry. This was bad news. Bad for Geralt as much as for herself, since the authorities obviously had already made the connection. It could only have happened recently, she was sure that Geralt would have told her otherwise.

"When did it happen?" she asked uneasily.

"A couple of hours ago." Although Vesten must have caught her reaction, his face remained expressionless.

"You were seen visiting him at the inn," he continued. "Could you tell me what that was about?"

"Well," she began, then hesitated. She wondered how much he knew already, what the people at the inn had told him. Tried to judge if that information would make her a witness, or worse, the confidante of a murderer. She wasn't even sure what the captain thought of witchers. There were lots of people who were prejudiced against them and Vesten wouldn't be the first officer with that particular flaw.

She decided that it was safest to tell him as little as possible.

"He needed my help as a sorceress," she said.

"Could you be more precise?"

Triss shook her head. "That's confidential."

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"Do you know where he is?"

"If he's not at the inn anymore, no. I'm sorry."

"You think he'll contact you?"

"I don't know," she said irritably, her uneasiness growing into alarm. "Listen, would you care telling me what exactly happened?"

Vesten leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of his chest, assessing her.

"Well, there really isn't much to tell. Two of my men went to the inn this morning to arrest him. He escaped and killed one of my men on the way."

"Arrest him for what?"

She already knew the answer to that question but she felt like she had to ask. Didn't want him to think that she was knowingly protecting an outlaw.

"He killed a man in a bar fight in a village not far from here."

"Did your guard attack him?"

"Hard to say who started the fight. Why? Are you suggesting he acted in self-defense?"

She tightened her lips. Actually, that was what she hoped had happened. Another possibility was that Geralt had killed the guard under the influence of the curse. Considering his regard for the life of innocents as well as his sword skills – she doubted that he would kill anyone by accident – she found the latter more likely. Which meant that the focus she had made for him hadn't been much help, that he was out there somewhere, defenseless against the mental assault, controlled by a blood-thirsty mage with all of Vizima's city guard on his tail.

The insight came with a pang of contrition, the shameful realization that she could have prevented this if she had acted differently. Court mage or no, she should have changed her order of priorities, neglected her duties this one time and checked back on him before he even woke up. Shouldn't have left him alone in the first place. She could have taken him with her, invited him to stay at her lab where she could have kept an eye on him. He might even have agreed to her locking him up until the curse was lifted. It really had been a stupid risk to take.

Vesten noticed the shadow flitting across her face and leaned forward.

"Forgive me for being blunt," he said, and there was barely concealed curiosity in his voice. "But how do you know the witcher?"

Triss looked up, wary of the change in his voice.

"He's a friend," she said carefully.

"A good friend?"

"We've worked together and I've come to trust him. He has been of great service to the king and the royal family."

Vesten raised his eyebrows.

"I suspect that again you can't give me any details."

"Unfortunately, no." Triss shook her head. Officially, Lord Ostrit had sacrificed himself to rid Temeria of a vukudlak. She could impossibly disclose what had really happened, not even to save a friend. It would destroy Foltest's reputation and destabilize Temeria politically. "But let me tell you this much: Geralt is a good man. Selfless in a way that is rarely found in men who live by the sword. He is not the cold-blooded murderer you think him to be."

He didn't believe her, she could see it in his eyes.

"I know what you want to say," she added emphatically, "but things are not what they seem to be. You'll have to take my word for it. He is not guilty of what he is accused of."

"So neither did he kill the alderman's son in the bar fight, nor the guard at the inn."

"No, he did kill them. What I'm saying is, it's not his fault. He..." she was looking for the right words, something that wouldn't reveal the whole extent of the problem. Something that would keep Vesten from simply ordering his men to put Geralt down like a rabid dog. "He wasn't himself."

Vesten gave her a long, thoughtful look.

"You're in love with him, aren't you?"

Triss stared at him, dumbfounded at the sheer insolence of the remark and surprised at the same time how much it stung. Maybe she did have feelings for Geralt, but even if that was the case, Vesten had no right to call her out on it. She was the court mage and was to be treated with a certain respect, even by a captain of the guard. On his face, she saw the patronizing look that she had so often suffered from older men at the royal court who regarded her as little more than a pretty girl with healing magic. It made her incredibly angry.

"Don't deny it," he went on calmly. "I can see it in your eyes. You went to the inn for a rendezvous, didn't you? You knew him from before, you said so yourself. You've worked together and he impressed you. And when you learned he was back in town, you went to see him."

"No," she objected, voice rough with emotion, though she could see his reasoning. "You're wrong."

"Really? You're putting in quite some effort to defend him."

"I told you, he's not himself right now."

"And how is that?"

She stared at him not knowing how to respond and finally looked away. With dismay, she realized that the conversation had come to a point where her options were limited. She had already given away that Geralt hadn't acted on his own free will and she couldn't think of a way to explain the situation without disclosing more details.

However, she really didn't want to put Geralt's life at stake. There was no telling how Vesten would react should he learn the full truth. What if he decided that a cursed witcher was too great a risk for the people of Vizima? What if he decided to simply have him shot on sight? On the other hand, wouldn't Geralt face the gallows anyway, being wanted for murder in two cases?

She felt his gaze weigh on her and realized that her continued silence didn't do her any favors. If she wanted to convince him to side with her, she'd have to say something now.

With a small exhale of breath, she reached up to the scarf around her neck that hid the bruises she had suffered at Geralt's hand, tugging at the garment to reveal the dark marks on her skin.

His brows twitched in surprise.

"Was that him?"

"Yes. He attacked me and I had to defend myself."

"That explains the broken closet," he said thoughtfully. "I've assumed that there was someone else, but that was you, wasn't it? You knocked him out in self-defense. And you're sure his assault was unintentional?"

"Yes, I'm sure. It's why he sent for me in the first place."

He looked at her doubtfully, let that information sink in. "So he's what? Possessed?"

"Yes, kind of. He's bound by a curse."

"Have you tried to lift the curse?"

Triss bit her lip. "I wasn't able to," she admitted. "But I'm working on it. I'll have to find the mage who did this to him."

"Hm." Vesten nodded to himself, pondering what had just been said. Triss looked at him hopefully, trying to read his face. If he decided that she was telling the truth, he might agree to work together on this. With the city guard on her side, it would be a lot easier to find Geralt or to move against Celaena. If she could convince him to go after the person who was really responsible.

"Well, unfortunately, that doesn't change things in the slightest."

"Why?" Triss stared at him disbelievingly. "I've just told you that he's innocent!"

"Maybe you're right." Vesten pushed to his feet, tugging at his sleeves as he prepared to leave. "But that's not for me to decide. The fact remains that he has killed two men and is a threat to the people."

The reserved distance in his eyes was back. With dismay, Triss realized that Vesten's concern wasn't about the witcher. This was about keeping the city safe and she felt with certainty that he would do everything to get his job done.

She stood, not willing to give up yet.

"What are you going to do?"

"What is necessary. I am an officer of the city guard and servant of Vizima and its people." He regarded her impassively, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "As are you. Moreover, you have just told me that you failed to lift the curse, which means that there's a professional killer on the streets who is out of control. Regardless of your feelings for the witcher, I expect you to inform me if you learn of his whereabouts. It might well save a lot of lives."

"What about his life?"

"What about it?"

There it was. The glint of hatred that bespoke prejudice, the indifference whether the witcher made it or not.

"Will you order your men not to kill him?"

"Well," he retorted, apparently annoyed by her concern. "I will tell them to protect themselves. I'm not willing to lose any more good men for the sake of a mutant."

Triss locked her jaw, glaring at him. She felt like screaming at him, wanted to grab him by his shoulders and shake some sense into him, but she knew that it would be no use. His mind was set. Worse, part of her understood why he was reacting this way. Vesten's reaction reminded her of the so-called heroes who had tried to slay the striga when the creature could have been saved. Geralt had been different, but Vesten didn't know that and she couldn't tell him. It just felt unfair that the man who had put his life on the line to save the cursed princess didn't get the same compassion in return.

"I'll leave you to your work now," Vesten said. It concluded the conversation.

"Will you at least let me know when your men find him? I might be able to help."

"Frankly, I don't see why I should. My men will be perfectly able to deal with this, and you have already proven to be biased towards him."

He left at that, not even glancing back once.

Triss remained in the doorway for quite some time, lips pressed into a tight line, feeling defeated. Some part of her insisted that she could have done more, could have gotten through to him if she had tried harder, but when she thought about it, she realized that it was only wishful thinking. She had tried everything she could. Maybe she shouldn't have told him about the curse but she didn't really have any choice. Hopefully, Geralt had snapped out of it and tried to contact her. In the meantime, she would keep her promise and start her search for Celaena. It really was the smartest thing to do.

Back in her laboratory, her gaze flitted over her desk and the disorganized mess of books and parchments, the collection of flasks and vials she had meant to store away already. Tidying up was a task that soothed the mind, and she needed to cool down before she could get to work. Maybe it was a good idea to simply get her hands busy. She let out a deep sigh, straightened her back and got to it. Sorted through her handwritten notes, some of which she tossed into the fireplace to be burnt later. Put The Wizard's Guide to Enchantments and the Encyclopedia Magica back onto the shelves. Dusted off the flasks and test tubes and lined them up on her worktable.

She wondered if she really should start to look for Celaena first. Maybe it would be a better idea to start looking for Geralt. If she wanted to help him, she had to find out where he was. The ritual was prepared and it didn't make a difference whose image she summoned, it would work either way.

She didn't know how long she had been rummaging around the room, but it couldn't have been longer than a half hour, when suddenly there was a knock at the door.

"Come in!"

The door was pulled open and an errand girl entered. Triss was familiar with most of the girls who worked at the castle but she had never seen this one before. She was no older than ten, blond hair braided neatly, and looked at her from uncertain, large eyes, extending a small parcel in her tiny hands.

"What is this?"

Frowning in confusion, Triss took the parcel from her hands. It was something soft wrapped in a colorless cloth, laced with a piece of string.

"It's the herbs you sent for," the girl replied.

"I didn't send for any herbs."

The girl cast a quick glance to the open door, then shifted her eyes back, gazing at her intently. "Of course you did. That will be ten Orens, please."

It was then that Triss realized that there was something amiss. She gazed at the small package in her hands, then back again at the young girl in her plain clothes who was looking at her pleadingly, and then it clicked.

"The herbs," she repeated loudly. "I almost forgot. Thank you, that was about time."

She retrieved some coins from the drawer of her desk and paid the girl, who curtsied and thanked her politely before rushing out. The door fell shut and the heavy sound of booted feet retreating down the corridor alongside the light steps of the girl confirmed Triss's suspicion. There had been someone waiting in front of the open door. Considering the situation, probably one of Vesten's men.

She sank into the chair by her desk and thoughtfully turned the parcel in hand, loosened the string, unfolded the cloth. The smell of lavender and calendine filled the room at once. Fresh herbs, just as the girl had said. They were tied together in small bundles of maybe ten plants each, and she held up a bunch against her nose, breathing in the spicy fragrance. They were fresh and of good quality, probably had been purchased at the herbalist's near the temple district. She started to examine the rest of the herbs and discovered a small piece of parchment hidden at the bottom of the parcel.

Heart pounding, she unfolded it and recognized the handwriting at once. They were the sharp-edged, precise letters she knew to be Geralt's. Even though it was only three sentences, her eyes closed in relief.

I had to find a new place to stay. The city guards are after me now. Meet me at the statue of Melitele after nightfall.