The oak door was locked and barred. Triss had tried the handle several times, vainly, rattling it with all her might, but it became clear that it wouldn't give way. This desolate room would be her prison whether she liked it or not.

Even in the sparse light of the moon, she could see that it must have been a pretty bedchamber once. Pale rectangular shapes on the floorboards marked the spots where once a bed and a wardrobe had stood and along the walls there were similar telltale shapes, speaking of framed pictures that must have hung there, possibly even a mirror. With the fireplace lit, it must have been a comfortable place to spend the night. But the fireplace was dark and cold now, providing no comfort against the chill that seeped in through the broken window. Her sole comfort were a straw mattress, a threadbare blanket and a bucket. The air smelled of mold and mice droppings.

Triss checked the window next but quickly discarded it as a way of escape. The building had four stories, the chamber being directly under its roof and the wall was too smooth for climbing. The view was spectacular though, even at nighttime, allowing the eye to travel over miles and miles of forest to the distant mountains that had to be the border to Aedern. Triss didn't doubt for a second that this was indeed the isolated tower she had glimpsed in her visions when trying to locate Celaena.

Wrapping her cloak around her against the cold, Triss sank onto the hard mattress, her fingers trailing up to the sturdy, metal collar that had been fastened around her neck. She traced its hinges and lock, then reached up with both her hands to see if she could pry it open and sighed in frustration when it held fast. She was painfully aware of the dimeritium in the alloy, its mere touch sickening, slowing her mind and depriving her of her magical powers. As long as she wore this bloody thing, she wouldn't be able to cast a spell of any kind, couldn't even sense the magic around her. It was like she had been blinded, a complete world having been taken from her.

She fidgeted with the collar for quite some time and finally gave up, reaching for her sash to stuff it in between the metal and her neck. It would do nothing in terms of restoring her magic, but at least it would protect the fresh cut on her throat against the metal that constantly chafed at her skin.

Leaning back against the wall, she wondered how Geralt had fared. The last moments before she had been dragged through the portal were hazy, their memory distorted by all-consuming panic. Only a few images had remained, brief impressions that were disconnected but overwhelmingly vivid. The cruel grasp of a hand in her hair, the cold touch of a blade at her throat. Voices raw with emotion.

She didn't recall the exact words, but she remembered the expression on Geralt's face. The sight had burnt itself into her mind. The look of a wounded animal backed into a corner, frightened, desperate, and utterly helpless. The insight that he would have taken off his amulet to save her, that he would have risked his life to save hers, still shook her to the core. Part of her had been glad that the guards had arrived just in time to stop him. Maybe he still stood a chance to save himself. Maybe he would even come for her.

However, she didn't want to get her hopes up. Even if he had managed to avoid arrest and somehow managed to find out where to look for her – and she was painfully aware that she had failed to give him any details about Celaena's hideout – he was still suffering from the effects of the curse. Even with the amulet to aid him, it would be a challenge to resist Celaena's constant attempts to subdue him. And his resolve was wearing thin, he had told her himself.

As far as help was concerned, the city guards would probably be a better bet. There had been quite a few witnesses to her abduction, and being Foltest's court mage, a lot of people knew her face. But they too wouldn't know where to start looking. If only she could find a way to reach out to them.

The dull sound of hooves on sand pulled her from her thoughts and she stepped up to the window to find out what was going on. Leaning out, she spied a dark figure riding towards the building. He dismounted, tied his horse to a tree and disappeared from her view.

A visitor in the middle of the night? Glancing down the exterior wall, she saw light shine from the window directly below hers, so Celaena was still awake. Seemed like the guest didn't come unexpected. Her curiosity piqued, Triss remained at the window, straining her ears, and sure enough, a few moments later the soft rise of talk wafted up to her. Though they were keeping their voices low, the sound carried through the shattered windows, and Triss could effortlessly discern what was being said.

"You're late."

Celaena's voice. She sounded tired.

"Sorry about that," a gravelly male voice answered. "I ran into some trouble on my way back."

"Nothing serious I hope?"

There was a brief silence in which the man probably made some kind of gesture. Triss suspected that he had just shaken his head.

"Did you deliver the message?"

"Hmm."

"Well, what does he say?"

"Well, his excellency was disappointed, to say the least. Not that I expected any different. But I managed to convince him that we'll be able to uphold our part of the deal. However, he will only stay in town for three more days and expects the witcher to be delivered by then."

Triss frowned, trying to make sense of what was being said. Up till now, she had assumed that Celaena wanted Geralt for herself, as some sort of assassin or bodyguard. It had never occurred to her that she might want to procure a witcher for somebody else. This meant that Celaena couldn't have bound Geralt to herself but must have built some kind of artifact, something that could be handed over. Something that could possibly be used by someone without magical abilities. Triss remembered the drawing that Geralt had shown her at the inn, the odd changes to the runes. That certainly explained it.

"Okay, that's good news," Celaena sighed, apparently relieved. "I think we can manage that."

Footfalls tapped across the floorboards, followed by the soft clink of glass touching glass and the sound of a liquid being poured.

"Erveluce," she declared. "Want some too?"

"No, thanks. Water is fine."

"Suit yourself."

There was a short silence in which chairs were being moved. Wood creaked as somebody sat down. Triss could hear someone poke the fire and instinctively pulled her cloak tighter around her. It was uncomfortably cold.

"So what about the witcher?" The man asked. "Have you made any progress?"

"Yes, you could say that."

"But he's not here?"

"No. The room upstairs is taken though." There was a meaningful pause, probably a questioning glance from the man's side. "Triss Merigold."

"Foltest's mage? Are you out of your mind?"

"Don't shit yourself. Nobody knows where we are, and this way, I can keep her from interfering any further. By now I'm actually quite sick of her screwing with my work. Besides, she might become useful. The witcher likes her."

"But she knows people. Aren't you worried that she might get back at us after everything is over?"

"I mean to take precautions. You know what I can do. I'll wipe her mind before I send her back, might even implant a false memory. Nobody will ever find out what really happened."

"And what if that fails?" The man pressed on. "She's a sorceress after all. She might have some tricks up her sleeve."

Celaena scoffed.

"Well, we can always get rid of her."

"You mean kill her? For f***'s sake, Celaena, she's not just some mutant nobody cares about. People will come looking for her!"

"Calm down. I know what I'm doing."

"Apparently not, since the witcher isn't here."

"He will be. Trust me. I've just found out what Merigold did to mess with my spell. All I have to do now is find out where he is hiding and remove the fricking amulet."

"So if it's that easy, why don't you do it now?"

"Because I'm exhausted, that's why," Celaena snapped angrily. "In the last hours, I've opened two portals, battled a mage and I 've used up the last of my power to put the dimeritium collar around her neck."

"Why didn't Mikal do that for you?"

Celaena fell silent. Triss had never heard the name before, but she suspected that the man in question was the swordsman who had been supposed to capture Geralt. Triss had no recollection of what exactly had happened - she had been tied up in her own fight at that moment - but she was fairly sure that Geralt had killed him.

Celaena's answer confirmed her suspicion.

"Because he didn't make it."

"Shit."

She sighed. "Yeah, shit."

Bitterness and unconcealed hatred resonated in her words. Triss was a little surprised at the insight that despite Celaena's selfishness and disregard for the rights of others, there were apparently some people she did care about.

"I'm sorry," Celaena said after a while. "I know you were friends."

They were silent for a while.

"I guess the risk comes with our line of work," the man finally said.

"Hmm."

"You know what, I think I changed my mind about that drink."

"Sure. Would you like some wine? I also have Redanian Herbal if that's more to your liking."

"Yeah, why not."

Triss heard somebody stand up and the floorboards creaked loudly under heavy footfalls. Among the rummaging, she discerned a cupboard being opened, a chair drawn across the floor. A bottle was uncorked.

When the man spoke again, his voice was rough from the liquor.

"It's a shame, really. Mikal was a good friend. Good fighter too." He sounded genuinely sad. "How did it happen?"

Celaena told him then. How she had caught a glimpse of the witcher's environment in the brief moments she could overcome his resistance. How she had found him watching the temple of Melitele and realized that it was a good time to strike. She had been surprised when Triss had attacked her. Things had gone downhill from thereon.

"Now I see why you brought her with you," he commented. "She really is a pain in the neck. You were lucky to have the dimeritium dust with you."

"Actually, that was meant for the witcher. He has quite a repertoire when it comes to combat magic, and this time I didn't want to take any risks."

The man let out a long breath.

"So, about the witcher. Do you know where to start looking?"

"I'll find him," came the soft reply. "First thing in the morning. It'll probably be easier than last time to get into his mind. I can sense that his resolve is waning. Another look through his eyes and I'll know where he is hiding."

"Do you want me to come with you to get him?"

"Maybe. I'll think about it. Thing is, I also need someone to keep an eye on Merigold. She might not be able to work magic, but she might still try to escape."

The man huffed a laugh. "Without her magic, she's just an ordinary woman. Don't worry about her."

"As I said, I'll think about it."

Their conversation drifted on to other things then, revolving around people Triss didn't know, and Triss realized that the two of them must have known each other for quite some time. They were comfortable with each other, and if not friends, they were certainly well acquainted. With the increasing intake of booze, their voices grew louder and they shared memories of past heists, but they didn't talk about anything important again. After a long while, they wished each other good night and the window below turned dark.

Triss stiffly scrambled to her feet too. She remained at the window for a while, and when it became clear that nothing would happen anymore, she slumped onto the mattress, weary, cold, and very much afraid. She had never been held prisoner before, had never been at the complete mercy of others. The prospect of possibly dying at their hands scared her to the bone.

As she crawled under the thin blanket, resting her head awkwardly on her arms because of the collar, her thoughts trailed back to Geralt. By the gods, she hoped that he was doing okay. Was it possible that he had escaped the guards? It didn't seem likely. He was just one man, and he'd been surrounded. On the other hand, he had been able to fight a striga for a complete night, and what were a couple of guards in comparison to a striga?

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to catch a clear thought but found herself unable to. Her body demanded rest but her mind was going in circles.

What if Geralt had been arrested? Would he be able to escape? Maybe Vesten would remember what she had told him, maybe he could be bargained with. But she doubted it. No, she thought. Geralt wouldn't come to save her. She would have to find a way to get out of this mess herself.

She let out a shuddering breath and pressed her hand against her temples, trying to think of something she could do. But no matter how hard she tried, there was nothing she could think of. Nothing at all.