The tower rooms looked bleak in the gray light of mid-morning. Hours had passed since the departure of Celaena and her nameless companion, and Triss had spent most of the morning at the window, staring into the distance where the wooded hills were swallowed by the gray mist of falling rain.

The bowl with her meager breakfast was still on the floor, untouched since she'd been too nervous to bring anything down. She knew that she was being foolish, starving herself when she needed all the energy she could get, but was unable to help it. Worry sat in her stomach like a rock, worry for Geralt who had to face that lunatic mage all alone and, the gods may forgive her, worry for herself. More than once she had tried to sit and meditate, calm her mind the way she had learned, but it had been useless. Fear invaded her thoughts the moment she closed her eyes, a frenzied voice that never seemed to stop screaming, and it would not quieten, no matter how hard she tried.

Eventually, she had given up trying. Gazing at the rain-swept trees did little to ease her mind, but it made the confinement in her close quarters easier to bear. Now that she was a prisoner herself, she wondered how Geralt had been able to take it - to be at the mercy of another, to be completely stripped of your freedom. He must have been terrified. But unlike herself, he had been able to push past his fears, had been able to focus enough to fight back.

She was nothing like him.

Her heart grew heavy at the realization and she bowed her head, trying hard not to think of her failure. In his desperation, he had asked for her help and she had let him down, underestimating their enemy when she should have known better. And now it was her who needed help, who was waiting to be rescued. One more problem to add to his list.

He should have chosen his allies more wisely, she thought bitterly. I only ended up making things worse.

Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the windowsill, helpless anger and guilt twisting inside her. If only she could do something. Anything.

But all she could do was wait.

Finally, she heard the bolt slide back, a sound expected and feared at the same time. She turned, squaring her shoulders as Celaena strode in with an air of nonchalance, a small smile tugging at her thin lips. Dismayed, Triss watched as Geralt followed obediently in her wake. It wasn't just the blank look in his eyes that shook her, a sure sign that his mind was gone. It was the unspeakably miserable state he was in.

He staggered into the room, white as death, his face a mess of dried blood and countless cuts and bruises. The side of his shirt was dark with blood. She noticed the way his feet shuffled against the floor, his legs barely able to support his weight and though his face was slack and devoid of pain, it was obvious that physically he was past the point of endurance.

She took an instinctive step towards him, then stopped for fear he would attack her, eyes darting back and forth between him and the blond mage at the door. He slowed his pace, swaying dangerously, and Triss, unable to bear it any longer, begged, "For Melitele's sake, Celaena, let him go!"

Celaena's lips twitched slightly. "As you wish."

He gasped sharply as if startled awake from a bad dream, eyes widening in shock before the expression of raw pain contorted his face. Tumbling, he extended a hand to brace himself against the wall, which was out of reach, and Triss broke from her paralysis, crossing the distance between them in a few strides and slung her arms around him to catch his fall. Unable to hold his weight, she merely slowed his collapse, sinking to the ground beside him.

"Geralt?"

She gently cupped his face and yellow, unfocused eyes settled in her direction. His lips moved to form a reply, but his voice failed him and he coughed instead. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth and he squeezed his eyes closed.

Frantically, she pressed her fingers against his throat, finding a pulse that was weak and fast, too fast for a human and excessively fast for a witcher. His breaths came in rapid, shallow gasps. Again, he tried to speak but managed only a pained groan and she stroked a damp strand of hair from his face, then rested her hand against the side of his face.

"Be still," she said softly, swallowing past the lump in her throat. "You'll be okay."

Her eyes flew up to the blond mage who had positioned herself next to the open door.

"What have you done?" She whispered, voice taut with helpless anger. "Wasn't it enough to put a curse on him, you had to beat the living daylights out of him too?"

Celaena stood unmoving, arms folded in front of her chest, slight amusement shining in her flint-gray eyes.

"You think I did this to him? Don't be ridiculous. I merely got him out of trouble. You see, I have a great interest in his well-being."

"Right," Triss scoffed. "Because you won't be able to sell him if he's unable to fight."

Celaena raised her elegant brows, surprised that the other woman was aware of this particular piece of information. She considered her quizzically, then glanced past her to the broken window, and her lips curled into a knowing smile.

"You've been listening," she concluded.

"You weren't exactly trying to keep it down."

Celaena hesitated for a moment, considering the insight, and then shrugged, deeming it irrelevant. "Well, you would have found out sooner or later. Yes, I have a customer who is willing to pay a substantial sum for the privilege to command a witcher. So I need him alive. Lucky for me, I have a healer at my disposal." She tilted her head slightly, a look of calculation in her eyes. "I trust that you'll do your best."

"Who… is that… customer?"

It was Geralt's voice, breathy and barely audible.

Triss gazed down at him, surprised to see his eyes open. He gazed at her from beneath swollen eyelids, looking half-dead, but it was clear that he had followed the conversation attentively. Pain was etched across his lines.

"One who pays well," Celaena retorted coldly. "It's all you need to know."

"So this is…," he stopped to catch his breath and winced, "nothing personal?"

"Hell, witcher, I don't even know you," she laughed. "No, this is nothing personal. I'm just trying to make a living. Not everyone born with the gift is lucky enough to become a court mage."

The last words were directed at Triss who bristled with indignation. "It was your own fault that you were expelled."

Celaena scoffed. "From what I've heard, you played your part in that as well."

Triss had a sharp reply on her lips but was momentarily silenced by Geralt who was struggling to turn onto his side. Seeing his difficulties, she aided his movements, hands on his shoulders, and felt her heart skip a beat as he suddenly heaved, spitting a worrisome amount of blood onto the floor.

Triss cursed under her breath as she realized what kind of injuries this hinted at. Celaena must have noticed too, because the smile dropped from her face, making room for an expression that was tangled somewhere between annoyance and alarm.

"I'll make sure you get what you need."

Triss didn't look up as she left, all attention focused on the injured man before her. Geralt retched again, more violent this time, and brought up more of the red nastiness. A helpless groan escaped him, and she slung her arms around him, holding him as cramps assailed him once more.

"Easy," she mumbled with a calm she did not feel, all the while holding his damp hair from his face.

He spat another mouthful onto the floor and collapsed against her with a low groan, completely spent. She shifted from under him, gently easing his head to the ground.

"Let me have a look at you," she murmured. "Hold still, okay?"

Following an instinct, she shifted to tug his shirt free and pushed it up as far as she could, biting her lip when it revealed the full extent of the beating. There was extensive bruising along his ribs and abdomen, deep and black, the bandage over the wound in his side completely soaked with blood. He must have suffered one hell of a beating. No wonder he was vomiting his insides out.

She cursed under her breath. "Shit, Geralt, this looks bad."

Of course, there were magical ways to assess a patient's injuries, but the dimeritium effectively deprived her of that option. Looked like she had to resort to traditional methods. She hated having to cause him pain but right now it couldn't be helped. She needed to see how bad it really was. With the gentle touch of a healer, she started to examine the bruises, pressing down to feel for ruptures beneath them, and winced in sympathy when he gave an anguished groan.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. There it was, the swelling that indicated major internal bleeding, no doubt the result of the physical abuse.

She straightened her back and kneaded her lip, thoughts racing. Considering his thready pulse, he had probably lost a lot of blood already and it was likely he was still bleeding. But there was nothing she could do to help him, not without magic.

"Geralt?"

She placed a hand against the side of his face, prompting him to open his eyes.

"Listen," she said a lot calmer than she felt, "You probably know this, but you're bleeding internally. I don't know much about a witcher's mutations. Any chance that the bleeding will stop by itself?"

"Maybe." The response was labored, forced out between shallow breaths. "Depends on...how bad it is."

She sighed, trying hard to hide her frustration. Panicking wouldn't help either of them. Celaena would probably return soon and she had a great interest in Geralt's survival. She would help. She had to. Triss cast a swift glance at the closed door, then returned her attention to Geralt.

"Okay. Let's have a look at the wound in your side."

He didn't even respond to that. By the look of it, he was about to pass out.

She unwrapped the bandage as gently as he could, cursing when she discovered that part of the cloth was stuck in the wound, clotted blood merging the fabric to his flesh. She could feel him tense under her hands as she removed the last bit of the soiled bandage, and a small gasp escaped his lips. She gazed into his face, needing to make sure that he was okay, and saw that he was impossibly paler than before, his skin glistening with sweat.

"Hang in there," she told him softly.

Once the wound was laid open, blood started to flow freely down his side. The injury itself was an angry red, swollen and oozing. It would have to be cleaned thoroughly. Without any means of pain relief, it would be hell for him.

"Geralt..." she began hesitantly, not sure how to tell him.

"I know… it's become infected." Pain glazed eyes latched onto her face, exhausted and weary beyond description.

Then his gaze dropped to her neck and his brows furrowed.

"She...put a collar on you."

Regret sounded in his voice and Triss reflexively reached up to her neck to touch the cold metal.

"It's nothing."

He shook his head, the crease between his brows deepening.

"This is my fault. Triss... I am so sorry." He extended a clumsy hand and rested it against the side of her face. His skin felt ice cold. "I'll get you out of here, I promise."

Triss held his gaze, feeling her throat constrict at the seriousness in his eyes. Here he was, more dead than alive, with the prospect of spending the rest of his life in slavery, and he was worried about her. Sudden tears stung in her eyes at the realization and the crease between his brows deepened.

"Don't worry," he mumbled, voice barely about a whisper. "She won't let me… die."

Triss managed a small smile, letting him know that she was okay, and when his hand grew heavy, she collected it in hers, squeezing it reassuringly before placing it down. His lips twitched slightly as his eyes drifted closed. It looked as if he was listening to something.

"Here they come..."

Triss frowned and for a moment wondered whether he was imagining things, but then she could hear them too. Weighty footfalls outside the door.

She looked up just in time to see it open.

It was the first time she saw Celaena's companion from eye to eye but she didn't doubt for a second that this was the man whose conversation she had overheard the night before. He was smaller than she had imagined, bulkier. Without a word, he walked past them, cast them a brief, wary glance and dropped an armful of firewood next to the hearth.

Triss laid a light hand on Geralt's shoulder before pushing to her feet. She covered him with the threadbare blanket from her bed, then turned to the hearth to stack the wood.

Meanwhile, the man returned several times, never uttering a word, bringing a small kettle of water, a washing bowl, clean linen cloths and a bottle containing a clear liquid. Triss uncorked it and immediately identified it as alcohol. Not her first choice of remedy, but it would have to do.

"So, will you be able to fix him?"

Triss looked up at Celaena who had appeared in the doorway, a spare blanket in her hand. With a small wave of her hand, she gestured her companion to take position by the door, then lifted her dress to step around the puddle of vomit on the floor to look at Geralt, eying his supine form with the detached interest of a merchant checking damaged goods. "He doesn't look too well."

"He is gravely injured. He has internal bleeding and it needs to be stopped."

Celaena frowned at the information.

"And how are you going to do that?"

"That's just it. I can't."

Triss gestured at the atrocious collar around her neck, eyes dark with anger.

"You want me to remove the collar?"

"I won't be able to help him if you don't."

Celaena shook her head incredulously, huffing a short laugh.

"Well, isn't that just convenient," she scoffed. "And what happens if I do, huh? You'll just cast a healing spell? You can't really believe I'm that stupid."

"He might die if you don't."

"Well, I guess I'm willing to take that risk."

Triss felt her temper slipping, rage sweeping her at the sheer amount of ignorance, but she somehow managed to maintain her composure.

"You don't believe me? Well, have a look at him yourself."

Celaena crossed her arms in front of her chest, not showing the slightest inclination to do as she was asked. Triss wasn't sure if she really didn't believe her or if she was just unwilling to get her hands dirty, but it sure did a lot to push her closer to the edge.

"Damn it, Celaena, do something!"

The blond mage stared at her, eyes narrowed, then exchanged a glance with her companion and sighed.

"Fine," she said. "Stand back."

Triss complied. From a short distance, she watched the other woman kneel beside Geralt, who lay unmoving, eyes closed, the rapid rise and fall of his chest the only sign that he was still alive. Celaena's face was unreadable as she took in the various bruises that marred his body and the weeping wound in his side, then extended both her hands in a gesture that Triss recognized as a simple spell of assessment. It was a beginner's spell, the one a student might use, and it occurred to her that despite the proficiency Celaena might have attained in some fields of magic, she probably didn't know a lot about healing.

It was weird not being able to sense the magic, and Triss inadvertently touched the collar around her neck, a gesture that threatened to become a habit.

Celaena frowned, lowering her hands.

"Seems you're right," she admitted, bewildered.

"So, will you let me help him?"

Celaena shot a glance at her. "You mean take off your collar? No." She regarded the witcher thoughtfully. "But I know enough of healing magic to stop the bleeding. The rest will be up to you."

Again, she extended her hands, this time laying them directly on his bruised midsection, and lowered her eyelids in concentration. Geralt gasped, eyes flying open in agony. His back arched off the floor, and Triss, unable to stand back any longer, rushed to kneel beside him and placed her hands firmly on his shoulders to keep him still, all the while cursing the arrogance of the other mage. Done properly, a healing spell wasn't painful. It was easier, of course, to omit the initial work of numbing the pain, to release chaos in one violent burst than going slow. It took less effort. But it was sloppy and considering the extent of his injuries, downright cruel.

Geralt slammed his head against the floor, hands clenched into fists as magic erupted into his battered body, sealing broken vessels and forcing ruptured tissue closed. While Triss mumbled incoherent words of reassurance, she felt him tremble beneath her hands, every fiber of his being determined to contain the pain, until he could take it no more and he voiced his agony in a sound that twisted like a knife in her gut. All fight left him then, his eyes rolling up in his head, and he became limp.

Hands shaking, Triss let go of him to feel for a pulse, exhaling a sigh of relief when she found his heart still beating. She used her sleeve to gently wipe the sweat from his brow, smoothing the lines of pain from his face. From the corner of her eye, she saw Celaena rise and dust off her skirts.

"See, no need for your healing magic," she declared. "Bleeding's stopped. I'll leave the rest to you."

"Wait."

Triss looked at her, weary and emotionally exhausted. "Will you help me get him over to the bed?"

It wasn't a bed really, just a simple straw mattress, but it was better than the cold floor. Celaena considered the request, then nodded at the man who blocked the doorway.

"Tomec will help you with that."

The sorceress exchanged a glance with her companion, and the latter made short work of the task, lifting Geralt's limp form over his shoulder like a sack of flour and dropping him unceremoniously on the assigned sleeping spot.

Triss instantly discarded the thought of asking them for any help when it came to removing Geralt's shirt, appalled at the lack of care.

"I trust that will be all?" Celaena asked from the doorway. She looked pale as if the spell had drained her, and it occurred to Triss that this was probably not far from the truth. Not that she gave a damn.

"Just go," Triss said quietly.

The door fell closed.

It took a while for Triss to get the fire going, and another long while until the water was boiling. In the meantime, she worked Geralt's shirt off as gently as she could and did her best to make him comfortable. As long as he was out cold, at least she didn't have to worry about causing him any more pain.

In want of a pillow, she bundled up her sash and slipped it under his head, then started to work off his boots. It was then that she found the small, shiny object he had hidden there. Sitting back on her haunches, she held it up into the light, staring in disbelief, and a relieved smile tucked at her lips. She had no idea how he had managed to keep Celaena from searching him, but in the end, it didn't matter. All that mattered was that he had been able to hold on to it.

Stunned, not really daring to hope yet, Triss gazed into Geralt's still face and remembered his words. Don't worry. I'll get you out of here.

Maybe he would get to keep his promise.