Fire crackled in the hearth. It was a comforting sound, a sound of shelter and warmth, and though he knew that the safety it suggested was false, that he was captive and lying near death, he allowed the low sound of licking flames and bursting wood to calm his mind.

He did not know how long he had lain here, gazing at the shadows twisting and flickering against the ceiling, limbs too heavy to move. His body ached, every breath stretching his ribs with a spike of pain, every nerve in his body sandpapered and raw with fever. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. It chimed in with the throbbing agony in his side, a deep and molten hurt, searing as if a hot poker was twisting inside his flesh, relentless and nauseating. A sound of misery sat at the back of his throat, wanting out, but he didn't voice it, knowing it wouldn't bring him relief.

He longed to go back to sleep again.

Something moved next to him, and a shadow fell across his face.

"Geralt?"

A familiar voice, followed by the glimpse of a familiar face.

Triss.

He gazed at her from under swollen eyelids, unable to focus much, but noted the deep shadows beneath her red-rimmed eyes, the tousled mess of dark curls. With a detached sense of curiosity he noticed she had freckles.

Her hand came to rest on his brow, cool and light, and it was accompanied by a waft of perfume that he had never paid attention to. Now it registered with a clarity that overwhelmed him. White jasmine, he thought. Faded, a trace of fragrance only, mixed with the scent of her skin.

"You're running a high fever."

Her voice, pitched to a whisper, sounded overly clear in his head.

"It's the wound in your side. I've cleaned it the best I could, but there's only so much I can do without magic. I wish I could give you something against the pain at least, but all I have is water."

He felt her hand slip behind his neck and the rim of a cup pressed against his lips.

"Drink. You haven't drunk anything for a day at least."

A small amount of water went past his parched lips and he swallowed with some difficulty, but he relished the taste of it. Only now he became aware of the stale taste in his mouth, bitter like bile with a tinge of rusted iron. He wanted more of the cool liquid and swallowed greedily, but the cup was removed far too soon.

"Easy," she said softly. "Not so fast. Let's see if this settles. You can have more later."

His head was lowered down again and came to lie against something soft, something that was damp with sweat and his own scents, and a trace of that powdery perfume that was hers. He didn't have the strength to ponder on it though, felt the world slipping from his grasp, and when her cool touch was on his brow again, his eyes drifted closed.

He was pulled from oblivion as pain welled up in his side. Gasping, he tried to twist away from the source of torment, but a hand pressed down on his shoulder, urging him to lie still.

"Don't move."

Sensing her good intentions, he tried to cooperate as she examined the wound, but the fiery agony returned, worse than before, and again he squirmed, a broken sob trembling from his lips.

"F***," he cursed, desperate for the pain to stop, and a hand curled around his, small but firm and reassuring. He returned the squeeze with all that was left in him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I know it hurts. But the wound is badly infected and there's only so much I can do."

Something hot and moist pressed onto his wound and he quivered, dizzy and sick from the pain alone.

"What…?" His voice broke before he could finish the question.

"I'm using hot compresses to control the infection. It's not as efficient as a poultice, but it'll do. It's looking a lot better already."

It sure didn't feel like it.

"How long...?"

It took a lot of effort to force the words past his throat, and he felt her lean closer to understand. When he blinked his eyes open, she smiled for him. Worried, exhausted beyond measures, but she smiled.

"Almost a day." Her thumb brushed over the knuckles of his hand. "Your body is working hard to fight this."

He gazed at her, her face dark and shadowed against the hearth fire from behind, her hair edged in a line of gold. She looked beautiful.

"Try to sleep."

He wanted to but he knew he couldn't. There was something that he needed to know, something important, but the thought continued to slip from his grasp. The only thing that registered with clarity was the danger they were in and the desperate need to do something about it.

"Triss..."

There was an anguished tone to his voice that he hadn't intended, and he saw her brows furrow in response.

"I know. I'm sorry." She hesitated. "There's some alcohol left, so if you need something to - "

"No, I..." Pain hitched in his throat and he swallowed, trying to hold on to his thought. It took a while until he could talk again. "The amulet." The words came out as breath only and she squeezed his hand in reply.

"I found it. It's safe with me. Rest now."

He nodded in relief. There was so much more he wanted to tell her, but he didn't have the strength to hold on. Defeated, he exhaled a sigh, eyes drifting closed of their own accord, waiting for sleep to pull him under. But the pain was still there, deep and pulsing like a living thing, a demon lurking on the threshold of oblivion, refusing to let him pass. And so he remained on the verge of sleep, too weak to fully wake and hurting too much to let go. Triss must have noticed because she did not move, patiently holding his hand in hers, returning the grip of his fingers with equal pressure, and after a long while shifted to replace the compress on his side.

He shuddered from the pain, glad when she resumed her place at his bedside to offer her touch again, and this time he pulled her hand close to his face. Her scent filled his nostrils and he focused on that. It became his anchor in a sea of fire, and though it never filled his mind completely, it distracted him enough to make the hurt more bearable.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, for when he opened his eyes again, a pair of steel-gray eyes bored into his. Startled, he tried to recoil but found that he was barely able to move. Before him, a face swam into focus. Elegant brows, a straight nose. Pale hair pulled back into a tight bun that glowed ghostly white in the darkness. She studied him with the cold interest of a scholar inspecting a specimen, her thin lips twitching into the resemblance of a smile.

He tensed as he realized who he was looking at and a name formed on his lips.

"Celaena."

"You recognize me. Good." She tilted her head slightly. "Seems like Triss has done a good job."

Triss. The name caused all kinds of alarms to go off in his head and with a surge of terror, he realized that she was nowhere to be seen. He made an effort to push up to look past the blond mage who was crouching at his bedside and fell back with a groan, his muscles too weak to support his weight.

"Where is she?"

His voice was hoarse with apprehension. All kinds of scenarios took shape before his mind's eye, none of them very comforting.

The smile on Celaena's face widened, amusement shining in her eyes.

"I've taken care of her. She's interfered enough."

His hands jerked at that, ready to wrap around her throat, but he felt her mind sweep over him before he could act. Like a puppeteer she took control of his limbs, deliberately keeping him paralyzed, and no matter how much he strained against her, there was no leverage, no way to break free. Not without the amulet. He remembered what Triss had told him. Gods, he hoped that Celaena hadn't found it.

"It's useless," she said softly, her hand reaching to caress the side of his face. "You cannot fight me now. Not anymore."

A distant scream tore through the walls of the decrepit tower, agonized and despaired, and Celaena tilted her head, listening, eyes hooded as if entranced by a song. She smiled.

Geralt felt his chest constrict at the high-pitched wail of torment. It was a woman's voice, distorted almost beyond recognition, but he instantly knew who that voice belonged to. He paled at the realization, mentally straining against the invisible bonds that tied him, but he couldn't move an inch. Despite the heat of fever, he suddenly felt a chill creep over him.

The tortured voice broke and turned into a helpless sob.

"Stop it," he begged, voice rough. "Let her go. It's me you want."

Her fingers languidly trailed his cheekbone, then moved to cup his jaw, her thumb brushing over his lips. He would have shuddered at her touch if he had been able to but even that was taken from him.

"But I don't want to stop," she smiled. "I like the way she screams and I like the horror in your eyes. You should never have resisted me in the first place."

"Let her go," he breathed. A single drop of sweat ran down his neck. "I asked her to help me. She has nothing to do with this. Please. If you want to punish someone, it should be me."

She straightened her back and pursed her lips, not unlike a child who refuses to let go of her favorite toy.

"No. She deserves to be punished. She messed up everything." Cruelty shone in her gray eyes. "But if it's true what you say and you asked for her help, then this is on you. You caused her suffering, witcher, because you wanted to save yourself."

He shook his head in silent terror, eyes locked onto hers, pleading with her, trying to make her stop by sheer force of will. Guilt and anguish clawed at his heart, born from the terrible knowledge that what she said was true. By asking for Triss's aid, he had knowingly put her in danger. It had been his responsibility to protect her, to keep her safe, and he had failed miserably. It might just as well be his hand inflicting the suffering.

Somewhere in the darkness, the wail turned into a cry of agony and his heart shattered.

Her scream still echoed in his ears when he opened his eyes. He squinted at the brightness, disoriented, his heart racing. Birdsong filled his ears, undoubtedly wafting in from an open window and he could hear the faint rustling of leaves. It had to be daytime.

He cracked his eyes open and found that his assessment was true. Panting and deeply shaken, he lay still for a long while, trying to adjust to his changed surroundings, and little by little, he was able to calm his breathing. When he became aware of something warm wrapped around his hand, he turned his head, surprised to find it cradled in the hand of another. Frowning, his eyes trailed up to glance at the slight frame that lay slumped against the wall by his bedside, face hidden under a mass of dark curls.

"Triss?"

With gritted teeth, Geralt carefully rolled on his side, and her hand slipped from his grasp. She stirred, brows furrowing at the sound of her name, and blinked her eyes at him tiredly.

"Hey, you're awake." She looked a little worse for the wear, her delicate features taut from lack of sleep, but otherwise she seemed unharmed. It must have been a dream, he thought. A very vivid one, realistic in a way that deeply troubled him, but nonetheless just a dream.

Like a sleepy cat, she uncurled from her uncomfortable position against the wall, massaging her neck before she shifted closer to reach for him.

"You look pale." Her hand pressed against his brow to gauge his temperature, then moved to brush a sweaty strand of hair from his face. A small smile touched her lips. "But it seems your fever is down. How are you feeling?"

He sighed softly, not willing to admit to anything beside his physical discomfort. There was nothing to be gained from sharing his nightmare with her, nothing she could say or do to ease his mind. It would only scare her.

"Terrible." He winced, trying to push himself up to lean against the wall behind him and cursed when his muscles wouldn't cooperate. "I could use a healing potion."

"I agree. Unfortunately, we don't have anything of the like. Here, let me help you."

Leaning over him, she took hold of his shoulders and aided him upright. As she did, her hair brushed against his naked skin and with it a familiar trace of perfume wafted over him, so faint that it might have been memory only. Maybe it was. It was impossibly hard to concentrate. Closing his eyes, he let his head sink backward until it rested against the wall, keeping track of Triss's movements with his ears only. Listened to the clink of glass touching glass followed by the sound of a liquid being poured. The rustle of her skirts as she bent closer.

"Drink. You must replenish the fluids you have lost."

He opened his eyes and accepted the cup that Triss pressed into his hands.

"Thank you."

He took a sip, trying hard to keep his hands from shaking. Triss was hovering nearby, ready to assist him, but it turned out to be unnecessary. He was infinitely grateful for that.

"Do you think you can manage some food too?"

"I'll try."

He watched her absent-mindedly as she got to her feet to retrieve a bowl from across the room. The silver threads in her dress glistened as she moved about, catching the sunlight that streamed in from the broken window. Judging by the angle of the sun, it had to be around noon. Part of him still had a hard time believing she was real.

"Have you been sitting there the whole time?" He asked wearily.

"Mostly. I had to tend to the fire too." She cast him a curious glance. "Why?"

His eyes wandered across the small space, taking in the hearth, which lay cold now, and the shattered window. Noticed the heap of bloodied bandages on the floor and the bowl of water, then drifted over the black bundle by the wall which had to be his shirt and boots.

He returned his gaze to her as she knelt at his bedside, bowl in hand. It was filled with something that looked like yesterday's oatmeal. He wasn't picky when it came to food, the simple life on the road often leaving him the choice to eat what was at hand or starve altogether, but right now the mere thought of food made him sick.

"Has Celaena been here while I was out?"

He accepted the bowl and set it on his lap and Triss took the empty cup from his hands.

"Yes, twice, but you wouldn't have noticed. You have been asleep most of the time."

"Did she hurt you?"

Triss stopped in mid-movement. He recognized the look on her face, the twitching brows that betrayed concern beyond his physical hurt. But if she sensed that he was hiding something from her, she didn't address it.

"No, Geralt. She didn't hurt me. Not after I have got here, at least. And I think that I'll be safe for another two days at least."

"I take it that's when her customer will arrive to pick up his merchandise."

The words tasted bitter on his lips.

"Yes."

He poked at his food with barely concealed disgust.

"What about the amulet? You said you'd hold on to it."

"I'm surprised you even remember that. I've kept it hidden in the shaft of my boot." A small smile played around her lips when she noticed his raised eyebrows. She reached for her foot. "It's a good hiding place."

He took the amulet from her hands. The touch of it instantly eased some of his tension and he realized just how much he had feared losing it. Distractedly, his fingers traced the rune engraved in its middle, the soft vibration of his witcher medallion an unexpected source of comfort. He'd have to find a good place to hide it, as he wouldn't be able to wear it openly, not if he wanted to postpone a confrontation with Celaena. As long as he was bedridden, his boots weren't an option though and he didn't want to part from it.

"It's fortunate that Celaena hasn't found it," Triss went on. "One would think that she'd be more thorough. She's arrogant. Maybe we can use that to our advantage."

Having reached a decision, Geralt put the bowl to the floor and folded the blanket back. Grimacing, he bent to reach his foot and used the leather string to tie the amulet around his ankle, then pulled up his sock to cover it.

"Help me up," he demanded, a hand pressed against the wall as he struggled to his feet. Triss's eyes widened in alarm and she lay a restraining hand on his arm.

"I don't think you should..."

"I need to have a look at this place," he grunted. "And I could use your help."

"Your wound will tear open again if you move around too much," she argued. "And there's no need to do anything right now. As I said, we have still two days left before - "

"Yeah, I wouldn't count on that."

Triss stared at him, uncomprehending. He couldn't really hold it against her. The way he felt, he probably looked half-dead and she was speaking from the viewpoint of a healer. But if there was one thing that he had learned in his life as witcher, it was to expect the worst and be as well prepared as physically possible. He had learned the hard way, more than once having had to face a threat he hadn't expected.

And yes, maybe they did have two more days. But what if Celaena decided that she didn't need Triss anymore? What if she decided to use her as leverage, just in case Geralt tried to cross her? Then there was Celaena's mysterious customer. What if he didn't want to wait anymore and showed up early? There were too many variables, too many things to be considered. Now was the time to prepare. And if there was a way to get Triss to safety before the inevitable confrontation, he would rather do it now.

Triss mumbled a curse under her breath but presented with the choice of letting Geralt injure himself further by risking him fall or lending him a hand, she chose the latter. She swayed slightly under his weight but managed to lever her small body effectively against his, keeping him upright as he slowly made his way across the room. Once they had reached the shattered window, he braced himself on the sill, gazing down three stories, then cautiously leaned out of the window to determine the distance to the roof.

"You want to climb out?" Triss asked incredulously.

"It's not impossible," he declared, voice strained and out of breath. "But right now, I don't think I'll be able to pull myself up to the roof. How far to the nearest settlement?"

"Maybe half a day's ride to Vizima. There's a small village about two hours west from here, but I don't know its name. Why?"

"Might be that the city guards will find us in time. Wouldn't count on it though."

"Vesten's men?"

"Hmm."

"You have managed to convince them of your innocence?"

"No. But Vesten's doing his best to save you."

Clutching the wound in his side, he turned from the window to inspect the hearth. Noted the almost empty bottle of alcohol which might serve as a makeshift weapon and picked it up.

"How many people are in the building besides Celaena?"

"I only know of her associate, Tomec. You might remember him."

That sounded manageable, but he would try to put off a fight as long as possible. Sure, he had his witcher signs, but more than likely, he would have to face both of them at once, and right now he was painfully aware of his physical limitations. Without her magic, Triss wouldn't be a great help either.

"The door?" He nodded towards the other end of the room.

"Locked and barred. Sturdy too," Triss added, looking at him, the worried expression on her face deepening. "Geralt, you look white as a sheet. Why don't you lie back down? There's nothing you can do right now."

She was right, their options were limited, and the short walk to the window had exhausted him beyond measures. It would be smart to rest as much as he could, regain his strength. If only there was a way to heal faster.

He pondered on that as Triss guided him back to the mattress and helped him settle back down. He placed the bottle in arm's reach, annoyed at his shaking hands.

"You're planning to take them on before Celaena's customer arrives," Triss stated the obvious.

He nodded, slightly out of breath. "Fewer opponents. Better chances of survival."

"Celaena will try to control you. Do you think you'll be able to withstand her?"

Wearily, he ran a hand over his face. It was a legitimate question. "Honestly, I don't know."

He felt drained, both physically and mentally, and now that he was lying down again, the wound in his side was starting to throb painfully again. His heart hammered as if he had just run for his life. Triss's hand came to rest on his shoulder in a gesture of comfort and he reached up to it, lost in thought. There was something else that he had wanted to ask Triss, something that kept escaping him. If only he could remember what that was.

"Her ring," he suddenly said.

"What?" Triss looked at him, confusion written all over her face.

"When Celaena broke me from my cell, I noticed a ring on her finger." Geralt let go of her hand to clutch the wound in his side, shifting slightly to be able to return her look. "Shortly before she took over my mind, I saw it glow as if she was using it to cast her spell."

Triss nodded thoughtfully. "That makes sense. If she had bound you to herself, she wouldn't be able to sell you away. I've wondered what artifact she might have created."

"So if we take the ring, she'll lose her power over me."

"Probably, yes. If you didn't imagine things."

He frowned. Now that he thought back on the brief moments before he had blacked out, he wasn't sure anymore. His recollections of the past days were hazy at best, fragmented sensations that were mostly pain and discomfort, and the memory of the glowing ring was just as real as Triss's tortured screams from his dream. His fingers reached to massage his temples. What if it hadn't been a dream at all but Celaena trying to get under his skin?

"Everything alright?"

Triss's voice. She sounded concerned.

He looked up at her and shook his head. "I don't know."

She sighed softly, laying a light hand on his arm. "Okay, how about this. You'll let me have a look at your injuries and change the dressings, and then you'll go back to sleep. I might even have some proper food once you wake up."

That sounded alright to him. The way it was, he could barely keep his eyes open. His gaze trailed to the hearth across the room as Triss set to work. The fireplace was cold now, but he distinctly remembered the flames that had flickered there at night, the soft hiss of dying embers, the sound of charred fragments falling through the metal grate. He remembered it as clearly as Celaena's flint gray eyes, as clearly as Triss's anguished cries of pain. And as he tried to figure out if he had seen the ring glow with the same clarity, it occurred to him that it didn't matter. Right now, it was the only lead he had, and he would go with it.

When it came to his nightmare though, he couldn't shake the feeling that it had been more than just a vision of fear sprung from his fevered mind. It almost felt like a premonition, a warning to be heeded. He felt with certainty that he needed to get Triss out of here before she could come to harm, no matter what, and he would do everything in his power to make that happen.