Triss drew her cloak closer around her narrow shoulders. Now that the firewood was gone, the room had grown chilly again and the constant draft from the broken window didn't help. It was her second day of watching over the injured witcher and the discomfort from sleeping on the cold floor was starting to wear on her. There was barely any food left, their captors deeming it unnecessary to provide them with new rations of bread or water, and although Geralt hadn't managed to eat anything up until now, she was hesitant to take the last remains for herself.

Geralt made a small sound of distress and turned his head, but he didn't wake, shivering slightly despite the second blanket that Triss had spread over him. She bent closer to check on him and saw his brows twitch in his sleep, his eyeballs darting back and forth behind closed eyelids. He was dreaming. From the expression on his face, it couldn't be anything pleasant.

"Please don't," he begged, his words slurred almost past recognition.

Triss frowned at the familiar words, preparing to wake him if need be. Even though his fever had dropped enough so that it was of no immediate concern anymore, the dreams that had haunted his sleep persisted, bringing him to gasping awareness when all he needed was rest. During the course of the afternoon, his sleep had been disturbed more frequently, and the fact troubled Triss more than she liked to admit.

"Please…" His nostrils flared and his hand involuntarily curled around the edge of the mattress, his knuckles white. "Celaena..."

His eyes flew open then and he bolted upright, groaning when the sudden movement awakened the sleeping pain, and Triss, who had expected this, acted quickly, catching him around his shoulders before he doubled over.

"Easy," she said softly. "It's okay. You've been dreaming."

He clutched his ribs and his eyes latched onto her in confusion, widening as recognition set in. "Triss?"

She twitched her lips into a reassuring smile. His eyes traveled past her, scanning the room, and it took a moment until he was able to make sense of it all.

"F***."

"Come on," she told him, feeling the tremors of his exhausted muscles under her hands, "lie down again."

She urged him back onto the mattress and he was weary enough to allow it. While she reached to pour him a cup of water, he let out a deep sigh, pressing a shaky hand against his temple. She hated to see him like this, even more since she knew that there were ways to produce relief. The right mixture of herbs and a simple healing spell would suffice to put him into a dreamless sleep, allowing him to truly heal. Just currently these options were taken from her. Helpless anger swept her at the thought, as it so often had in the past days.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, avoiding looking at her directly.

"You have nothing to apologize for," she responded quietly. She suspected that he was beating himself up for her captivity, but it was hard to tell, given the fact that he stubbornly refused to share any details of what was troubling him. Based on what she knew about domination magic, it might well be that the curse was starting to take its toll on his mind, the continuing mental assault causing injuries of its own.

"Care for some water?"

He shook his head, his mind obviously somewhere else. She suppressed a sigh and put down the cup, gazing intently at his troubled face.

"What about food? There's still a little left and you haven't eaten anything for the past two days."

His gaze shifted to rest on her and he let his hand fall back to the blanket, shaking his head again.

"No, thank you."

"Geralt..."

When he noticed the worried expression on her face, he gave a wan smile.

"I'm sorry," he said hoarsely. "I don't think I can."

Triss rested her hands in her lap, biting back her frustration. He was still ghostly pale, weak from blood loss and fever, and judging by the tense lines on his face still in considerable pain. It was obvious how the past days had drained him, and he needed to take in food and fluids if he was to restore his strength anytime soon. However, she could see that something weighed on his mind, and being a healer, she knew that it needed to be tended to as well.

"Alright," she conceded.

Outside the wind picked up and a cloud slid in front of the setting sun, casting a shadow over them both. She tilted her head, wishing very much to be rid of the dimeritium collar, if only for a moment so that she could see what was going on behind those yellow eyes. Being deprived of her magic made it painfully clear to her how much of her skills depended on it. She would have to follow her instinct here, but she didn't know if it would be enough.

"Would you like to tell me about your dream?" she offered carefully, watchful for any change in his face.

The way he averted his gaze and firmed his lips made her regret her venture at once. As open as he had been about his physical discomfort, when it came to this he was as closed off as ever. It stung her more than she had anticipated.

"I can see that something troubles you," she added. "Why not talk about it? It might help."

He opened his mouth as if to say something, then thought better of it. When he met her eyes again, his expression was carefully guarded.

"No, Triss," he said firmly.

"But..."

"Leave it be."

She searched his face, hurt by his refusal to confide in her, and unwilling to let it slide. "You're not getting the rest you need," she pointed out. "And you need to get better quickly, so you can fight her. So we can get out of here. I need you, Geralt. I don't want to die here. Please."

Pain wavered in his eyes and with a pang of guilt, she realized that she had unwittingly laid a finger into an open wound. However, it was too late to take it back now.

"I know." His voice was rough. "I won't let you down, Triss. I promise."

He frowned, his eyes wandering past her as if he was listening to something.

"They're coming."

There was a sudden urgency in his voice and he grimaced as he pushed himself up a little, leaning back against the wall.

Triss strained her ears, trying to make out any sound beside the wind in the trees outside the tower, then shook her head. "I can't hear anything. Are you sure?"

"Hmm."

Triss looked at him quizzically and he lifted his brows slightly. "Two kinds of footfalls," he added. "You'll hear them soon enough."

He gazed at her intently, an expression of deep regret on his face. "Listen, Triss. I don't know if I'll be able to focus enough to fight her off just yet."

Considering his lack of restful sleep, his assessment didn't surprise her.

"Then don't," she told him, laying a light hand on his arm. "We still have a day at least until the customer arrives. No need to make an attempt for escape right now."

His eyes didn't waver and she shivered at the sincerity she saw there. "I know. But if she tries to make me hurt you, I won't be able to - "

His voice trailed off and he squeezed his eyes shut, his body suddenly tensing. She could feel the muscles of his arm work under her fingers.

"F***"

"Geralt?" She laid a hand against the side of his face in hopes of getting his attention, but to no avail. He trembled under her hands, his face a grimace of strain as he fought the mental assault, and then, from one moment to the next, his struggles ceased. When his eyes slid open again, his gaze was empty. Footsteps sounded on the stairs outside and a key turned in the lock. Triss bit her lip, then turned to face the door.

Celaena strode in with the authority of a queen.

"Stand back."

Her voice wasn't particularly loud, but it was clear that she would tolerate no dissent. She wore the same plain dress from the day before but had clearly taken the time to rest and wash up, her hairdo an image of strict perfection. Her companion – Tomec, Triss remembered – followed in dogged silence, sword sheathed at his belt, accepting her lead. With dismay, Triss realized that their hands were empty, so they hadn't come to bring fresh water or food.

Steeling herself against what was to come, she rose from Geralt's side and met Celaena's eyes levelly.

"What do you want?"

Triss squared her shoulders, unwilling to give way before she knew what was going on. She distinctly remembered the last time the blond mage had laid her hands on Geralt and she wasn't about to let that happen again. Not if she could prevent it.

Celaena gave a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I've come to check on my witcher. Now step aside."

"Leave him be. He's still very sick and - "

"I'm not interested in your opinion," she interrupted her, "nor in your attempts to fool me. I want to see for myself."

Celaena nodded at Tomec who stepped up and grabbed Triss's arm to pull her aside. Bristling with anger, she tried to twist from his grasp and froze when his sword hissed from its sheath. She found herself shoved against the wall and instinctively pulled her head back to put as much distance between the blade and her throat as she could while watching Geralt being forced to his feet under the influence of the spell.

"You really shouldn't make him stand," she protested. "The wound in his side has barely started to heal."

"Oh, shut up."

Triss locked her jaw as she saw Geralt's labored movements, his body too weak to fully cooperate. Celaena stood with her arms crossed, studying the witcher's attempts to get to his feet with great intent. Something golden on her finger caught the last remains of daylight. Triss's eyes narrowed as she noticed the ring for the first time, her gaze drawn to its blunt jewel that swallowed the light. It was curiously unattractive for a piece of jewelry, and it occurred to Triss that this indeed might be the artifact Geralt had been bound to although it lacked the glow Geralt had described. She wondered if it was due to the dimeritium numbing her magical senses.

Celaena smiled in satisfaction as Geralt succeeded in his task and stood obediently, gazing ahead with vacant eyes, awaiting his orders.

"Take off the bandage," she gestured at the cloth that was wrapped around his midsection. "I want to see your wound."

Clumsily, Geralt did as he was bidden, unwrapping the dressing, then lifting his arm to allow Celaena a closer look. Triss firmed her lips as his injuries were laid open. Although the infection had improved markedly, the edges of the cut were still reddened and swollen, and it was evident that the wound was far from healed. Deep bruises spread along his ribs and abdomen, dark and painful. Celaena scoffed in disapproval and made him present the cut on his arm, then grabbed his chin to tilt his head towards the light of the window. Triss could see the slight tremor that shook his frame, a clear sign of exhaustion, and she hated Celaena for making him exert himself like this. The man needed to rest, not pose like some dog at a breed show.

"He looks barely better." Celaena's comment was directed at Triss whose shoulders stiffened in response. "I thought that witchers would heal faster than that. I admit I am a bit disappointed."

"Well, what do you expect? You have denied him proper medical care and he lacks nourishment. Even the healing abilities of a witcher need nutrients to draw from. Any fool knows that."

Triss was silenced by the cool touch of steel against her throat.

"Careful, Miss Merigold," a deep voice warned. "You are talking to the woman who is holding your life in her hands."

Celaena made a dismissive gesture. "Leave it be, Tomec. I have suffered so many insults in my time, it doesn't really make a difference." She left Geralt standing where he was and turned to Triss, quiet interest in her eyes, and Tomec lowered the sword. It was enough for Triss to assume a more comfortable position and she let go of a breath that she didn't recall holding.

"So, what are you suggesting?" Celaena inquired.

Triss straightened. Maybe there was a way to talk sense into her after all. She reminded herself that the other woman had a serious interest in Geralt's wellbeing, given the fact that she wanted to sell him.

"Well," she said slowly, angered for having to state the obvious, "for starters, the proper food would help a lot. Chicken broth if you have any, something that's easy on the stomach. Healing herbs would be great too. Comfrey and burdock to promote healing. Valerian to help him sleep. Something for the pain."

Celaena raised an eyebrow. "Sounds overly complicated to me. Perhaps I should just purchase a healing potion and pour it down his throat."

"You'd be lucky if it stays down," Triss argued. "Your magic might have stopped the internal bleeding but as far as I can tell, it did nothing beyond that. And for Melitele's sake, let him lie down again."

The last words were sharp and Celaena turned to cast her eyes on the witcher behind her. Geralt was swaying, face white and glistening with sweat, but was still holding the position as ordered. There was a faint flicker in his eyes that told Triss he wasn't quite as oblivious as Celaena believed him to be but she doubted that the mage noticed.

"He does look a bit pale, doesn't he," Celaena said, her elegant brows creased in thought. "Oh, well. Have it your way."

She flicked her hand and Geralt lowered himself to the ground to settle against the wall. By the look in his eyes, Triss was sure that he was still under her spell.

"Happy now?" Celaena asked dryly.

"Far from it. But I guess that's as good as it gets."

Celaena tilted her head slightly, regarding her with a look that was half curiosity and half pity.

"You know, it is kind of strange how much you care about this witcher. I mean, the way you act, one might think you have feelings for him."

"I don't see how that is any of your concern," Triss replied dryly.

The blond woman smiled disdainfully.

"Of course not. I just wonder. You're a sorceress, adviser of the king. Why risk your life for a mutant? Why do you even care?"

Triss's eyes narrowed. "The question is why you don't. How do you even sleep at night, knowing that you are going to sell him into slavery? Don't you have the slightest amount of human decency?"

"Decency?" Celaena gave a short laugh, shaking her head. "Gods, you are so adorable! We are mage-born, Triss, the silly rules of men don't apply to us."

"Of course they do," Triss objected heatedly. "And why wouldn't they? Do you think you're above everyone else?"

"Gods, you are so naive. Haven't you learned anything at Aretuza?" Celaena snorted. "Let's just take our honorable rectoress, Tissaia de Vries, who condemns those students who don't meet her standards to an eternal life of servitude. Just like that, no second thoughts. Have you ever wondered how many eels dwell in the caves under the academy, channeling the chaos to increase the powers of those who are deemed worthy? It's all about utilizing others - humans, mages, mutants."

Triss firmed her lips, recognizing the logic in her reasoning. She knew that some of the practices at Aretuza were questionable to say the least and she didn't approve of that particular practice at all. However, it seemed wrong to use that as an excuse for one's own iniquities.

"I guess that's also how you rectify what you did to Melida," she said darkly. "Too bad you weren't turned into an eel yourself. You would have deserved it."

"Well, some of the teachers understood what I was trying to do."

"Oh, really? And what was that?"

Celaena gave a slight smile. "Improving science."

Triss glared at her, silenced by the sheer insolence of it. She remembered Melida vividly, a charismatic redhead, lively and with an almost childlike sense of humor. She had been a talented student, until her fatal accident – at least that had been the official version. Rumors had it that someone had systematically messed with the girl's mind, forging false memories and ripping suppressed ones from her subconscious, with disastrous results. Triss had found her one night, drawn to the deserted classroom by her tormented screams, and she had been haunted by the sight ever since. Even now she could see her disheveled figure crouching on the floor, hugging herself, wailing. The sight of her bloodied arms and face, every inch of skin scratched open. Her incoherent babble, repeating one name over and over again. Celaena.

Triss's eyes turned hard.

"How did messing with that poor girl's mind improve science?"

"I was merely gaining insight into how a mage's mind worked." Celaena shrugged. "Well, Tissaia certainly didn't appreciate it, although my work was quite promising. Her double standards are amusing, actually. Sometimes I wonder what would have become of me if somebody else had been in charge back then."

"Melida lost her mind because of you. She eventually took her own life."

"I didn't know that." Celaena tilted her head, pondering the information. "Well, it's a better fate than spending your remaining days as an eel, don't you think?"

Triss shook her head in disgust. "You had no right. Domination magic is frowned upon for a reason. Mages should never use their power to exploit others."

"But they always have! Do you think a djinn chooses to fulfill your wishes? No. it has to be caught and forced into submission."

"But Geralt..."

"Is a witcher. A mutant, created by mages to serve a purpose. To keep mankind safe from monsters, and give his life if need be. Try to think of it this way - I'm just handing him over to a new master."

"You are insane," Triss spat, heart filled with righteous anger. "Tissaia was right to have you expelled. The world is better off without mages like you."

Celaena chuckled, genuinely amused.

"Calm down. Tomorrow you will have forgotten everything about this. You won't even remember your poor witcher friend. It will be as if this never happened."

Triss's eyes widened as she realized what the mage was implying, remembering just now the plans she had overheard a night ago. A cold rush of fear broke over her at the thought of that woman messing with her memories. Glimpses of Melida materialized before her mind's eye, images of a ravaged mind, broken beyond repair. Suddenly she felt very sick.

"Gods, look at you." Celaena reached to gently push an unruly strand of hair from the other woman's face, and Triss flinched. "You're a mess. I bet you long for a hot bath and a good night's sleep, don't you? It's really about time you returned to Foltest's court. And who knows? Your return might even throw the city guards off my tail. They've been searching for me, you know. Asking questions. We don't want them to get lucky, do we?"

"But you need me," she said hoarsely. "Geralt is still very sick. What do you think your customer will say if his witcher is half dead?"

A smile tugged at Celaena's lips. "He isn't in critical condition anymore, even I can see that. Which means you have outlived your usefulness."

Despite her attempts to maintain her composure, Triss felt herself shaking.

"Don't be scared." The gentleness in Celaena's voice didn't do anything to calm her. "I've learned a lot since my first experiments. Actually, I'm something of an artist now. It's easier of course, if the subject doesn't fight it, so your mental integrity depends entirely on yourself. Just show me what I want to see and I won't have to dig around in places you'd rather keep to yourself."

Triss locked her jaw. There was no way that she would submit willingly. She would never forgive herself.

"I'd rather die."

"Well, I'd rather return you alive and kicking."

From the corner of her eye, Triss caught a glimpse of movement, a twitch of Geralt's fingers, and her heart skipped a beat. She didn't dare have a closer look though for fear Celaena might notice.

"How compassionate of you."

"Oh, I'm just being pragmatic. You see, in case of your death, people might really start to ask questions. But if you return with a fake memory – let's say the memory of my death - there's no need to look for me anymore."

Behind Celaena, Geralt slowly extended his hand, reaching for the bottle of alcohol he had placed near his bed. His movements were labored, painfully slow, and there was a tremor in his shoulders that Triss didn't like, but his eyes were hard with determination. Most importantly, they were devoid of that blank look she hated so much.

"You have really thought things through, haven't you," Triss replied, desperate to maintain eye contact with Celaena. "I'm impressed."

Celaena looked smug. "You should be. After all, I have defeated you. Too bad you won't remember any of it. Now hold still."

She placed her hands alongside Triss's head and instantly Triss felt her presence in her thoughts. Panicking, she tried to shake off Celaena's grip and found that she couldn't move at all. Show me, a voice sounded in her thoughts. Show me the witcher. Show me Geralt.

It was an unequal fight, Celaena using her chaos against Triss's defenseless mind, and despite her determination not to cooperate, memories of Geralt started to float up, summoned by the mere mentioning of his name. The day they first met. Him standing before her on a moonlit street, eyes alert, his sword drawn. His hair glowing white under the hood of his cloak. Lower your sword, I am not here to hurt you. The words she had uttered sounded overly clear in her head.

"Oh, shit."

Tomec's startled voice pierced her ears and awareness returned just in time to see him being carried off his feet by a blast of magic that burst from Geralt's fingers. Glass shattered as Geralt smashed the bottle against the wall.

Caught completely by surprise, Celaena gave a startled squeal and whipped around as Geralt leapt towards her. He swung the broken bottle at her face in an upward arc, slashing, the motion leaving a trail of red drops in the air. She screamed, clutching her bleeding face while taking an instinctive step back, and Geralt ended his advance on his right foot which was too weak to support his weight and gave way. Unable to catch his fall, he hit the ground hard, grunting at the unexpected pain.

Driven by sheer panic, Triss slammed her boot into the groin of her downed captor and wrenched the sword from his hands, then rammed it into his stomach without a second thought. Blood spurted as she ripped it free and she stood, heart hammering in her chest, staring in disbelief. Her eyes found Geralt, who was deadly pale and struggling to get to his feet again.

"Run," he ground out hoarsely as Triss stumbled over to him. Her hands were shaking as she passed him the sword, her legs ready to give out. "Get out of here while you still can."

He closed his eyes and shook his head as if fighting some invisible assault.

"But what about you?"

He gritted his teeth and managed to get his feet under him again.

"Get. Out."

From the corner of her eye, Triss saw Tomec try to lever himself to his knees and fall back with a groan. Triss hesitated for a second, thoughts racing, torn between the need to get to safety and the immediate concern for Geralt. When she had finally made up her mind, Celaena had stepped between herself and the door.

The blond mage was a terrible sight, her face a crimson mask of pain and fury, a diagonal, gaping cut running from her chin up to her left eyebrow. Blood dripped from her chin and soiled her dress. Geralt had missed her eye by a hair's breadth. She stood erect, hands spread wide to either side of her body, white sparks sizzling at her fingertips. Her eyes were dark pits of madness.

Geralt attacked. It was a fast strike, even more so considering the state he was in, the blade a flash of reflecting light as he swung it at the sorceress while lightning streaked from her fingertips and exploded around him. Triss closed her eyes at the brightness, raising her hands protectively over her head, and retreated. Screams echoed from the narrow walls and made her head hurt, and a piercing pain like pure, concentrated energy ripped through every fiber of her being, stealing her breath.

When she opened her eyes again, bright phantom spots danced in her vision, afterimages from the explosion, and she found herself on her knees, trembling from the pain. She raised her eyes to Geralt's slumped form on the ground, prone and unmoving, his outstretched hand almost touching the hilt of the sword that lay just out of reach. Her gaze wandered past the shock of white hair to Tomec, who lay curled into himself, and on to the slender shape of Celaena, who was bracing her shoulder against the wall, clutching her right arm tightly. Her face was deathly pale and it was obvious she was about to pass out. Blood pooled at her feet, collecting around something that looked startlingly human.

Triss gagged when she realized it was a severed hand. The gold ring with the dark gemstone glistened with blood.