I T ' E
thank y'all for your endless patience, hopefully this is worth it
also eileniessa is a Blessing and i don't think some parts of this would've turned out nearly as well if i hadn't been able to talk through them with her -bel
ps. this chapter...is 13,813 words long. in case anyone was wondering why it took four months to write alkjdfalkfjakl
A Wolf Among Lilacs
Part Two: Hope/Fear
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Grand Words
I.
"Dandelion, I really don't think antiquing is going to help me feel any better."
"Nonsense!" The man in question waved his hand as if shooing Geralt's protests away as he slid out of the passenger seat of the truck. Geralt slammed his own door behind him, more than a little annoyed. He hadn't spoken to Yennefer since that night on Thanedd, hadn't seen her since the day after, and his thoughts were a mixture of worry and regret. Even though they'd both been at the commencement ceremony, and Geralt had even gone so far as to attend Istredd's presentation of his research the next day, against his better judgement—and he could tell he wasn't welcome there, at least from one of them—he hadn't talked to her, hadn't even had the chance to ask her if she was alright after what had happened at the banquet. He still wasn't sure whether he should be regretting what he had already done, or not doing enough, but either way, it was eating away at him, and Dandelion had taken notice.
The only reason that Geralt had agreed to this spontaneous trip to an antique store in the middle of nowhere was that it presented at least some slim chance to get Yennefer off his mind, but even that wasn't going as well as he'd hoped. The long drive only reminded him of her—of the trip to Novigrad, her curled up in the passenger seat, him reaching out to take her hand over the distance between them and being surprised when she didn't pull away. At the time, it had seemed like the gap between them was steadily closing, that one day he might be able to step right over it, pull her to him. But if that day had existed, it was past; that door had closed long ago.
"You'll feel better," Dandelion continued, "just you wait."
The inside of the shop was just as dusty as Geralt feared it would be, and he tried to keep his breaths short and shallow as he followed Dandelion through aisles and stacks of everything imaginable. Stacks of books and assorted trinkets, most of which he wouldn't have even been able to figure out a use for (though he'd never exactly wanted to decorate anything, so perhaps he wasn't the best person to ask), surrounded him to the point where he nearly felt claustrophobic. He couldn't see why anyone in their right mind would ever enjoy this, and he wasted no time in telling Dandelion so.
"Oh, would you stop being so pessimistic? If I hadn't seen you drunk I'd say you didn't have a personable bone in your body," he replied dramatically. Geralt rolled his eyes at him when his back was turned. He'd known as soon as Dandelion proposed they leave Oxenfurt for the day that he wouldn't like whatever he had planned—he hadn't even bothered to inform him of where they were going until they were half an hour away. If it had been up to him, he would've been checking to see if there were any contracts in the area; gods only knew how out of practice he was after working what basically amounted to a desk job for several months. Hard, physical work would let his fighting instincts kick in. Keep him from thinking too hard about things.
An aisle over from him, Dandelion sighed, an exaggerated sound. He didn't come back over, probably because he knew Geralt would be able to hear him anyway. "I suppose you can wait in the car if you want," he said. "If you're going to be like this the whole time. But you really don't know what you're missing here. See, come look at this!"
Against his better judgement, Geralt rounded the corner to see Dandelion standing in front of a grotesque mounted fish. When he pushed the button beneath it, the thing started to sing—or what was probably meant to be an approximation of singing, but instead sounded more like someone had thrown a nekker in a washing machine. Geralt grimaced at the sound and turned away.
"Believe me," he said dryly, "I think I can handle that loss."
He didn't want to get back in the cab of the truck, so he sat in the open bed instead, elbows on his knees, hunched forward. He watched the light glint off the windows at the front of the store, noting that they desperately needed cleaning, and tried to figure out whether he would be able to see Dandelion through any of them. Anything to keep his mind occupied.
Triss had departed the night before, returning to Novigrad for the last few weeks between terms. She wasn't exactly thrilled about it, she'd told him, but the place felt emptier without everyone around. (He knew who everyone was, and—though he wouldn't admit it to her or anyone else, himself included—he was inclined to agree with her.) Regis was still there, but so engrossed in whatever new project he was working on that he barely even made time to talk to Geralt for a few minutes, let alone a few hours. And Ciri had been more distant than usual lately; now that he knew why, though, he couldn't exactly fault her for it. It must have been nice for her, having someone outside of what could be considered her immediate family to talk to.
He could go to Kaer Morhen. He'd considered it, though the idea of making the long drive alone, once an enticing prospect, now felt daunting. It was far too likely that his thoughts would wander to places he'd been trying to keep them from, and even if he managed to get there without incident in that regard, the others were sure to know something was up. Eskel, especially, already knew too much, though he wouldn't be surprised if all the details had been relayed to Lambert and maybe even Vesemir as well. Even if he hadn't, they were familiar enough with his normal habits to see when they were off. He didn't want to risk that—what would he even say? How could he possibly begin to explain this?
Geralt was saved from that rather painful train of thought when Dandelion emerged from the shop, carrying only one small bag. He was a little surprised; based on the way he'd been talking about it right before they arrived, Geralt had thought he would end up filling the entire backseat with things he'd found. Still, he looked extremely satisfied as he walked over and sat the bag down next to where Geralt was sitting.
"That damned shopkeeper doesn't even know what he just gave up," he said smugly. Geralt slid off the bed of the truck and turned to stare at the bag, raising an eyebrow.
"Why's that?"
Dandelion held up a finger, reprimanding him for the interruption, then opened the bag and pulled something out with a flourish. It was a small, chipped stoneware jar, covered with nearly as much dust as he thought had been in the air inside the shop. Dandelion blew on it and Geralt stepped back, coughing.
"Do you know what this is?" he asked as he continued to rub the dust off. Geralt resisted the urge to cover his mouth with his hand.
"An old pot?"
"No!" Dandelion held it up slightly, turning it to let it catch the light, though there wasn't much for it to reflect off of. "It's a charmed jar. There's a djinn inside who will grant me three wishes."
Geralt couldn't help it—he snorted, and actually did clamp his hand over his mouth then. "Laugh all you want," Dandelion said haughtily. "But this isn't a joke. There's a seal on the spigot and a wizard's mark on the seal."
He forced his hand down with great effort, still chuckling a little, though he realized that if whatever he was referring to actually was a seal, then Dandelion was the last person who should be holding the jar. "What mark? Let me see."
"Right, so you can have the wishes for yourself? I'm not that dumb, Geralt."
"Don't touch that seal!"
"Let go! It's mine!"
"Be careful! You'll—"
He was spared having to say what would happen by it happening. The jar had dropped to the pavement during their brief scuffle, and luminous red smoke was pouring out of it at an alarming rate. Geralt took a step back immediately, trying to keep his eyes on the thing as he opened the back door of the cab and pulled out his sword from where it had been hidden under some blankets on the floor. The smoke was conversing into a spherelike shape that hung level with Dandelion's gaze. It had enormous eyes, no nose, and a mouth that he supposed was more like some kind of beak.
"Djinn!" Dandelion said, straightening up and lifting his head. "I freed you, and that means I'm your master now! My wishes—"
"Dandelion!" Geralt yelled, exasperated, holding his sword at the ready. "Run!"
"My wishes," he continued, speaking loudly over Geralt, "are these: firstly, may Valdo Marx die of apoplexy as soon as possible. Secondly, there's a count's daughter in Caelf named Virginia who refuses all advances. May she succumb to mine. Thirdly—"
But Dandelion didn't get to voice his third wish. At that moment, two shapes like huge, crooked claws emerged from the cloud of smoke and grabbed Dandelion around the throat. He screamed.
It only took Geralt a few steps to reach the cloud, and he slashed it through the middle with all his strength. The thing howled and expanded, suddenly, to nearly twice its original size. Cursing under his breath, he held his other hand out to form Aard instead. That seemed to have more success—though it only made the monster more enraged, and it was still growing, it had at least dropped Dandelion, who was lying motionless on the ground. Geralt ran over to him and tried to pull him away, even as the cloud of smoke was advancing ever closer. When he bent down to grab him, his fingers brushed something half buried under his side. A brass seal, decorated with a broken cross and a nine-pointed star.
The thing was far too close to them, and Geralt, for lack of any other ideas, held the seal out and yelled the words of an exorcism a priestess had once taught him. He'd never had occasion to use it until now—he didn't even believe such things worked on principle—and was surprised he even remembered the words.
Its effect surpassed his expectations.
The seal grew so hot that it seared his hand and he nearly dropped it. The creature froze midair, seeming to do nothing but stare at him for a moment. Then it began to roar—and as suddenly as it had appeared it was gone, leaving only the echo of its howling behind.
Geralt shoved the seal in his pocket and ran over to Dandelion. "Hey! Dammit, what's the matter? Are you okay?"
Dandelion, who was shaking violently, managed to make the shaking of his head clearer as an answer to the question—then immediately turned onto his side and began to vomit blood.
Geralt swore.
II.
It took them several hours longer than Geralt would have liked to reach Rinde, the nearest city large enough that they might have a hospital that could treat injuries caused by magic. He'd managed to get them stuck right in the middle of the worst of the traffic, and had been forced to stop for gas halfway through, which he did while watching through the window the whole time, keeping an eye on Dandelion, who was laying on his side in the backseat. He was breathing with great difficulty, and there was a small pool of blood both dried and fresh on the blanket Geralt had folded under his head. He didn't want to admit it, but he was surprised Dandelion had held out as long as this, but he knew that with every second they wasted the injuries worsened, creeping ever closer to becoming irreversible.
They left the shop's parking lot in mid-afternoon and arrived at the emergency room as night was falling, and spent several more hours there while various doctors ran tests to figure out what exactly was happening to Dandelion's throat. Geralt sat in one of the chairs intended for family in the small, curtained-off room they'd put him in, and refused to move when he was questioned about it. Since he was the only one who had arrived with him, no one pushed him too much. During the times he was left there alone, Geralt was starting to think that the plan to get his mind off of things couldn't have gone any worse even if they'd ended up in her actual house. Too much here reminded him of her.
After spending more time pacing the small room than he knew what to do with, one of the doctors came in and informed Geralt gravely that there didn't seem to be anything they could do besides dull the pain he was in. "Changes are starting to take place in his vocal chords," he said. "At this point, the symptoms have advanced too far, and we don't have anyone here who's able to treat magical injuries of this caliber. It would be in your best interest to contact a mage, if you know any—perhaps one who specializes in organ and tissue regeneration."
Geralt sighed to himself, and was glad when the doctor seemed to take it as a sign that he did not, in fact, know any mages who specialized in organ and tissue regeneration. The truth was he did, but if there was any route he could take that didn't involve contacting her, he would take it.
"If that isn't possible," the doctor continued, "there is an elf in town by the name of Chireadan. He's no mage, but he has some alchemical skill. I don't know if any concoction he has would be enough to stop or slow the progress of the injuries, but it might be worth a try, seeing as time is short. He's staying with his cousin Errdil, in an old inn they've bought and are renovating."
The doctor wrote the directions to the inn down for Geralt before he discharged them, and sent someone to help move Dandelion back to the truck without jostling him. Thankfully, the building was only a few minutes away, and one of the elves—the shorter one, Errdil, he soon learned—answered the door when he pounded on it, and was willing to listen to Geralt, though not without some wariness. When he caught a glimpse of Dandelion in the backseat of the truck, which Geralt had left the door to open for just that purpose, he hurried to wake his cousin, and the three of them brought Dandelion inside and up to the second floor, placing him on a bed in one of the more finished rooms.
"What happened to him?" Chireadan said, peering down to inspect Dandelion more closely. "Is it poisoning? I've got something good for poison."
"It's not." Geralt sat down heavily in a chair at the small table in the corner and recounted, as quickly as he could, the events that had taken place in the parking lot, leaving out all but the most necessary details. He did repeat the words of the exorcism, though, when asked, and was more than a little frustrated to see both of them clearly trying not to laugh.
"Extraordinary," Errdil said when he finished, more to himself than to Geralt. "A djinn in a bottle. Like an old fairy tale—"
"Not quite. I've never heard of any fairy tale that ends like this."
"This poor man's injuries," said Chireadan, "are, unfortunately, nothing I can help with. I don't have anything that would even begin to treat these. The best I can do is give him something to soothe the pain when the painkillers he was given at the hospital wear off." He stopped, looked back over at Dandelion. "Wait—I know him. That's Dandelion, the famous singer, is it not?" When Geralt nodded, Chireadan's frown deepened. "That's bad. Very bad. This spell needs to be halted as soon as possible, otherwise the actions might be irreversible, and for him…"
"Does that mean he wouldn't be able to talk?"
"Talk? Yes. Maybe. Not sing."
"What you need," Errdil said somberly, "is a mage. Someone who specializes in this kind of thing, who could easily identify the spell and reverse its effects. I don't suppose you know anyone like that, witcher?"
Geralt leaned forward, put his head in his hands and huffed out a long breath. This was going even more terribly than he had planned. Contacting her had been the last thing he wanted to resort to—but if Dandelion's livelihood, and possibly even life, was on the line, surely she would have to shove aside any resentment she had towards him and help. Right?
"Yeah," he said, his voice muffled by his palms. "Yeah, I do."
III.
Ever since she had arrived at Aedd Gynvael, Yennefer had developed the rather annoying habit of leaving the ringer on her phone turned up at night. It was because of her new Council position, she told Val the first time someone had sent her a message at some ungodly hour in the morning; they liked their members to be available at all times, in the event an emergency meeting had to be called. In the couple of weeks since, every time someone contacted her, it was for nothing of great import, so when her phone started to ring and woke him from his sleep, he'd assumed it would be more of the same.
Next to him, Yennefer groaned and rolled over, burying her face in the pillow. The phone rang a few more times and fell silent, and he had just started to hope that that would be the end of that when it went off again. "Yenna," he said quietly, prodding gently at her side. She slapped his hand away and propped herself up on her elbow, reaching for the phone. He watched her as she looked down at the screen and grimaced.
"I'm absolutely going to regret this," she muttered to herself before she pressed the button to answer. "Geralt, it's four in the morning."
Val pressed his lips together tightly to keep from making some snide remark. He was becoming quite sick of the witcher and his seemingly prominent new place in Yenna's life, especially since he didn't know exactly what that place was. She had tried to play it off, months ago, like it was simply because of Cirilla and there was no more personal relationship between them, but he knew better. He'd seen the way the witcher looked at her—and, though he tried to forget it, how she'd looked at him, back at the banquet. It was no wonder she'd been so nice since she got here, if she was trying to hide something.
He could hear the tone of the witcher's voice, could make out that he was speaking very fast, though he couldn't hear the words. Yennefer propped herself up with the heel of her hand on her forehead. "Dandelion doing something stupid is a daily occurrence," she said. "I don't see why you had to wake me up about it."
When he started to speak again, though, her demeanor shifted. Her brow furrowed, lips parted slightly, and she lifted her head first, then sat up completely, swinging her legs off the bed and pushing her hair back from her face. Another moment later and she was standing, going from the bedroom into the small closet off to the side. The light inside it flicked on, and Val blinked against its sudden harshness.
"There really wasn't anyone else you could call about this?" she asked, followed by a brief pause. "Don't answer that, actually. I already know. Can he survive for five more minutes until I get there?" She emerged fully dressed and pulling on a jacket, heading straight for the door. Val sighed internally and, after a brief debate with himself, followed her up to her personal office, where she was grabbing things and throwing them haphazardly into a bag. "Right. I'll be there."
She hung up, put her phone in the bag with everything else, and turned to him like she'd expected him to be there. He couldn't tell what she was feeling, or what was even happening, but she didn't come any closer, and he knew then it was something he wouldn't like.
"I'm leaving," she said, hoisting the bag over her shoulder. "I don't know when I'll be back."
"Where—Yenna, what's going on?"
She smiled dryly, stepped over so they were only inches apart and she had to tilt her head up to look at him. "If I knew, I'd tell you," she said as she turned and raised her arms, conjuring a portal. "Your guess is as good as mine."
"You—" Before she could step through it, he grabbed her arm, holding tightly enough that it made her look at him, raising an eyebrow in mild impatience. "You get up in the middle of the night to run off to him without even knowing why?"
She scoffed quietly as she pulled his hand off her arm, fingers lacing with his to coax him to let go. "Sometimes it feels like you could make anything sound bad, just by saying it like that," she said. "But I know what he told me, and that's good enough."
He wouldn't be able to stop her, he realized, especially not now, with the portal flickering in the background, bathing their faces in dim orange light. He'd have to watch her go. "When will you be back?" he called after her as she turned, unable to bear seeing her leave without knowing when she'd return. He wasn't even sure if it was give her pause, but she did stop, if only for a moment, and she didn't turn around.
"When everything is settled."
IV.
To her credit, it only took Yennefer a few minutes after she'd ended the call to arrive in Errdil's hotel by way of a portal that opened up rather suddenly in the lobby, startling nearly everyone there except for Dandelion, who was so far lost in his own pain Geralt doubted he would notice if the building collapsed around them. She had a bag over her shoulder that looked deceptively small, though he knew it would have whatever she might need to reverse the spell inside it, and she looked just as tired as he felt, if not more so.
She took one look at Dandelion—the sheen of sweat on his skin, the blood on his clothes and that which was starting to trickle freshly from his mouth as he coughed weakly—and ordered everyone else out of the room, with only the brief motion of her hand indicating to Geralt that she wanted him to stay. Within a moment she had knelt down next to the bed, setting the small bag on the floor beside her as she reached up to pull her hair out of her face.
"Tell me everything that happened," she said without looking up at Geralt. "And I advise you to speak quickly."
So he did, relaying the events as thoroughly as he could (though he omitted the parts about antiquing. He had a feeling that if he tried to tell her about those and waste her time, she would leave and not come back). As he did so, she shrugged her jacket off, discarding it carelessly on the floor, and leaned over to examine Dandelion's wounds more closely, occasionally muttering things to herself that he assumed were diagnostic spells of some kind.
When he reached the part where the jar smashed on the pavement and the creature escaped, she paused her examinations, pulling back so she could look up at him skeptically.
"Really?" The look only lasted for a moment before she was bending back over Dandelion, examining his wounds with newfound interest. "Interesting. A djinn in a bottle."
"Not a djinn," he insisted, though in truth he didn't know what else it could be. He'd read quite a number of bestiaries in his time as a witcher, though, and had never come across a djinn described like that. "Some unknown type of scarlet mist—"
"The unknown type of scarlet mist needs to be called something," Yennefer said. "'Djinn' is just as good as any other name, and it saves time besides. Time you are wasting by arguing this."
He stopped for a second in shock. He should have known—had known, in the back of his mind—that calling her here would result in things like this. Little barbs, comments that would've been innocuous to anyone else in the room. For now, he ignored them. Making sure Dandelion recovered was more important than his wounded pride.
"Well?" she said, clearly annoyed as she sat back, pressing her lips together briefly. She still didn't look at him. "Go on."
"That's all that happened," he said. "I chased away the djinn, as you insist on calling it—"
"How?" She raised one perfectly shaped dark eyebrow. Geralt huffed in annoyance.
"With an exorcism."
"Which one?"
He was starting to see why she'd been so annoyed with him just a moment ago—this felt to him like a supreme waste of time—but he did as she asked, substituting the vowel 'e' with an inhale, according to the safety rule. He thought, somewhat smugly, that he might impress her by knowing the rule, so he was less than pleased to see the grin that spread slowly across her face as he recited the incantation.
She waited, at least, until he was finished to start laughing.
"What?" he asked as she leaned over, resting her forehead on the edge of the bed so all he could see was her hair, spilling around the sides of her face and down the back of her neck. "What's so funny?"
"That—" She could barely even get the word out before she was laughing again, her shoulders shaking. He didn't think he'd ever heard her laugh that much. Under any other circumstances, he would've been glad to elicit such a response from her, but considering the situation, it only made him tenser. "Gods, wait until I tell Triss about this. Where exactly did you hear that, Geralt?"
"From a priestess in Huldra's sanctuary. It's a secret language of the temple—"
"Secret to some." He remembered, suddenly, that he was talking to a woman whom he often heard speaking to Regis in what he was beginning to suspect was a vampiric language with no trouble at all, and began to feel very stupid. "That wasn't an exorcism, as I'm sure you've figured out. And I'd advise you not to repeat it in other temples."
"What was it, then?"
"It doesn't matter," she said, though a smirk still tugged at her lips, lifting them upwards. She pulled her rings off and set them aside, as though she anticipated getting her hands dirty, a thought which made Geralt worry more than anything else she'd done. The rest of her jewelry remained noticeably in place.
"Back to the creature from the bottle, then. I doubt your…exorcism…drove it away. It seems far more likely that it took its anger out on Dandelion and left."
"You're probably right," he said, and he heard a soft, almost satisfied exhale leave her lips. "I don't think it flew to Cidaris to take care of Valdo Marx."
"Who?"
"I'm not quite sure either, but Dandelion described him as 'talentless' and 'pandering to the taste of the masses,' so I can take a guess."
This information appeared to be very interesting to Yennefer, who straightened back up and turned in his general direction. "So what you're telling me is Dandelion managed to express a wish?"
"Two, actually. Both stupid. Why? The idea of djinns granting wishes is nonsense—"
"Clearly." She smiled again, though far less genuinely than she had only a few moments ago. As quickly as surprise had forced her to drop her mask of indifference, it was back up again, more impenetrable than before. "I'm glad you also think so. Stories like that are made up by people who can't even dream of fulfilling their wishes themselves. If I want something, I don't dream of it—I act. And I always get what I want."
"I don't doubt it."
Another dry laugh. She turned away. "Geralt. The seal that was on the bottle. Does Dandelion still have it?"
No, he almost said, then stopped himself. He had the seal, not Dandelion, but he felt strangely reluctant to tell her that. "I think so. Probably. Why? Is it important?"
The tone of her voice didn't change when she answered, but there was a sudden undercurrent of ice running through it, one he'd be hard-pressed to miss. "That's a strange question, coming from someone who's supposed to be an expert in supernatural monstrosities. Someone who should know that a seal like that is important enough not to touch. And not to let their friend touch."
The blow was well-placed, and it hit exactly where she'd intended. He ground his teeth together and didn't respond. After a moment, Yennefer sighed. "Oh, well. No one's infallible. As for Dandelion" –she gestured in his direction with fingers that somehow looked even thinner unadorned— "I think I can help him. Though it might be…difficult."
"Do whatever you need to do," he said, suddenly worried that anything he told her wouldn't be enough to express how he felt—that, though coming to her for help was the last thing he wanted to do, he'd be in her debt if she managed to save him. He had a feeling she already knew.
"Oh, don't worry," she said lightly. "I will."
V.
"It's been an hour since she went in there," said Chireadan, looking first at the clock on the wall, then towards the stairs leading up to the second floor. "I'm starting to get worried. I saw the wounds, but—were they really that bad? Should we go check on them?"
"Don't think she wants us to," Geralt said, though he was starting to worry himself, and the feeling only increased as time wore on. But he trusted Yennefer, or at least trusted her to help Dandelion regardless of her personal feelings about either of them. That would have to be enough to keep him calm. "And I'm certainly not going to. It can take all day and all night, for all I care. As long as Dandelion gets better."
"Yes, I suppose you're right."
For a few minutes, there was silence, save for the quiet ticking of the wall clock. Errdil had stayed with the two of them for a while, but as the sun slowly but surely began to rise, he too had left—to check on the progress with various parts of the renovation, Chireadan exclaimed. Geralt didn't see why he would have so many things to check on outside the hotel itself, but then again, he was no expert on these things. He apparently wasn't even an expert on monsters, as Yennefer had so harshly reminded him. Try as he might to forget it, the barb still stung.
"Truth be told, I didn't think you'd find it so easy to get help, let alone help of a magical nature," Chireadan finally said. "I'll admit I don't know Yennefer personally—or any other mages, really—but from what I've been able to make out, they're not the most spontaneous people when it comes to offering their aid, especially when it takes as much of their time and energy as this is. Not unless there's something in it for them."
"Exaggerating a bit?" Geralt smiled, secretly smug to hear that someone else thought that of Yennefer. It pleased him that, even before they'd met in person, he'd seen sides of her that she rarely, if ever, showed to others. "I've never gotten that impression from her. Besides, compared to some other mages, she's walking charm and kindliness personified."
"That's probably exactly what she wants you to think," Chireadan muttered, but he let the topic go, and for once the silence was welcoming instead of deafening. He sounded like Eskel, Geralt realized with no small amount of irritation—though not word-for-word, the sentiment was so similar to what Eskel had said when Geralt dropped him off at the airport that it was hard not to let his annoyance show. He didn't seem to be doing a very good job at it, though, because from that moment on Chireadan refused to make eye contact with him, and only looked up when they both heard footsteps above them, and Yennefer appeared at the top of the stairs.
"Geralt," she said, motioning him up the stairs with a wave of her hand and only barely sparing a glance for Chireadan. He followed her apprehensively down the second-floor hallway until they stopped outside the door to the room Dandelion was in.
"How is he?" Geralt asked, unable to keep quiet any longer as Yennefer leaned back against the door frame. It was easy to tell how much whatever she'd had to do had drained her; try as she might to conceal it, he noticed how, when she crossed her arms and looked up at him, her fingers dug tightly into her skin.
"You doubt my capabilities?" she asked, then smiled a little at the startled expression he was sure was on his face as he tried to find an answer. She spared him from having to come up with one. "He'll be fine. His voice will recover in full."
"Can I see him?"
For a moment, she didn't say anything, then she pushed herself off the door frame and stepped out of the way in one fluid movement, gesturing towards the door. "Go ahead."
Geralt's medallion began to pulse as soon as he opened the door. At first, he assumed it was just the residual magic, leftover energies, but as he got a better look around the room, he could tell that wasn't the case. A large glass sphere lay in the center of the room, and in the center of a meticulously outlined nine-pointed star which spanned the entire room and within which was inscribed a small pentagram. There were black candles on the tips of the pentagram, as well as at the foot of the bed where Dandelion was sleeping, looking far better than he had when Geralt left.
His first thought, ridiculously, was to wonder how she'd managed to fit all of that into such a small bag.
"Yennefer," he said, looking down at the lines on the floor and wishing he'd just taken her word for it that Dandelion was fine. "What is this?"
"A trap."
"A trap for what?"
"Right now? For you."
Yennefer shut the door and murmured something, probably sealing it shut. "And so I'm trapped," he said as she perched on the foot of the bed. He was nearly certain that he could get out, could even physically overpower her if she tried to stop him, but he also didn't doubt that she'd already thought of that and taken precautions against it, and besides…he thought of the things Vilgefortz had said to him on Thanedd and felt sick. "If you wanted to get me alone, all you had to do was ask."
"A tempting proposition," she said, smiling enigmatically, tilting her head so her hair fell to the side and he could see clearly the line of her neck and shoulders, interrupted only by the thin black strap of her top. "In other circumstances, one I might even take you up on. But no, that's not why you're here."
"Then why am I?"
"I told you," Yennefer said, "that I always get what I want. It just so happens that I want something Dandelion has. I'll get it from him, and we can all part ways. We'll see each other in a couple of weeks and it'll be as if this never happened."
He wondered, briefly, if she was actually talking about their current situation, or about other things, slightly less recent things. "But these" –he gestured to the markings on the floor— "are used to summon demons. Someone always gets hurt when demons are involved. I can't let you do that."
"I can promise you that Dandelion will be fine," she interrupted, as if he'd never spoken. "But that's beside the point. The seal, Geralt. I know you have it. Give it to me, please."
"Not until you tell me what you need it for." There was no use, he thought, in denying he had it—Yennefer was smarter than that. But he hoped, perhaps foolishly, that he could at least understand her motivations before he relinquished it.
"I would. Unfortunately, it's none of your damned business." She crossed one of her legs over the other so she could rest her elbows on her thigh, and stared him down so intensely he thought for a moment he might actually freeze under her gaze. He wondered what, exactly, had caused this shift in her demeanor. He'd gotten a glimpse of it at Thanedd, but surely that one incident hadn't changed what she thought about him so drastically that it warranted this. No, there was something else at play here, some other goal, even if he wasn't quite sure what it was.
But there was no point in arguing with her, he reasoned, especially considering what she apparently intended to do, so he reached into his jacket and pulled the seal out of the pocket. "Take it then," he said, tossing it at her. She caught it easily between her thin fingers. "Now, as you said, I'll just get Dandelion and we'll be on our way."
"I can't let you do that. I need Dandelion, so he's staying here."
"No. Absolutely not." Geralt thought he'd had an idea of what she intended to do with the seal, but now he knew for certain, and he liked the situation less and less. "He's already been too close to the djinn—because you're going to draw it here, aren't you? Do you intend to harness its power, force it to serve you? You don't have to say anything. I know it's none of my damned business. Do what you want, Yennefer. Draw ten demons, if you like. But do it without—"
He broke off. Yennefer smiled.
"I did wonder how long it would take to affect you," she said.
Geralt tried to answer, tried to unclench his jaw, to hold up a hand, anything—but he was completely frozen. All he could do was watch as she stood.
"I've seen how you fight," she said. "I know you can deflect a spell thrown straight at you. I also know that you'll try and talk your way around me before you do anything else. And you talked while the spell was hanging over you, working into you. Now it's all you can do. But you don't need to anymore. Besides, it'll spoil the effect."
She stepped closer to him, stopping when they were only inches apart. She held the seal in one hand; the other rested lightly on his shoulder. "I know what you're thinking," she said, and he had no doubt she did. "After all that's happened, it makes sense that you would be the one this happens to. But truly, Geralt, there's nothing personal to it."
Another step closer. Immobilized as he was, he could barely look her in the eye, not while being unable to tilt his head. She skimmed her fingers across his collarbone, over his medallion, which was still pulsing sharply against his chest. "You were simply in the right place at the wrong time."
The chain of his medallion felt like it was tightening suddenly, strangling him. Everything was too bright, too hot, and a terrible humming filled his ears so that he couldn't make out what she said to him last.
And then there was darkness.
VI.
Someone was calling his name. Geralt could hear it, though very faintly, as if coming from the end of a long tunnel. He was laying on what felt like a table, or the floor, and his head hurt so badly it took monumental effort just to pry his eyes open. When he did, he immediately squinted again, throwing up a hand to block out the harsh artificial lights on the wood-paneled ceiling above him. It was bright. He didn't remember it being this bright at the inn.
"Finally," someone said, and Geralt felt hands at his shoulders, pulling him forward into a sitting position. He pushed himself up until his back hit—it took him a moment to place it—the partition between booths. So they were in a restaurant of some kind. A bar, perhaps. Geralt wouldn't have spared it a second thought, if he could actually remember how he'd gotten there. "I was starting to worry. You've been out for a while."
"Chireadan? Where—fuck, my head—where are we? What's going on?"
"At a bar. We're about a block from the inn."
Holding his hand over his face, Geralt opened his eyes again, slowly this time, giving himself a moment to adjust. As far as he could tell, Chireadan was right; it looked just like any other bar he'd been in, with a paneled ceiling and large windows beside the booths. Wooden blinds were drawn over the windows, but the light was still bright enough to hurt, though he noticed it wasn't quite as bright as it should've been—it was about to rain. He lowered his hand from his eyes, only to move it immediately to a spot on the back of his head. His whole body ached. He could barely remember how he'd gotten there; the last thing he could recall with any clarity was Yennefer's hand on his neck.
"Why—what's going on with Dandelion? How long has it been since—?"
"Only an hour or so," Chireadan said. Geralt couldn't decide whether that was good or bad. He couldn't hear anything out of the ordinary going on outside, so he was inclined to say good, though it wasn't as though he was in the best position to tell in the first place. "Do you really not remember anything?" Geralt shook his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the other patrons of the bar. Most of them seemed to be doing the same thing to him, though they turned away when they realized he was watching. He wondered what kind of scene he'd caused, to have elicited that kind of reaction, or if it was simply because he was a witcher, not the kind of person most wanted to be caught staring at.
"Well, I'm not sure exactly what happened myself." Chireadan was staring at him suspiciously, and Geralt couldn't blame him, not when he was sitting there with no clue as to what he'd done. "But you went upstairs with Yennefer, and when you came back down, something wasn't right. It seemed as though you weren't quite all there. I tried to ask you how things were upstairs, but you just ignored me and left. Naturally, I followed you, but you didn't do anything interesting. Just wandered the streets for a while and then came in here and collapsed." He frowned at the confused look on Geralt's face. "You haven't been out for that long."
Yennefer. Much as he didn't want to, he had no choice but to assume it was her, though, all things considered, he supposed he should've been grateful she didn't choose to make him do anything worse than walk around town. She could have, and it would've been easy, since she'd trapped him first. Certainly, she had the power to. But she hadn't. The whole situation was impossibly confusing, and it made his headache worse just thinking about it. "You don't know how Dandelion is, then?"
"I know, I probably should've gone to check on him when you left." As Chireadan spoke, Geralt took careful inventory of his body: nothing hurt, particularly, but something definitely felt wrong. More than likely, it was just the lingering effects of whatever magic Yennefer had used on him, but he didn't want to miss any potential signs of something more serious. He couldn't bring himself to believe, though, that she'd done anything worse. After all that had happened between them…
"But I didn't want to risk losing sight of you," Chireadan said, jolting Geralt back to the present. His lower back was starting to throb from sitting on the wooden floor, and so he stood slowly, wincing the whole time. "I mean—it wasn't as if Dandelion was going anywhere, and you were."
"I wasn't trying to accuse you of anything." He still had his phone, and his car keys, he noted, checking his pockets; he'd left his wallet locked in the glove box, so that was one less thing to worry about. "At least one of us has some common sense."
"Don't blame yourself," Chireadan said, smiling wryly. "I can see how it would be easy to be…swayed by her. Besides, she clearly had you under some sort of spell, and I was worried that once it wore off you would go back and…"
He didn't finish the thought, and Geralt didn't want him to. He knew that, no matter how angry with her he was, he'd never do anything that would seriously hurt her, but not everyone did—he wasn't even sure how many people were aware that they were anything more than colleagues. "I wouldn't have. But I appreciate it."
Geralt could practically hear the tension rising in the bar. He wondered how many of its patrons had been listening in on his conversation with Chireadan, curious about what an elf and a witcher could be talking about so intently. If they had, they'd certainly gotten an earful. He hoped none of this would circle back to Yennefer, or that she wouldn't care if it did. When he glanced around again, doing his best to appear nonchalant, people were watching, far more obviously than they had been only a moment ago. A few were openly glaring at them. "Did I…did anything happen when I came in here?" he asked. "Besides me passing out."
"No," Chireadan replied. He seemed to understand what Geralt was asking, and he too looked around the room before lowering his voice even further. "I don't know what it is that's got everyone looking at us like that. Well, Rinde's not the most tolerant of places on the best days—that's probably it. I'd keep an eye out, though. Just in case."
Geralt nodded and sat down in the booth behind him, trying to surreptitiously rub the spot on his back that had begun to ache while he was standing. There was no use trying to find another way around it: he'd have to go back. Maybe he'd get lucky and she wouldn't immediately kick him out again, now that she'd gotten what she wanted. Maybe she'd just let him take Dandelion and leave. Even though she'd seemed ready to earlier, he didn't truly believe she wanted to have to fight, to do anything further than spell him and let him wander for a while. If she had, she would've already done it. No, best to just go in—he'd left his swords on the floor in the back of his truck's cab, hidden under a blanket, and he'd leave them there unless he absolutely had to take them out—and try to reason with her. Never mind that it clearly hadn't worked before.
"Hey!" someone shouted from across the room. Geralt couldn't tell whether or not it was directed at him, but he turned anyway, and was met with the angry eyes of a man sitting at the bar, nursing a glass in front of him. He couldn't tell what was in it. He didn't want to know.
"There are no monsters here, mutant!" Chireadan cringed at the words, but Geralt didn't react. He'd heard it all before, and besides, the man was clearly drunk. "So you can fuck off!"
"And you can burst, you son of a whore," Geralt muttered, turning away and rubbing his temples. That would've been the end of it—it should've been—but he heard a stool being pushed back and the sound of the man standing, probably intending to try and antagonize him further. But he never made it to the table where they sat. As Geralt looked up in confusion, the man suddenly turned red, doubled over, grabbed his stomach, screaming in pain…
And burst.
VII.
"And what are we supposed to do about this?" Chireadan asked.
He and Geralt sat in one of the booths along the back wall with glasses of iced water, staring at the spot where, until a few moments ago, there had been a man. The bartender had given them the water when they asked, and then fled to the back room, presumably to call the police. Geralt's glass was already nearing empty. He barely had enough space in his mind to wonder if any of the other patrons actually thought he'd done something. Witcher magic wasn't quite that powerful, but he couldn't expect every member of the general public to be aware of that, especially in a place like Rinde. If the man who was now a splatter on the floor was in any way representative of the views of the whole city…well, he couldn't expect anyone here to be helpful.
"That does seem to be the question," Geralt replied despondently, looking down at where his glass had started to leave a ring of condensation on the table. Whatever had just happened, there was no going back for it, and he knew without having to ask Chireadan that his suspicions were likely correct; the two of them would be blamed for this, if for no other reason than being in the wrong place at the wrong time. "I don't suppose we'd be lucky enough to just have Dandelion delivered to us so we can get out of here?"
Chireadan laughed, though there was no humor to it. "I'm not the one who's friends with the sorceress. You tell me."
Friends. Was that even what they were anymore? He'd asked himself that question over and over and still wasn't any closer to an answer than the first time. "I don't think she means him any harm," he said, and hoped that it was still true. "But if she needs him to get what she wants…"
He let himself trail off. No, she would ensure Dandelion wasn't harmed. The alternatives were too terrible in their implications for him to think about. "Maybe I should go back over there."
"Don't," Chireadan said before he'd even finished speaking. "She already spelled you away once. You'd only be putting him in more danger by going back now."
He was right, and Geralt grimaced at the thought of not being able to do anything, but he remained in his seat nonetheless. Lightning flashed outside, followed by a clap of thunder so loud that he nearly raised his hands to his over-sensitive ears. He drank the rest of the water and sat, watching the ice at the bottom of the glass slowly melt.
"What's bothering you?" Chireadan finally asked. "Besides the obvious, I mean." When Geralt raised an eyebrow at him, he defended himself with "You've clearly got something on your mind."
He didn't respond right away—even if he did want to talk about it, how was he supposed to explain to someone who hadn't been there all the events of the past few months, not to mention the background he would need to comprehend them? On the other hand…he didn't know any of these people. Geralt had nothing to lose by telling him, though he thought it for the best that he keep most of the details to himself.
"I haven't known her for that long," he said finally. "Yennefer, I mean. But we have a lot of the same friends, and they've known her for years, so I thought I had an idea of how she acted. And this isn't it." He shook his head. "I've never seen her like this before."
Chireadan frowned, and Geralt was secretly glad to see that, even in the midst of everything going on, even though they'd only known each other a few hours, he seemed to be taking his word seriously. "Well. I don't know much about these sorts of things; Errdil and I had made a point of staying out of them before this. But the opportunity to capture a djinn…from what I understand, that's a massive amount of power. And power changes people."
"I don't think that's why she wants it. She's never seemed interested in power." Quite the opposite, actually—he'd seen how she recoiled at even the thought of being voted onto the Council, never mind what had happened when she actually got the position. True, that power was more symbolic, but she'd never given him any reason to think she wanted actual physical power either. From what he'd gathered by talking to others, what he'd witnessed firsthand in the Kestrel Mountains, she already had enough of that.
"Is there something else, then? Something she wants? Maybe she's not after its power, but the wishes."
He was about to disregard that, too—what could she possibly have to wish for?—when the memory was pulled to the forefront of his mind of a hospital in Novigrad, of how drawn her face had become on the drive home. Once again, Chireadan was right. She had something to lose, though he doubted he'd ever know what it was.
"That's the question, isn't it?" he said, suddenly feeling exhausted. It had been nearly a day since he slept, and though he knew he could push on for a while yet, his body was starting to feel it. "I don't really think—"
But he never got to tell Chireadan what he didn't really think, because a swirl of luminous light appeared in the middle of the pub, and a moment later Dandelion fell out of it, landing in a heap on the floor.
Geralt jumped out of the booth as Dandelion struggled to his feet, whipping his head around in an effort to determine where he was. He didn't look any worse for wear—quite the opposite, actually; it seemed that whatever Yennefer had done to reverse the effects of the djinn's magic had worked, because when he opened his mouth to yell in shock, his voice was as loud as ever. The scream was abruptly cut off when he saw Geralt, the shock in his eyes replaced with relief.
"There you are!" he said. "I woke up in that—well, I don't know where we are—and Yennefer was there, but not you, which I thought was very odd. But she told me to make my third wish, so I did, and then she sent me through a portal, and now I'm here."
"What was the wish?" Geralt asked curiously, but Dandelion, strangely enough, turned red and ignored the question.
"Geralt, did you call her after whatever happened in that parking lot? I thought you weren't speaking."
"We weren't." He sighed to himself; he hadn't been looking forward to explaining the situation. "But I wasn't going to just let you die, either, and from what little I was able to glean from anyone, I think she might've had to regenerate some of the tissue in your vocal chords."
Dandelion's hands flew to his throat and felt around, only lowering when he was apparently satisfied that nothing was amiss. "Well, whatever she did, it worked. I daresay I've never felt better in my life!"
Geralt was certain he was about to be subjected to ten minutes of Dandelion recounting all the previous woes of his voice when they were interrupted by another clap of thunder, this one so loud and close that it shook the panes of glass set in the tavern's walls. He was willing to ignore it, aside from being mildly annoyed by it, but Chireadan, who'd stood and crossed over to the windows, said "I think you two might want to see this" and pulled the wooden blinds away as they joined him to look outside.
"Gods, what is that?" someone else yelled from another window further down—they weren't the only ones who'd rushed to look outside. The difference, though, was that Geralt, with a steadily mounting feeling of dread in his stomach, knew exactly what it was.
The djinn was circling the roof of Errdil's tavern, the roof of which it was attached to by several threads of brightly-colored lights tethering it in place. He recognized them as Yennefer's easily enough (he doubted there was anyone else in Rinde who even knew how to do such a thing, anyway; considering the way they'd welcomed a witcher, they probably weren't overly fond of mages either). It was clearly trying to break free, but the binds were too strong for it—but that didn't stop it from flying around in as wide a radius as it could, crashing into chimneys and the sides of buildings.
"It's destroying the city!" Dandelion yelped, loudly enough that Geralt was certain he'd been completely healed—he could thank Yennefer for that, at least, even though he doubted anyone else in the city would. "How much longer will she be able to keep it there, do you think?"
"Probably not much longer," Chireadan said worriedly, and Geralt suddenly remembered the night he'd gone to find her in her lab in Oxenfurt, and how even though she'd done a good job of putting on a straight face, he could see how exhausted she was. And that was when she hadn'tjust spent hours on what was likely a very difficult tissue regeneration. He didn't doubt her abilities—how many times had he heard others comment on the amount of power she was able to command?—but she still had her limits, and he had a gut feeling she was going to reach them soon.
"I have to go over there," he said before he'd even consciously decided to, reaching back to make sure the hilts of his blades were within reach, and momentarily panicking when he couldn't find them. Of course, now of all times, he'd left them in the backseat of the truck. He'd have to stop and grab them, and pray the delay didn't cost him too much time.
"Why?" Dandelion asked incredulously, but Chireadan was looking at him and nodding, and Geralt had the sudden, uncomfortable sense that the elf knew exactly why he was going over there, that he understood it was about more than a sense of responsibility for involving her in this mess in the first place. As Dandelion opened his mouth to protest again, Chireadan put a hand on his shoulder and silenced him. He didn't take his eyes off Geralt's when he spoke.
"You'd best not waste any more time, then."
VIII.
Luckily for Geralt, he'd parked the truck on the side of the inn that was nearest to the tavern, so it only took him a moment to grab the swords out of the backseat and fasten them around his back. The closer he got to the tavern, the more he had the sense that the ground was shaking, and at first he'd thought it was his own nervousness, a voice in his head whispering what might happen if he didn't get there quickly enough—but when he grabbed the handle of the large front door and pulled it open, he realized the ground was, in fact, quite literally shaking. Once he'd adjusted to that, he could also hear that the building was creaking around him, and it only added to the sense of urgency that he felt as he quickly crossed the small lobby and into the larger communal dining area.
It didn't take long for him to spot Yennefer, kneeling on the floor between two of the tables and bending over the bright sphere he remembered her bringing into the room where Dandelion had been. It was shining red, and around it she'd traced a new pentagram, though if he looked up at the ceiling he could see threads of light that he thought were coming from the original one as well, both sets of tendrils disappearing through the roof and holding the djinn in place.
When she saw him, her eyes widened marginally, and she jumped up, raising a hand in his direction.
"Don't!" he shouted over the racket the djinn was making above them. "I'm trying to help you!"
She laughed, and her hand stayed where it was, ready to cast him out again at a moment's notice. "Help me? Even after what I did to you?"
"Even after that."
She regarded him in silence for a moment, the thrashing of the djinn momentarily forgotten. "Interesting," she finally said. "But not important. If I wanted your help, I would have asked for it. Now I suggest you leave."
"No."
"Fine. Let me rephrase. Get out of here." He could hear how this brief conversation was already straining her, her voice gone slightly hoarse, and he knew he hadn't much time to convince her that this was a good idea for all of them. She didn't give him a chance to speak. "Don't you understand this whole thing's getting out of control? I can't master him. I don't know why, but the damned bastard isn't weakening one bit! I caught him after he'd fulfilled Dandelion's third wish, and I should have him by now. But he isn't getting any weaker—quite the opposite, actually! But I'll get him yet. I'll break—"
"You're not going to break him, Yennefer. He'll kill you." As he said the words, spoke them into existence, a sudden fear pierced through him that the djinn would do just that, and he felt cold all over.
Yennefer just scoffed. "Trust me, I'm not so easy to kill. If I was, I'd be dead by now—"
He never got to find out the end of that sentence, as at that moment a blinding light flared through the ceiling above them in the shape of a fiery rectangle. Yennefer swore loudly and finally directed her hand away from Geralt, lifting them both towards the ceiling instead.
"For the last time, Geralt, you need to run, and you need to do it now!"
"What's going on now?"
"He's figured out where I am—" She broke off, drew in a gasping breath. "He's trying to get in through his own portal. He can't break loose, but he'll still end up in here, and I—I can't stop him!"
As she was finishing the statement, the djinn's portal suddenly widened and it started to push through. Geralt recognized it instantly; the gaping, snapping mouth had already become all too familiar to him. Yennefer outstretched her arms and shouted an incantation, and a net of light shot from her palms and onto the djinn. It roared in anger, and suddenly from the hulking great mass of it appeared huge paws, which were aiming straight for her throat. She didn't back away.
Without much care for whether or not she wanted him to, Geralt threw himself towards her, pushing her behind him with one arm and forming Aard with the hand of the other as the djinn sprung free from the portal. The Sign didn't seem to have any effect on it—it simply hung there, just below the ceiling, staring at Geralt with pale eyes. It roared at him. The sound seemed to be something of a command, but he couldn't understand what it was. Behind him, Yennefer groaned through gritted teeth in frustration.
"Yennefer—"
"Quiet! Listen, you've got to get out of here. I can open a portal for you, but it'll be a random one; I don't have the energy for any other kind. Unless, of course, you'd rather try your luck on foot. It got you in here just fine."
She waved a hand off to the side and indeed, a portal opened—one of the most unstable-looking ones he'd ever seen, dim and flickering at the edges. The sight of it, more than anything, made him worry about just how much power she was using to keep the djinn in place; not even the bonds seemed to be working anymore, as it slowly but surely drew closer to them, and to Yennefer in particular.
"Through there! You've got to run!"
"Only with you!"
She made another frustrated noise, but neither of them had any more time to waste arguing with each other. He turned around as quickly as he could—far quicker than she'd be able to register—and caught her in his arms, pinning her own to her sides as he tried to drag her towards the portal she'd opened. He hadn't been counting on her to resist so fiercely, though; within moments she was struggling to much that he could barely keep his grip on her, even though he was considerably stronger than she was. A particularly hard blow to his shin from one of the heels on her boots made his grasp loosen enough that she was able to break free from it, but he retaliated by grabbing her wrists instead. The whole thing felt off to him—it was the last thing he'd wanted to do, and some foolish part of him had been hoping she'd come willingly—but that didn't matter. Only getting her out of there did.
"You idiot, let me go!" she yelled as she tried to pull her arms away, but her wrists were so thin it was much easier to maintain a hold on them than it had been to try and keep her arms at her sides. "Those bonds are going to break any minute! I need to strengthen them or the djinn will break free!"
He wanted to reply, but he stopped himself, instead focusing on trying to get her to stay still so he could get her to the portal—or, at the very least, to the truck, which would make for a fairly easy escape if the light binding the djinn held. But he hadn't thought to immobilize her hands, and it only took a few shouted words from her to send him hurling across the room with a force greater than he'd anticipated. He slammed into one of the tables, which immediately broke under his sudden weight.
Despite the fact that he'd been thrown off-guard, he was easily able to dodge the next shaft of orange light that blasted from her fingers towards him. The light was weak, and its movement slow, another sure sign of how rapidly she was draining her power.
"Yennefer, will you listen?" he shouted, unable to stop some of the anger from seeping into his voice. "You're not going to be able to—"
But she didn't even let him finish. Quicker than he'd thought she was still capable of, thin red bolts of lightning shot towards him, wrapping him around him tightly. He heard a hissing sound, and when he looked down his clothes had begun to smolder.
"I won't be able to?" Her anger was rolling off her in waves, but she barely even spared a glance for him, focusing her eyes on the djinn instead. "You'll know soon enough what I'm capable of. And if you're not going to leave, the least you can do is lie there and not get in my way."
"Get this off of me!" He struggled against the blazing web the same way she had against his grip only moments before, but that only made it worse. "It's burning!"
"Then don't move." The breathlessness in her voice was becoming more evident by the second. "It only hurts you when you move. Now I can't spare any more time for this, Geralt. Enough's enough. I have to take care of this djinn before he gets away—"
"Gets away?" His own throat was starting to become hoarse from having to yell to be heard over the racket the djinn was making, but he kept going anyway. "You're the one who should be getting away! That djinn—Yennefer, I need you to listen to me. I have to tell you the truth."
IX.
"Godsamnit, what's going on over there?" Dandelion stood on his toes and tilted his body to the side in an effort to get a better view of the inn. At first, he and Chireadan had been the only ones standing at that particular window, but as both the djinn and the storm grew more violent and people who had been walking the streets began to take refuge, the tavern became overcrowded, and eventually they'd been forced back from the window as other, more curious people took their places.
"I don't know," Chireadan said. Even though they'd both been shoved away from the window, at least they hadn't been separated from each other. With Geralt and Yennefer both in there, Dandelion was relieved to have a face that was still somewhat familiar. "But that djinn's furious, and for good reason. I'd be furious, too, if I had to fulfill, to the letter, the first wish accidentally expressed by Geralt—"
"What's that? Wish? Geralt?"
"Yes. He held the seal that imprisoned the djinn, so it's fulfilling his wishes. That's why Yennefer can't master it. I figured it out after he accidentally made his…second wish." Chireadan glanced briefly behind them, at where the remains of the man who'd been unfortunate enough to be the target of said wish still hadn't been touched. "He's still got one left. The last one. But for the love of the gods, he shouldn't tell Yennefer that!"
X.
When Geralt finally finished telling her, she remained silent for a moment, leaning over him, motionless except for her hair, which had come loose and fell to frame her face. The building was still shaking around them, but for the moment, neither paid it any mind.
"So that's how it is," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "Not Dandelion, but you. That's why he's fighting so hard. But you've underestimated me again, Geralt. I still have the djinn, and you still have one wish. So make it. You'll free the djinn, I'll bottle it, and we'll both be on our way."
"What do you want with this djinn so badly?"
She scoffed, an incredulous expression on her face. "That's what you're concerned with right now? I've told you once and I'll tell you again—it's none of your damned business. The wish, Geralt, if you please."
"No. You don't have enough strength left, Yennefer. It might spare me, but it'll kill you. You're barely able to stand right now. You'll die."
"And that's my risk to take, not yours!" she shouted. "It shouldn't matter to you what happens to me!" She straightened back up and pushed her hair away from her face. Her hand trembled as she did so, and not for the first time he was struck with the very real possibility that she would die, if he couldn't think of a way to get them both out of this. "The wish, Geralt! This shouldn't be so hard—you can have whatever you want! You only have to ask!"
She turned away, and though he could still barely move without getting burned, he could see enough to catch a glimpse of her profile, of the determined set of her jaw. She had gone to Novigrad with him wearing that same expression, the one that said she would get what she'd come there for, cost be damned—even if the cost was her life. She wouldn't give herself willingly to death, but if it managed to take her…
The ceiling cracked open above them, and the djinn fell through, still tangled in rays of incredibly feeble light. It came right for them—for Yennefer—roaring triumphantly. She leapt forward to meet it. The light emitting from her hands was even more dim than the threads still tangled on the djinn, and if he waited a few more moments, he had the feeling it would flicker out and die completely.
But Yennefer didn't care. She knew what she wanted.
Suddenly, so did he.
XI.
The inn exploded. The beams, the bricks, the siding—it all flew up in a cloud of smoke and dust. The djinn emerged from the wreckage, nearly as big as the inn itself, and tore away as quickly as it could move. Within seconds, it had vanished into the horizon.
A cheer went up among the tavern's patrons, but Dandelion's heart was ice-cold. As far as he knew, Geralt and Yennefer were still in there, and probably injured now, too—if they were even still alive. He didn't see how anyone could survive that. And so he did what he usually did when he couldn't figure out anything else to do: he called Regis.
He picked up on the first ring, and had barely even gotten out a greeting when Dandelion rushed to explain the whole situation to him, in as much detail as he could cram into a minute. After a moment of stunned silence, Regis assured him he would be there as quickly as he could (which was quite quickly; Dandelion wouldn't have been surprised to see him arrive in the next ten minutes) and hung up. As he slipped his phone back into his pocket, he looked out at the wreckage and sighed.
"I just don't understand it," he said, turning to look at Chireadan. "Why he would go after her, I mean, after everything she just did. You don't understand it either, do you?"
"Actually, yes." The elf was looking out at the shattered inn with a surprisingly thoughtful expression. "I think I do."
XII.
Geralt looked around. The inn was in ruins around him; dust clouded the air and water slowly dripped from a hole in the destroyed ceiling. Oddly enough, though, the space surrounding him and Yennefer was completely bare, entirely void of debris. It was as if they were being protected by an invisible shield.
Yennefer was kneeling beside him, gripping her thighs tightly. Her face was slightly flushed, and she'd taken off her jacket and discarded it somewhere. He noticed with no small amount of worry that there appeared to be dried blood on her arms, and he had no idea where it had come from. If she'd been bleeding earlier, he surely would've known…
"Geralt." She paused, cleared her throat. "Are you dead?"
"No."
He reached a hand up to wipe some of the dust from his face and winced. Slowly, as if trying not to scare him, Yennefer stretched her hand out, traced a finger over his palm. "I burnt you—"
"It's nothing. I'll be fine."
"I'm sorry."
She leaned back. He could tell she was breathing heavily—he wondered how much danger she was still in, if using that much power without resting afterwards would be enough to hurt her. "What about the djinn?"
"The djinn—" She broke off abruptly, brought her elbow up to her face and coughed violently. When she lowered her arm, he could see what looked like fresh blood on her skin. So that was where it had come from. "The djinn escaped. It's gone. For good."
"Well. That's good." At a loss for anything else to say, he pushed himself up to a sitting position, but he was stopped before he could fully stand by Yennefer's hand on his shoulder.
"Wait." Her voice was even lower, even quieter than it had been before, and more than a bit uncertain. "I heard what you wished for. I was—truly, I'd have expected anything other than for you to…" She bit her lip, not quite meeting his gaze. "Why? Why me?"
"Don't you know?"
A quiet, derisive sigh. "Right. Of course. Because Ciri." She sounded—not bitter, exactly, but there was something in her tone that belied unhappiness. She released her grip on his shoulder, but he grabbed her hand before she could move too far away."
"Because of you."
At first, she didn't move, didn't give any outward indication that she'd even heard him at all. But some last hesitation in her gave way—he could feel it in the way she suddenly gripped his hand tighter as she leaned forward and kissed him, the same way she had after they'd returned from Novigrad, deep and full of barely-restrained hunger, and she tasted like blood but he didn't care. And he knew, much as he'd been trying not to think it, that he'd never want anything else, anyone else but her, and the fit of her mouth against his, and the warmth of her when she slid one of her legs over his to press against him, her fingers slipping into his hair. She didn't protest when his own fingers slipped under her shirt and they had to break the kiss so he could peel it off her; her lips found his jaw instead, and kissed a line up to his ear.
"Your wish," she whispered, and he could feel her breath ghosting over his skin, and his grip on her hips tightened. "I don't know if it's possible. I don't know if there's a force in nature that could fulfill such a wish. But if there is—then you've condemned yourself. Condemned yourself to me."
He slid one of his hands along the side of her face to bring her lips back to his, interrupting her first with a kiss, then a touch, and then with his whole being, with everything he could give her. And they were quiet, except for soft sighs, and neither of them minded, because there were other ways to speak. It was as if the whole world had ceased to exist for a brief moment, but to them, it seemed like a whole eternity.
And then the world started to exist again, but it existed very differently.
"Geralt?"
"Hmm?" He didn't raise his head to look down at where she'd laid her own, on his shoulder. It was the first thing either of them had said—up until then, he'd been content to run his fingertips up and down her spine and listen to the quiet hitches in her breath.
"What now?"
"I don't know."
He felt her exhale against his chest before she lifted her head to look at him. "I don't either. Because I…I don't know if it was worth it. Condemning yourself to me. I don't—wait, what are you doing? I was—oh—I was trying to tell you—"
"Yennefer…Yen…"
She made a noise he couldn't quite identify, and when he looked up at her, she was almost smiling, though her eyes wouldn't quite meet his. "Yen," she repeated softly to herself. "You called me that at the hospital in Novigrad, didn't you? And I thought I was dreaming." Her fingers traced softly over his chest, and he caught them in his own, and this time she didn't try to pull away. "No one's ever called me that before. Say it again."
"Yen."
"Geralt."
XIII.
It took Regis longer than he'd hoped it would to reach Rinde from Oxenfurt, considering it was the middle of the day and, even though it was raining, a cloud of fog moving as fast as he'd originally wanted to would have been sure to draw attention. By the time he got there, rematerialized behind a building, and headed out to meet Dandelion on the street outside the tavern, the inn was already in ruins. It didn't take much guessing to figure out where it had been; the smoke still drifting lazily to the sky, even in the slight drizzle, was enough to lead him there.
He had realized halfway to the city that something was wrong. Before he'd even got the call from Dandelion, he'd been able to tell that Yennefer was feeling…unstable. That she was drawing too much power, that she was angry, and the two together were never a good combination. But as he'd been misting across the countryside as fast as he was able, following the curves of the road at a distance, the things he was picking up from her suddenly…stopped. It had deeply unsettled him for a moment, but he somehow knew it wasn't the kind of silence that would indicate her death. No, she was purposely blocking him out. Something was happening that she didn't want him to know about.
"They're dead, I'm telling you," Dandelion was saying as they cautiously approached the wreckage. "Either they've killed each other or the djinn's finished them off. Just a moment ago bricks and beams were flying all over the place, and now it's as quiet as the gra—"
Regis held a hand up to silence him before Dandelion could even finish the sentence—because, though he had no way of knowing that, it wasn't silent. Just quiet enough that only he would be able to pick it up. And for good reason, too, it seemed. No wonder Yennefer hadn't wanted him to know what she was feeling.
"They're alive," he said, and Dandelion's face was filled with obvious relief. He made to walk closer, but Regis stopped him again. "We should…let them alone for a while, though. We can wait in the tavern. They'll join us there soon enough. I'm certain Yennefer knows I'm here by now."
"Why?" Dandelion didn't resist as Regis put a hand on his shoulder and gently guided him away, but he craned his neck to look behind him. "What's going on in there?"
"Nothing you need to worry about." He smiled as he pushed open the door to the tavern, and they stepped inside, out of the rain. "Besides, I know how you don't like it when I use grand words—and it's impossible to give it a name without using grand words."
so i know this took way longer than it was originally supposed to to write, and y'all probably don't want to hear me say i'm going on another hiatus from updating, but i just feel like it's the best thing for me to do right now. i've been putting myself under a lot of pressure to update this as often as i possibly can and it's starting to take its toll, not to mention that i've barely had time to work on any other fic ideas for basically the past year. this isn't a hiatus from posting completely, and not even really a hiatus from awal, because i want to write a couple more of the backstory one-shots in the meantime since i've had them planned this whole time. but i also want the freedom to work on other one-shots/small projects without the pressure of updating for a month or two.
that being said, i'm not going anywhere. i've said time and time again that i intend to finish this, and that's still very true. i just think this is a good spot for me to pause and work on some other things now that we're finally at the end of part two. and i'm always down to talk about awal/post small previews over on tumblr, which i've been doing this whole time anyway. this is my top priority in terms of fic writing, but my other ideas have piled up to a point where i want to stop and write them lol. my current plan is to be posting regularly again at the beginning of february, since that gives me a little over a month to work on a bunch of other things and also get ahead on chapters like i used to be
anyway i love y'all, and i hope you'll stick around for part 3 because that's when things start to get Real Interesting
