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We travel for hours in utter silence. It's not like I can help it, anyways, since Geralt has gagged me again and tightened the bonds on my wrists. He apologized, though, when he used a wet cloth to wipe the blood off my chest. He couldn't clean the red stains where the blood had dripped into my bodice.
It frightened me that he hadn't slapped me or even yelled at me. All of his temper he kept inside – and who knows when he might explode. I thought I could chip away at him, but instead I think I'm playing with an explosive. Even though my jaw is stretched too much, my wrists sting, and my ass is sore from the hard saddle – I don't complain. Occasionally he readjusts my position, so that I'm not leaning to one side or the other.
This fearful silence leaves me time to dread the future. I wonder what my father will say when he sees me like this. It might even please him. Finally, someone has tamed his disobedient daughter. Then I imagine the servants, bathing me in a steaming lavender bath, pretending as if I never left. The courtiers chatting to me about court intrigue. The potential suitors traveling from far kingdoms to win my hand. Ah yes, then the view from my bedroom, where I see the slaves my father keeps being tortured, whipped, and starved. The women he forces to breed, the men he works to dust.
If my father believes I will return without a fight, he is incorrect. If I must stay in the castle, then I will change the castle this time. An heir to the throne must have some say in policy. Perhaps I will change the way things are. Or perhaps I will run away again.
"We are close now," Geralt says. The sky is a cloudy dark blue now, the moon beginning to stand out ahead of us. I muffle a response. I shift uncomfortably when we arrive upon a cave opening – not the city gates. What is this? We are mere miles from the kingdom, I could tell by the trees. In fact, if I squinted I could see the lights from here. I look up at him, watching his eyes travel along the caveside.
"You've arrived on time," a female voice startles me and I look to the cave. The voice sounded familiar. She is holding a small torch, the flame revealing her face. I make a sound of fear. This is Tara. The kingdom's magician. The royal supervisor. My father's whore. And my personal tormentor. Her black curls frame her face, her dress tight and revealing.
Geralt stops the horse and slides off with ease, leaving me teetering on the saddle.
"You said she was docile." He reaches up and grabs my hips, setting me down beside him. He puts his hand on the back of my neck and forces me towards the cave. My eyes widen as we approach Tara. Perhaps she has hired Geralt to torture me, or so she can kill me herself. This was a completely different mission than I had thought.
"Hm," Tara smiles widely, "She is docile if disciplined correctly." She approaches me and strokes my chin, to which I growl and whip my head away. Tara frowns.
"Did you spoil her, Geralt?" His name spills off her tongue with spice and flirt. She fakes a shocked expression, than fingers the blood stain on my dress, brushing over my breasts. I whine and try to ploy my body away. Geralt holds me still. She laughs.
"I must say, Leyiana," she turns and walks into the cave, "We did underestimate you."
We follow her, finding a fire and torches deep inside.
"Escaping was easy for you, of course. But for two months you outsmarted us. Clever girl." Tara sits down at a log by the fire, setting her torch in the flame. Geralt makes me sit beside him, across the hearth from Tara. Her tone is perfumed with hatred. Since the moment she entered the castle, she tried to make my life unlivable. Even tried to marry me away. Anything to stop me from getting to my father. And now, she must be so pleased to see me bloody and bound and gagged, unable to fight her back. This must be her fantasy come true.
Geralt is unbothered by all the exposition. He rises and walks to the far cave wall, where multiple chains and shackles are attached to the wall. I gasp, fear flooding my face. So she does want to torture me. Or have Geralt do it for her.
Tara notices my shaking and laughs again, a silky, evil laugh that frightens me.
"Oh my, she looks scared," she says to Geralt, rising.
"Are these necessary?" he says, disgruntled. The chains are large, unusually thick – as if to hold some monstrous troll. My head starts to fill with the things Tara would like to do to me. Then I imagine Geralt doing them with finesse, a strength unparalleled by Tara's small arms.
"Have you ever seen an Olix at first shift?" she asks sweetly, stroking Geralt's arm. I blink. An Olix at what? Did she mean me? Something's wrong. I pull against my ropes, instinctually. Geralt's eyes travel to me, and he grimaces again. I have no idea what is happening now.
"Well," Tara sighs and reaches to open the shackles, "We only have a few hours left. Musn't waste time. Get her please." Geralt walks to me, roughly grabbing my arm and pulling me to my feet. I moan loudly now, too scared to be wise. He pushes me against a wall, holding my body fast with his hand on my lower back. He slices through my ropes and ungags me. The minute the cloth leaves my mouth I plead with Tara.
"Tara, Tara," I cough, "Please do not do this." My voice cracks, thin as air. "What would my father say?" I prod. Maybe I can bargain with her.
"Your father?" Tara grabs one of my wrists and claps a tight shackle over it. "My dear, this is your father's doing."
I stare at her stupidly, allowing Geralt to shackle both my ankles.
"What do you mean?" This is the only question I can think to ask now, so lost in confusion. She doesn't respond and claps a final shackle over my neck. I crinkle my nose, the smell of magic hovering around the iron on me. These are enchanted shackles. But why? I couldn't fight my way out of normal shackles.
Tara steps back, her eyes feasting hungrily on the sight before her. My arms are stretched to either side of me, my ankles held to the floor so that I can't stand, but am forced to kneel on the rock floor. The neck shackle has a loose chain, so that my head can hang heavy.
"Bitch," I say, attempting to sound strong, menacing. It comes out strained, a lion cub attempting to roar.
"Geralt," she calls and he beckons. Why was he so obedient to this witch? "The more blood stains on her dress, the more gold you get." This, I know, is not the request of my father but her own special touch. Geralt is not amused and says nothing.
"I would love to stay," Tara announces, "But there is a ball tonight, for your 25th birthday. A shame you can't be there to celebrate." She slinks out of the cave and I am even more confused. Does she not want to slice my skin with her own blade? Use a torture spell, watch me writhe? Instead she will let Geralt do the work, but that does not seem like something Tara would want to miss.
I had nearly forgotten it was my birthday. The days had floated by, I hadn't stopped to count them. Yes, midnight would be my 25th year. Did that have any significance here, or was it a coincidence?
"If you kill me," I manage to speak steady, "Please do so quickly."
"I've had plenty of chances to kill you." He stokes the fire then retrieves bread and dried meat from a sack. He is calm, and shows no sign of prepping to torture me. Something he said before plays back in mind: I don't want to hurt you. I had thought this was a warning that if I disobeyed he would punish me. I realize now that it was a confession. He doesn't want to hurt me but he has to. And he hates himself for it.