Ciri found her mare and steered her back in the direction of Kaer Trolde, not dawdling this time because the cold had already seeped into her bones. She really needed to find some garments more appropriate for winter. It was not a bad strategy to have when facing the Wild Hunt either, especially considering one of the mages, Caranthir Ar-Feiniel, was gifted with elemental magic and strongly preferred ice.
Within the hour she was back at the village, with numb fingers and chattering teeth. The stable boys took the mare from her and absolved her of the responsibility to tend to her needs, for which Ciri was grateful.
Avallac'h found her before long, standing out like some sort of beautiful lighthouse among the drunken revelers still celebrating their new Queen.
"Zireael," he said, grasping her by the shoulders, a look of true concern in his pale blue eyes. She'd expected a lecture. Or at the very least to be bombarded with questions of where she had been and who she had spent her time with. Everyone seemed to want to know that. But he surprised her and didn't ask. Perhaps he already knew. He was Aen Saevherne, after all. He knew things others did not.
"You are freezing," he said, removing his cloak and draping it around her. "Come."
He led her up towards the castle and Ciri did not fight him. She was tired, and like he'd said, absolutely freezing.
"I have arranged a room for you next to mine. Seeing as your Witcher and Sorceress have left. We must stay close in case we need to move quickly."
She did not argue this, either. It made sense.
Avallac'h showed her to her new quarters. Fancier than the inn, for sure, but not so luxurious she could not make herself feel at home.
"I will send someone to provide a hot bath for you," he said. "When you finish, come to my rooms for dinner."
She neither agreed nor disagreed and simply sat on her bed, watching as two female servants entered after the elf had left, filling the beautiful stone tub with warm, steaming water. Ciri declined their offer to help her undress and wash. She was not a cripple.
Once they left as well, she disrobed and slowly climbed into the water. It stung at first, as it always does when cold meets hot. But soon she was very comfortable. She leaned her head back and rested, allowing her eyes to fall shut.
The world has gone dark. Even with the blazing fires of the battlefield. There are fallen bodies all around; soldiers and civilians, witchers and sorceresses. There are familiar faces amongst those that no longer move. Dandelion. Zoltan. Lambert. Triss.
Ciri whimpers and tries to reach for them but her arms are too heavy. She is still in the bath and the water is holding her fast, not allowing her to move.
And there is someone in here with her. Behind her. A warm, male body with lean muscles and soft skin. She can smell him. She knows who he is.
"Me elaine luned," he whispers hotly into her ear, his arms wrapping around her, hands gliding over her curves. "I will find you. I will always find you."
She inhales a trembling breath, the rest of her body following suit. Even though she cannot see his face, she knows he is smiling. That dangerous smile that once made her stomach flutter with girlish fascination.
"And you want that, don't you? You desire this." His hand moves between her thighs.
Ciri whimpers once more, for a different reason than before. There is pleasure, yes. Arousal. But also fear. A fear that renders her unable to speak.
She stares straight ahead and watch as the riders of the Wild Hunt emerge onto the battlefield. Victorious. Dragging two prisoners behind them.
Geralt. Yennefer.
Her heart trashes against her ribcage in an almost violent manner.
No, not them. Please no.
"Give yourself to me," Eredin whispers, his legs parting hers further, one hand collaring her throat. "Give yourself to me, Zireael. And then you can rest."
She can not tear her eyes off her parents, bloodied and battered, swords at their throats, their gazes pleading with her to do something.
Her own vision is blurred by tears. When the blades cut through skin and flesh, when the riders sever their heads from their shoulders, Ciri screams. She tries to scream. But no sound emerges. There is only Eredin's voice.
"You belong to us." His hand tightens around her throat so severely she can feel her flesh bruise. At the same time, a new and unfamiliar pain erupts from her lower abdomen as he enters her.
He groans.
She cannot breathe.
"Zireael."
"Zireael!"
She jolted awake, water splashing around her as her hand shot out to fight the person who had taken hold of her shoulders, fingers locking tight around a pale throat.
Avallac'h.
She released her hold on the elf, hands trembling. All of her trembling.
He seemed unperturbed by the unwarranted attack, more worried about her condition than his own. "You were screaming," he said calmly. "I am surprised the whole castle did not hear you. What happened?"
What had happened? She pushed her wet hair away from her face, sitting up, giving her surroundings a quick study. "I… I must have fallen asleep."
Avallac'h said nothing as if expecting she had more to share. She did not want to, for the mere memory brought tears to her eyes. Tears of fear and shame and sorrow.
She wept silently while the elf stood and gathered a blanket, wrapping her in it as he helped her out, then crushed her to his chest, allowing her to spill her tears on his silk robes.
Half an hour later, they were sat in front of the lit fire in Avallac'h's rooms. The Queen had been kind enough to donate some clothes: winter armor among them which Avallac'h had promised to help her tailor to her own specifications. Right now, however, Ciri was wearing something as silly as a nightgown. A floor-length white nightgown. She could not remember the last time she had even worn something so similar to a dress. She did not much care for it but as her own clothes had been taken away to be laundered, the servants of the castle had not left her much choice.
She sat on the floor, staring into the fire. Avallac'h perched on a chair behind her, detangling her wet hair and separating some of it into braids. Elven, if she were not mistaken. That man had many hidden talents.
She had not told him about her dream. Her vision. Whatever it had been. But she got the distinct feeling he knew anyway. Perhaps not all the details, but enough to know what was bothering her.
"Avallac'h?"
"Yes?"
"Are you certain we cannot defeat The White Frost until after we have defeated Eredin?"
"I am. It will take a great display of power to defeat The Frost. The Hunt would find you in an instance. Why do you ask?"
Ciri lifted her shoulders in a hapless shrug, tired. "If I were to defeat The Frost, I'd have done my duty. Completed my mission. And then I could just… end it."
His hands stopped moving. "It?"
"Myself. The Wild Hunt would never get what they wanted. Nor would anyone else trying to use my powers for nefarious reasons. The world itself would not be in danger. And my friends, my… the ones I love would no longer be hunted."
Avallac'h turned her around to face him and caught her chin in his hand, his eyes stern. "Do not even think such thoughts. Do you hear me?"
He softened a little and let her go, finishing up the braid he was working on.
"You are tired, child. You must get some rest."
She was tired. But sleep could not remedy it. She already knew that. Still, she did not argue. She got to her feet once he deemed her hair decent.
"Do you wish to stay here?" he asked.
She shook her head. "I wish to be alone."
"Very well. Rest. I will send someone with your dinner later."
She nodded and took her leave of him, heading back to her own rooms.
The tub had been drained and her new clothing had been laid out atop her bed. Ciri examined it, testing what would already fit her and what would need adjustments. She had no intention of laying down. Of making herself vulnerable again so soon. And the sight of the armor thrilled her a little. She'd never had her own.
Ciri cast a look out the window to gauge the placement of the sun. The tailors should still be in business. Unless they were too drunk to work.
She pulled the nightgown off and replaced it with leather trousers and a green shirt. People always insisted on gifting her with green items. She pulled on her boots and her new winter cloak, gathered the pieces of armor that needed tending to, then quietly and stealthily left the castle, unwilling to be stopped on her way.
He wasn't going to take a horse, but Ermion insisted that travelling on foot was going to be suspicious. The half-blood elf archer would disagree but then there was no point in arguing, especially after the lecture of how reckless he'd been and how he should stay away from the Witcher girl.
He let the horse pick its path - it seemed to know where the town was - and enjoyed the views under the orange glow of the setting sun. The land was beautiful, but cold. Especially at night.
His thoughts kept returning to the girl, her medallion, her unusual ashen hair and the scar crossing her cheek. He wasn't happy she had seen him, but the way she tried to stop her witcher friend from venturing into the wood surprised him in a pleasant way. It rarely happened.
She wasn't a true witcher, either - her aura betrayed the lack of mutation her older friend had. But she had something, a magic of her own.
He pushed the thoughts away and marveled at the field of flowers and the stony walls of the town gate visible ahead. He wasn't looking forward to being around people, but he needed that new fur jacket before the next nightfall in a couple of hours. He pulled the hood of his cloak lower onto his forehead and pushed the white bangs from his eyes, riding past the chatting guards. They barely paid him any mind, accustomed to frequent guests from all around the islands in this time of celebration.
"Much thanks ye, young sir," the tailor grinned revealing three missing teeth (probably lost in a brawl). "We agreed on ten coins less tho, in case ye forget..." His eyes searched the Archer with a timid hope of a homeless dog that watches you eat in hopes of getting a bit tossed to it.
"I don't forget agreements once they're made, mate, so keep it. For speedy work."
The tailor beamed. "Much thanks! Much thanks ye, sir! It fit perfect, if I may say so. Wolves got it right in their pelts, ye sir. Fit for hardest winter and yet made light and thin as ye request."
"I can see that, you've done well." Even exceeding his low expectations for human crafters who lost by far to elven or halflings and dwarves. "Have a good night."
"Ye too, sir, ye too," he said into his back following him to the door. "I'll be closing for the night now. Take care in yer travel."
Ciri had to ask around for the tailor's and when she made it there she worried they had closed, after all. The street outside the house was positively abandoned.
She tried the door nonetheless, pleasantly surprised to find it open, and walked face first into another customer.
"Apologies," she murmured hastily, pausing only when she saw who she'd run into.
It was the Archer. She had not expected to see him here.
Their eyes locked and sent a thrill down the Archer's spine. He didn't expect to just bump into her, but then again, the island was impossibly small, it seemed.
Ciri blinked up at him for a few seconds before the tailor himself caught her attention.
"Sorry, lass, but we are closed for the evenin'."
He slipped past her as quickly as he could, trying not to touch her, and, while the tailor engaged her enough, hurried to the stables, pulling his hood on as he went. Thankfully, most people were already at the tavern or in their homes.
"What?" Ciri asked, forgetting for a moment why she had come, in the first place. "Oh. When do you open tomorrow?"
"Not sure," the tailor drawled. "Depends on how well tonight's festivities treat me." He grinned, displaying a few missing teeth.
She inhaled subtly, shifting the armor hanging from her arm. "Anyone else in this village who knows how to work with leather?"
The tailor scratched his chin in though. "No. No one comes to mind."
"I'll pay handsomely. More than your normal rate," she offered because gold was usually what was needed to sway people.
He considered that a moment, then caught eye of the bracelet on her wrist. "I s'pose I could postpone the party for an ample amount of coin. And that trinket there."
She followed his gaze, immediately shaking her head. "No. I offer coin, no more."
He smiled and shrugged. "Then check back again tomorrow."
She did not say another word, turned on her heel and exited through the open doorway.
Once outside, the archer was not hard to track. Another surprising fact, considering he was stealthier than most and he had pulled on his hood, concealing the hair she knew from experience would stand out even in the dark. It was as though she simply knew where he was going, as though he was holding one end or a chord and she the other.
Ciri caught up with him before he could reach the stables, not stopping or hindering his way but simply moving beside him, having to take larger steps than normal in order to keep up. "Were you in the Brokilon forest nine years ago?"
Another jolt passed through his nerves, spurring him to hasten his step.
No one but Ermion could have told her. Why would he?
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Someone was lying. It was either him or Ermion. "Have you seen me before?" Ciri asked, almost breaking into a jog to keep up with him. "Have we met somewhere? Before today?"
The Archer reached the stables and pulled his horse away from the hay, casting a quick glance at the girl. The ashen hair on her head shone with a copper halo of the setting sun.
"This is the second and the last time I see you. Go home, princess."
He hopped into the saddle and the horse dashed for the gate.
Princess? How does he know?
Or was it just a coincidental choice of words? Had Ermion told him? He was not supposed to.
Ciri stared after the archer's retreating form until she could no longer see him in the growing darkness.
Defeated, having achieved nothing of what she'd set out to do, she slowly retreated to the castle.
He rode like the wind until the village was far behind and the trail began to climb up the closer he got to the druids camp.
He slowed his mount to a walk, his mind reeling.
She had been to Brokilon, as well, then. But apparently before he came back there. He had truly never seen her before, and yet there was something in her that made him feel uneasy. He had never felt like it before around people he didn't know. Like she had a way to creep under his skin if he wouldn't be fast and firm enough to prevent it.
Princess... He scoffed; his horse snorted as if agreeing. Why would he even say that?
He growled and pushed the thought away. It wasn't important.
When the Witcher and the sorceress arrived to Dandelion's Cabaret, Vesemir was already gone. Priscilla informed them that the old witcher had set on his way back to the keep thinking that if the Wild Hunt had checked it, it had to be already gone.
"He said he would pick up the other two or three witchers on his way past the villages where they stayed," Priscilla said.
"We have to get to the keep before them and make sure there is no trap," Geralt told Yennefer. "If something's wrong, we can meet them halfway and turn back."
Yennefer nodded, satisfied that within the safety of the Cabaret, there wouldn't be anything to worry about in regard to opening a portal. Without hesitation, she imagined Kaer Morhen and its library, summoning their elusive means of travel with a quick motion of her hands.
To appear in its courtyard and to have the Wild Hunt soaring around wouldn't have worked in their favor. Although it held the witchers' most valuable information, it was one of the few places in the keep that was used frequently.
She waited on Geralt to finish up with Dandelion's lady fair and when he stepped through the portal, she followed.
They appeared in the expansive room on the second floor of the keep within an instant. Far as she could tell from her first look nothing about it had changed, none of its contents had been disturbed and it looked very close to what it had been the last time she'd been there. Not that she was surprised. The Wild Hunt had their own sources of information and didn't have need for what little the witchers had.
The immediate chill fanned over his face as he stepped through the portal. A faint nausea swirled in his gut and eased reluctantly.
Geralt was never getting used to portals.
He looked around the library and headed quietly for the door.
There were no sounds anywhere, no signs of anyone's presence. But by the unnatural cold inside the keep he could sense they had been here.
They did follow the trail and checked. But left upon finding nothing, as they'd anticipated.
Although the distance of the travel and the amount of times Yennefer had done it, the day had taken it out of her, she slowly trailed behind Geralt, keeping a small distance behind him so that if they did happen to come across one of the Wild Hunt's specters roaming the halls, they wouldn't be cornered together and would have sufficient time to defend ourselves and each other.
Once they completed a check of the second floor and headed to the first, it became more apparent that the Riders hadn't bothered to set a trap and that they were arrogant enough to believe that no one would come back.
"It will take a while to warm it all up again," he said, strolling through the kitchen.
"Amongst other things," Yennefer commented quietly, watching as the trace of white mist fell from her lips, nowhere near as dense as it was when the Wild Hunt was in range, but as if winter had come early.
When they were sure they were alone and in the middle of the courtyard, the skies clear, nothing amiss aside from the usual structural damage, she could breathe easier.
"How she did this alone—for the most part—for so many years, I don't know."
Geralt turned to look at her and didn't like what he saw. She was hunching a bit, as if extremely tired. Which she had to be after all the magic. He felt a pang of guilt.
"She's strong," he said, taking Yennefer under the arm and leading her to a chair at the table, insisting on her sitting down.
Once she did, he threw a few logs into the huge kitchen fireplace and hit it with Igni.
The flames roared and crackled, brightening.
"You taught her well," she commented. Ever aware of the gift he'd given her, even if he hardly remembered it. She smiled her thanks for the concern, legs stretching out before her, back aching from the exertion. "Now that we know the place is clear, that your fellow witchers are going to be okay – what's the next step? Triss? Philippa? The latter is going to be pretty tricky from what I've managed to learn. I'm not so sure we'll be able to get to her in time or that if we do happen across her she'll be of any use in this battle."
Which dragged their numbers down by one. A powerful one at that.
"We have no time to appease Philippa," he said, feeding another log to the fire. "We have to settle on Triss and maybe Keira if she will help. Mousesack, Roche, Hjalmar and his friends. We'll have to manage. Also, we shouldn't underestimate Avallac'h."
"I'm not," she said with regard to Avallac'h.
She didn't know much about the elf but from what Ciri had told her, from what Yennefer knew of his reputation after a bit of a study, he was pretty formidable. She didn't know everything though and that's where she was missing out, where she felt lost and sometimes helpless.
She wasn't used to that feeling and hardly liked it.
"I'll send Triss a message and have her reach out to Keira."
Keira and Yennefer weren't on the best of terms.
"When we're ready, Ermion can bring Ciri and Hjalmar. Zoltan dealing with Roche?"
"I'll take care of Keira and will bring Ciri when it's time," Geralt said. "Roche is also my job. I'll pay a visit to Dijkstra, but there's little to no hope there. If you insist, you can get Triss and come here to prepare things."
That was a lot he was taking on for himself in Yennefer's opinion. "Why Dijkstra? I thought we were going to bypass Philippa?" As far as she knew he was the only connection to that particular issue. "Unless you mean for Roche?"
She wasn't particularly enthused about bringing Triss her just yet and having her sniff out the change between Geralt and Yennefer. Hell, she was looking and waiting for an opportunity. Yennefer cringed at the prospect of having to explain herself or the difference in the way he looked at her. And how long would it take her to realize what Yennefer had done?
"I'll wait on Vesemir, Lambert, Eskel and Coen. See what they have to say. They're the most knowledgeable about the area and what Kaer Morhen has to offer that we can work with."
"I'm not going to him for Philippa. I have a favor to remind him of. Not that there's hope for him agreeing." Geralt regarded her curiously. "You mean you'll stay here now? What about Triss?"
"A favor?" Yennefer asked. What kind of favor? He hadn't mentioned anything to her about it. "Yeah, it's not as if we have much time, right? The sooner we lay down a plan of action the better. Triss will come when we need her."
"I helped him retrieve his stolen property a while ago. Triss helped, too."
Geralt strolled around the kitchen, collecting a few candles from the shelves, then put them on the table and lit.
"Oh," Yennefer mused. What more could she say? It's not as if he was elaborating or going into too much detail. Did she even want to know?
After he lit the candles, she observed him curiously.
"I'll take an hour and then, if you're ready, I'll send you back."
"You don't have to do it right away. You have to rest. It's fine to stay until the morning."
"I'll be fine. The sooner you form new alliances the better chance we have. Who knows how long it'll take? Days? Weeks?" Yennefer cringed at the possibility of it being the concluding.
Geralt smiled. "It's all right to have this night for rest, Yennefer. You need it. I need it, too. We can't afford to drive ourselves to a breaking point before the fight is upon us."
Yennefer smiled back, touched by his consideration. "I suppose we do."
She rose up off her chair, moved to crouch in front of him and carefully undid the front strappings of his armor—not to remove it—just enough to make it easy so that she could check on his bandage.
She hadn't been able to do that for him this morning.
"Does the wound still hurt?"
Another smile touched his lips as Geralt thought how desirable she looked in that position, and how it was probably a misplaced thought. "No, it doesn't hurt. I think your healing skills helped better than mine."
"Well, on occasion, I am known to be a healer." Not that he would know that, anymore.
Yennefer touched a hand to his chest, removed the strip of material she'd placed over the wound the day before, and observed that the wound appeared to have colored well and scabbed over.
Another day or two and he should be completely healed.
"Do you still have of your healing elixir? It'll speed things up and since we're already planning on staying the night, you might as well take the opportunity." There wasn't much he could do tonight to get into much trouble so there wouldn't be any cause for worry where that was concerned.
"I don't have it on me, but there are ingredients here to make it." Geralt touched her cheek, brushed his thumb over it. "I feel good enough without it. Don't worry yourself."
"Well enough isn't good enough," she retorted, skin and other areas of her body flaming at the touch to her cheek. A simple gesture but one that filled her with hope. "I'll see what I can find in the laboratory."
She'd studied their library well enough to know what was needed and how to brew it altogether. It's what he'd needed at times and therefore become part of her arsenal.
"See if there's anything we can scrounge up to eat?"
They had gone from the place for a while and so had the other witchers, taking an earlier hit at their Path in wake of what they'd known was coming for Ciri.
"I'm fine, really."
Geralt went across the kitchen to peek into the sacks on the counter. A moment later, he brought a plate of dried meat to the table and a bottle of wine. It was cold and misty as if kept on ice.
Yennefer knew he was fine. She also knew that he was used to the series of wounds he got or was given, but that didn't mean that when she could, she wouldn't help speed up the process. Any hurt, however insignificant in his eyes, was simply another weakness for the Wild Hunt to later exploit.
The poultice was helping, but who knew how he'd exert himself the next day?
Or even later.
Unlike their time at Skellige, they had no way to determine what could happen here or if someone would return. Yennefer hoped they wouldn't, that the remainder of his family would arrive and they'd be able to start working on getting defenses in place.
She studied the wine he'd put down in front of her on the table, and touched a hand to it.
"We should invest in better attire. Better armor." Maybe she could even come up with some kind of trinket with Triss to help combat the cold and thwart any kind of elemental magic the Riders would care to throw at them. "Are you surprised we didn't find them here?"
Given his history with them, it made sense that he'd have some kind of theory about how they functioned.
"The Hunt?" Geralt settled at the table and reached for a piece of meat. "I'm not. They couldn't be sure we would come back, so they didn't wait. I don't think they doubt they'll get her in the end, anyway. So they take their time, being certain of their power."
But they knew this was the witcher keep and that Ciri was linked to Geralt. Yennefer was beginning to think that it was too easy, that maybe she'd been too hopeful in this regard and that their arrogance might be their downfall – same as him.
What if we were wrong? What would it cost us?
As soon as Triss arrived they would do a more thorough energy search and make sure they hadn't left any magical surprises or other traps. Those harder to spot with eyes alone.
She got up to get them each a mug to drink from and poured a heavy-handed measure of wine to help warm up a little due to the lingering frost. She sat down, picked up a piece of meat and nibbled.
She seemed troubled despite them finding no signs of traps or the Hunters themselves. The Witcher had some troubles of his own on is mind and wondered if hers were any close.
"Do you trust Avallac'h with her?" he ventured, pouring himself some more wine to wash down dry meat.
It took her a moment to answer – to really consider it. "I trust for now that he is willing to keep her safe. I don't trust that he isn't spitting poison into her head and that he is possibly trying to make her feel as though she is dependent on him. Indebted."
She was. For almost two years. That bond wasn't easy to severe or even loosen up a bit and her outburst when they'd discussed his possible ulterior motives had proved that.
Yennefer also hadn't been in on one of their training sessions and nor had the sorceress pushed to be as it seemed to be more of a private matter between them.
"What I want to know is, what are his plans for her after we defeat the Wild Hunt? Will he go back to where his from? Is he going to hover around?"
His face darkened as he looked into the mug with wine. "He wouldn't let her go so easily. Elves are not keen on losing their prizes."
"Of course not. Presently she's the most valuable slave that he has."
Not that Yennefer had seen him treat her as such. However, she could tell that he felt superior to her in some instance – and to them, as well. That was his breeding and their inane nature.
"But that'll be his downfall. Unfortunately, we don't have much choice but to wait." She lifted the mug of wine to her lips, sipping at it slowly. "Why was Ciri at the druid's camp?"
"To cause me another concern," he simpered. "Haven't you heard us talking to Mousesack? There's a half-blood elf living in the woods. The druid knows him back from Cintra days. Apparently that boy lived in Brokilon forest for a while. Which means he can be dangerous. And Ciri… Well, she's always been too inquisitive for her own good."
Yennefer shook her head. She was good a very many things but supernatural hearing wasn't one of them, not when she was focused elsewhere and there was a lot to distract her and try to separate.
She listened while he explained, expelling a sigh. "True. I thought, however, that she was supposed to be training with Avallac'h."
She hadn't bothered to question Ciri about that at the time because she didn't think Ciri wanted to feel anymore attacked and Yennefer didn't want to risk adding to her uneasiness when she was already so worried about them all and what was to come.
It also didn't seem to strike Yennefer with the same type of urgency.
"What's your feel on the circumstances? You think this half-blood is out there for her? That she'll run into him again?"
"She said she bumped into him by accident and he was protecting his friend - whatever that means. Both Ciri and Mousesack said he's not fond of company. I don't know how to judge it - I don't have enough information. Mousesack is reluctant and Ciri says she's protecting a secret that is not her own.
"I know how she is, though. If Avallac'h is pressuring her and Mousesack and I forbid to see the elf, she will be tempted to go against all of us. It can lead to danger, and she needs no additional danger."
"Like any hot blooded adolescent."
What could they do about it now but hope that she'd been smart enough not to revisit or push those boundaries? Unfortunately, Yennefer doubted that would be the case as so much of Ciri's life had already been put on hold and she was only just starting out.
Yennefer took another thoughtful bite of her dried meat and then set it aside, washing it down with the wine as she slowly made to get to her feet.
"I'll go take care of that elixir in the laboratory. How long do you think it'll take the rest of the witchers to arrive?"
"They're traveling on horseback, it will take a bit longer than your way." Geralt smiled. "Give or take a couple of days. Or one."
"Can we be sure they won't run into trouble on the way? I remember a lot of interesting creatures and tests on that trail when I first got here. Is the Wild Hunt aware of your traditions?"
"Even if I ever knew what they are or aren't aware of - I don't remember."
He finished his wine and got up from the table.
"We need to rest. I'll check the perimeter before we lock the doors."
"Do that. We'll sleep together tonight."
Yennefer hardly lingered to debate as she added a few extra measures of wine to both their mugs, picked hers up and carried it with her toward the laboratory.
As Geralt said, all the ingredients needed for the elixir were all there in the cupboard, set aside in well-worn glass containers for easy use, the tops warped and dirtied.
She threw together what she knew from memory, taking the time—for the first time ever—to scan the depth of the laboratory, to actually look at the mutagenic plants inside that had been guarded and protected for so long as if they'd embodied the living.
Plants that were almost as a rich to them as treasure.
She didn't touch them, didn't linger too long, grateful on their part that the Wild Hunt hadn't thought to destroy them, to make the possibilities of witchers any more likely.
She didn't suppose they'd bothered much with anything but Ciri, which as distressing as it was to think about, worked in their favor.
Once she finished with the elixir, she collected the two bottles and carried them into the remainder of the broken keep in search of Geralt, assuming he'd have made his way to his chambers if he'd finished securing the doors and doing the last checks.
He waited until the moon was well above horizon before they ventured off the mountain and over the plains and woods of the main Skellige island. The night was clear and he saw the tower on Undvik - a black needle against the dark sky, stars peppering the canopy around it.
With a happy screech, Griffin took up, hung there for two seconds, then dove down into a bunch of sirens. He leaned into him, holding on tight. His stomach flopped a little at his dive, and it wasn't unpleasant. He grew accustomed to the thrill of flight.
The sirens screamed, diving into the ocean and splashing them. He wiped his face against the griffin's mane and directed the beast toward Undvik. There were plenty of sirens around it, too.
The dreams returned to her that night, as Ciri suspected they would. But unlike the terrors she had faced in the bath, these were of a different nature.
No Eredin or The Wild Hunt, for one. Nor did she see the faces of her family and friends.
She saw a tower of elven architecture and heard its name whispered to her. Tor Gvalch'ca. Tower of the She-Falcon. Falka.
The name she had chosen for herself when hiding with The Rats as a young teen. She had never known why. Was it destiny? All these towers that kept cropping up.
Tor Lara. Tower of the Gull. Tor Zireael. Tower of the Swallow. And now: Falka. All connected.
In the tower was a man. A man wandering the circular plane beneath the tower's sharp points; a majestic griffin soaring the air over the ocean.
Another whisper. The White Frost.
This was the tower. The one Avallac'h had mentioned countless times as they plotted and planned how she would stop The White Frost come the end of the battle. This was where the portal could be opened. The portal that would lead to the source of The Frost.
What was the archer doing there? Was he trying to open the portal? To step inside would be certain death for anyone not carrying the Elder Blood. But what if the portal was to remain open? To be left unattended? Would The White Frost enter and spread years before its time?
Ciri woke with a gasp and sat upright in her bed. Sleep did not linger in her eyes. She was wide awake and filled with a purpose she did not quite understand. Nor did she think she would ever understand. Not until she had done what she needed.
Avallac'h had come to see her briefly before she went to bed that evening, while she was eating her dinner. They had barely talked, yet he had watched her with the strangest expression. One she had seen on Geralt's face a lot, but that didn't look at home on Avallac'h's.
While she undressed she had watched the elf through the window in her room, seen him go down into the village. She did not know what business he had there, and though curious, even now she'd awoken with a mission in mind, she had no intention of investigating.
Ciri dressed in her clothes from earlier, adding the long fur cloak Cerys had gifted her and hurried from her rooms, sword on her back. The castle was far from quiet. The feasts were still raging. Which made it exceptionally easy to sneak amongst the drunkards without anyone paying heed.
She did not head for the stables this time, but the dock. There were several unattended boats, one of which Ciri claimed. She loosened the sails and let the wind take her out onto the open ocean.
It was a strange thing. She was the Lady of Time and Space, yes. But she was no navigator. Especially at sea. And yet it was as though her hands knew exactly when to guide the boat left and right. Instinct. Intuition. She trusted it.
She'd been sailing in relative peace for an hour before she saw the tower in the distance. There were sirens nearby. She could tell by their shrieks. Ciri had already killed one a little way back, but now as she neared land again the air ahead looked almost black with them.
Shit.
The sight would never have worried her much had she been allowed to make use of her powers. Then again, had it been that easy she would not have needed a boat in the first place.
It wasn't long before they noticed her. The one who dove at Ciri first met her end at the sword. The next was luckier, her talons grazing Ciri's arm before she soared out of reach again. On her next attack, Ciri got her, too, Swallow cleaving her in two like a log.
There was a crash and thump from beneath the boat, making the whole vessel shake. Ciri moved her feet, quickly and deftly to keep her balance, urging the wind to get her to land.
More thumps, wood breaking. The boat was taking in water and filling rapidly.
She cursed under her breath and fought the sirens still circling the air around her, mauling some, missing others. They got her a few times as well, their talons sharp and unforgiving.
She was too far away from shore. Even without the hungry sirens, she might not be able to swim the whole way. Not when the waters were freezing.
I'll have to jump, she thought. I'll have to leap through space to survive.
The Wild Hunt would be on her within seconds. Her last incorporeal encounter with Eredin was enough to bring tears to her eyes.
Please. Not Eredin. Anything else.
Surprisingly, the dark elf's face faded quickly from her mind and was replaced with that of the archer. His fair hair, his hazel eyes, the sound of his voice.
Archer. Archer. Archer!
He was the sole thought that filled her as she sheathed her sword and abandoned the boat.
Geralt walked through every room of the keep and went to every tower to check every corner, nook and cranny. He walked around the keep, as well, making sure it felt all right, then came back and locked the main hall doors before going upstairs to the room he figured she would choose - there was no better one in their keep.
She was there, sitting by her vanity table she must have gotten here with magic. Her megascope stood by the tall windows across the room.
"Everything seems quiet," he informed, taking off his swords. "You feel better?"
"Not particularly," she commented, turning away from the mirror to face him. She hadn't found him in his room, deciding to go in search of the one she most often used when she was around in the past and they were on a strict visit on occasional times when needed regime.
While there and while she waited, she exerted herself a bit more and drew over the rest of her stuff from the Inn in Novigrad, setting up like she usually did and as was comfortable.
"How'd you know to find me here?"
Maybe he'd remembered something. She was allowed to be hopeful, right?
Geralt gave a lopsided smile, unbuckling her jacket. "It's the most comfortable room in the keep. Women prefer comfort, and I thought you wouldn't surprise me with it."
Women? Was he referring to that from experience and the fact that not so long ago she had thrown his damned bed out of the tower window? Not that he'd remember any of that.
"I've become predictable in my old age." Yennefer picked up one of the elixirs, gave it a slight shake and then moved to toss it at him to catch. "Drink."
Geralt refrained from asking about her age or complimenting how well she had preserved herself - not all sorceresses liked jokes about such matters. Even those who stated that they loved you.
He caught the bottle, gave it a studying look, then did as she said.
The taste made him wince, but he'd had worse. He put the bottle on the table. "Thank you."
Yennefer smiled, pleased he hadn't bothered to fight with her about the demand, and got to her feet. She strode toward him, making a point of undoing the laces on his armor.
"You'll be staying with me, correct?"
"It's safer to stay together, especially if we're all alone." He smiled.
"Couldn't agree more."
She undid the complicated trappings, stripped off his jacket and then walked around him slowly to help him out of the rest, fingers skimming his arms, back and chest, purposely avoiding his wound.
"I'll reapply your poultice."
She lowered a hand to his breeches, index sliding into the waistband, carefully hooking there as she coaxed him after her, guiding him toward the mattress so he could sit down.
Geralt let his eyes travel up along the curves of her hips to her thin waist, and the breasts, the onyx star pendant sparkling with diamonds among the raven curls coiling on her shoulders and chest.
He half lay back, propped on his elbows.
Yennefer smiled as he sat down on the mattress, moving toward her magic's chest to remove the poultice she'd thrown together the day before from inside, along with a clean strip of fabric.
She returned to him, nudged his knees apart and positioned herself between them. She set the stuff down beside him, sliding her hands along his thighs and up his chest slowly.
A faint smile playing on his mouth, the Witcher watched her with a growing fascination. Something else was about to start growing, as well.
Yennefer returned the smile with a mischievous twitch of her lips, being careful as she began to remove the previous material and the paste that had been applied.
She circled the wound with her index finger, clearing away the last remnants and then applied the new paste and strip of material, flattening her hand against it, taking her time to smooth it out.
"Do you feel any different since last night?"
"I told you it was much better. I didn't think I needed any new potions, anymore."
"That's not what I was referring to," she mused, bringing a hand up to the side of his face, gently cupping it as she moved to straddle him, thumb brushing his lower lip. "I meant us. About us."
His smiled dimmed a tad; he drew in a deeper breath. "I wish I could tell you I remember now. But I don't."
"That I know," she murmured, her own enthusiasm dimmed slightly. "But still not what I meant. I— I was wondering if you… the new Yennefer-less version of you had felt anything."
Geralt didn't know what to tell her. That she aroused him? That much was obvious, he didn't seem to be immune to her charms. But she meant feelings, and he…
"I don't know. There's not been any time to think about it, and there's too much on both our minds."
"There's always been a lot on our minds. A lot that's held us back – that's held me back," she commented, sliding her hands down his chest, nails gently raking at his abdomen. "I'm weary of that excuse."
"I don't want to give you excuses," he said. "But I will not lie to you, either. You're... luring me. Like you did the very first day I knew you. I don't know what that is, I can't explain it. Maybe I shouldn't try to."
"That feeling is us, it's always been us."
She settled the hand on his chest, above his heart as if she had to explain to him where it was meant to be, where it had grown and changed and screamed and would eventually reach once harbored.
And it had been there, only a few days ago.
And now?
The hand lingered there as if to grieve, and then slowly shifted lower, sliding along his abdomen to come to rest between her thighs on his crotch where the evidence was more prevalent.
"The time of us not explaining it or ignoring it is over."
Geralt wished it would be the same for him, but he felt like he was standing in the dark while she could see things he couldn't even imagine properly. He didn't know how to light a candle and see for himself. No Signs would help with it.
He reached to stroke her cheek. "I never ignored it. But I can't explain it. Not now. Not... yet."
Geralt had always been more open to the prospect of their bond, as though the feeling itself had been enough and needed no other explanation. Yennefer, on the other hand, hardly knew how to deal with it, how to pretend she knew and how to deal with it when it overwhelmed her.
How had anyone loved her? How had he?
She'd had her fair share of haters and lovers, but most had only ever been interested in accepting parts of who she was and who they thought she should be – not who she actually was.
At least he knew that part of himself.
"Then let me help you," she murmured, eyes on his, sliding one of her hands beneath the fabric of his pants, massaging, coaxing the bulge to grow more uncomfortable, to supply the one feeling they had both always managed to read between them – lust. "Let me help you make the distinction."
Geralt would have let her help him with anything she wanted, but for the life of him he couldn't explain the trust she invoked from somewhere deep within his soul. She asked for confirmations, but he couldn't find any that wouldn't be guesses or hunches. He couldn't find anything solid and reasonable to offer her and didn't want to lie.
Instead of a response, he took her chin and pulled her closer for a kiss.
Yennefer leaned down at his encouragement, capturing his lips, losing herself in the intensity of the unspoken passion between them. Even if he didn't know it, his body did, and it responded with the same invoked want that it always had – as if it knew something was missing and wanted to hold on.
Or was that just the consequences of their lust?
Without him to assure, to guide her as he did, despite her renewed confidence, the lines still blurred for her, lost within a haze of lust so strong that it was practically work trying to breathe through it.
She removed her hand from his pants, undid the laces a few extra notches and then steadily broke the kiss so that she could help him out of them, and herself out of her own.
They fell into it like it was a habit neither questioned. There was no space for thought and the world became heated breathes and a rhythm of passion that made everything else disappear.
His hands and mouth explored her body, savoring the fragrant heat of her skin, her gasps and trembling eyelids fluttering shut to relish in pleasure. He liked it too much, so much it scared him he would lose himself in it all - in her - and then he didn't know what would happen to him.
As soon the delicate barriers had been dealt with, it was as if they'd magnetized, bodies falling into a song it had known and sung since the day they'd been thrown in each other's path.
They explored with hands, lips and tongue, urged by their synchronized sounds of desire, driven by a connection that seemed to reach that new level of intensity for her again.
Their joining had always been out of worldly and filled with amity, but since Yennefer had cut their invisible ties, it had become even worse, and before she knew, the act had brought more tears to her eyes.
Why?
Yennefer hardly understood it since they'd already visited this level of intimacy, and scarcely knew what to do as the quick rush of blinding end charged upon her, throwing her over its end into the abyss.
When his vision and senses began to return to him, Geralt nuzzled into her neck, inhaling her scent and taking in her breathing and her thrashing heart that gradually calmed its rush.
He knew now he could sleep. It felt good, so alluringly good…
Thankfully there was no need to revisit pointing out the emotions and what they meant. Geralt already knew and Yennefer was steadily coming to terms with it himself.
It wasn't long before the sound of his gentle breathing caught her attention, making it so that she could roll off him slowly and then detangle from him quietly.
She redressed, observing him in the minimalistic light, carefully walking over to her vanity to check her appearance, to wipe away the streaks of black that had teased their way down her cheeks.
What had happened to her? Why was it was mourning what they had when he was still here with her? When they'd just made what could be defined as love?
Yennefer plucked a piece of paper from one of her chests, scrawled a note to Triss and before she'd even considered the ramifications, had sent it to her a wisp of smoke.
Yennefer wanted to wait until last minute, to keep Triss as far away from Geralt as she possibly could with his newfound removal of who Yennefer was, knowing Triss would feed off the opportunity, but for how long was she going to have to do that? What if their relationship never reached the potential Yennefer and Geralt had imagined for the both of them? Just how many obstacles could this new bridge survive?
She steeled herself as she had in the past, staring at her reflection in the mirror, and this scarily human face staring back at her, fearful that she'd just made another mistake but determined to take what was to come with it.
Yennefer rose up off the bench, slipped back onto the covers beside him and carefully shifted the blankets until they'd both been covered and concealed from the chill that still lingered in the air.
She slept till late morning.
The small rocky islands spattered around Undvik resembled a graveyard of ships. There was barely any spike sticking out of water without a few wooden planks or some rotten box or parcel or a shred of dirty sail stuck to it or floating around in the inky waves.
They explored some bigger ones with almost childish curiosity, saving the main island and the carcasses around it for last. The Archer estimated they had another few hours left, so he wasn't wasting any moments. He intended to drop by the tower before they called it a night.
He stroked a hand against the splintered wood of what used to be a battle ship. It looked Skelligan, and the nose decoration remained towering over him, although most paint was gone.
Swift and bright visions flashed through his mind as he let them, feeling the wood beneath his fingers. Echidnas and sirens finished the job after a mighty storm that helped a Nilfgaardian ship to sink this one. The Black One lay, most likely, on the bottom not too far from here, defeated by a few more Northern ships. A few shields with golden sun on the faded black lay around the store among the rubble and seaweeds.
Loud shrieks reached him with a gust of wind from the sea. He ran up to the top of the rock to see. The griffin gave a screech from the shore, his ears pricked. He took off a moment later and rushed for the screaming bunch fighting over pray at the water surface. The Archer couldn't make out who they were attacking, but the white patch of what had to be a fisherman boat's sail was sinking into the waves rapidly.
Griffin dove into their midst, grabbing one in his mighty paws, stabbing claws into the silvery writhing creature. The siren gave out a horrid cry that died abruptly when the griffin ripped her head off with his beak and dropped her down, going for another dive. Sirens all went under water, but he circled around the place, nonetheless, seeing something.
He usually lost interest when they were gone. Strange.
The boat was gone, but something floated in the water. The Archer made out a white patch against the glistening dark of the ocean.
A faint electric shock went through his spine all of a sudden, startling him. He framed his mouth with his palms, letting out a shriek.
Griffin responded; the Archer felt his confusion and waved a hand down. He screeched and dove and came up with a trophy. The trophy was grasping at his paws, and Griffin wavered in the air, disliking it and considering dropping his baggage back in the water. He took it to the shore and let it fall a couple of feet on the sand.
It was close enough now, and the Archer saw the white hair. She was coughing violently, a sword handle stuck from the wet and heavy fur cloak.
Hopping over the rocks to avoid the slashing water, the Archer reached the shore and approached. The griffin paced half a dozen feet away, stretching his neck and sniffing the air, cackling quietly. Alert but inquisitive.
The Archer stopped few steps short and waited for her to stop coughing to ask in a nonchalant tone one uses to inquire people how they slept: "Are you insane?"
The water was freezing. Shockingly so. It made the use of her limbs almost impossible. Ciri kicked her legs to stay afloat and attempted to free herself of the heavy cloak that weighed her down but her fingers would not co-operate.
She swallowed mouthfuls of water and it become increasingly difficult to keep her head above the surface. She heard the shrieks of the sirens but they were no longer interested in her. It did not make much of a difference. She was still going to die.
Might be for the best.
She gasped for breath when she was suddenly pulled out of the water, something hard and strong locking around her arms and lifting her into the air. She might have felt frightened had she the full understanding of what was happening. But mostly she was simply focusing on breathing.
Ciri groaned when her back hit the sand and quickly rolled over, coughing and emptying her lungs of water, only noticing the archer beside her once she had managed to calm somewhat.
She wanted to continue laying down, but both her training and past experience had taught her never to do so when in the presence of a stranger. She was already vulnerable. Did not have to make it easier on him.
"I've been asking myself that a lot lately," Ciri muttered without much humor, trembling from the cold as she surveyed the sea in front of them. Her boat was long gone. So were the sirens.
The griffin. He'd chased them away and pulled her out of the water.
"Thank you."
"You can still die from cold even on the dry land," he reasoned in response and heaved a sigh, annoyed with the issue and how it now appeared to be his.
His own hooded cloak was left back in the woods - it wasn't comfortable for flying. They could take her back to the island, but time was short. She was freezing while the soaked clothes were on.
"You have to take the wet clothes off if you plan on continuing to live."
Ciri met his gaze and stared, fingers suddenly itching for her sword.
She knew his request was not unreasonable. It was logical even. But every instinct she possessed, every lesson learned the hard way, told her no.
She undid the cloak because it was heavy, but nothing more. Draping it over her arm as she turned to look at the tower looming over the cliffs far away. Just like the other elven towers she had encountered, it was almost hypnotizing. Vibrating with the memory of power, now locked away.
"I'm fine," she said without emotion, starting the climb up towards the flat planes above, unaware her lips were turning a faint blue.
She is indeed insane or just plain suicidal.
"Hey," he called after her. "Dry your clothes first - that hut over there is intact. Unless you really came to die here. Did you?"
Ciri paused with her back to him, head slightly turned as if his words were hard to catch on the wind.
She had not even noticed a hut, nor considered the possibility of a fire. Her mind had been on him. And then the tower.
Slowly, she turned around and headed back, answering his question just as she passed by him, meeting his eyes as she did. "No."
Ciri did not think she was suicidal. Not really. Despite the thoughts that came to her in moments of weakness.
The door to the hut slid open when she pushed against it, saving her the trouble of kicking it down. It was fairly empty. That was plain to see even in the dark. There were a few wooden chairs, some old fishing nets, and empty bottles of liquor in the fireplace.
Probably a hut where the fishermen waited out storms.
She threw the cloak over one chair and with trembling hands, swept the bottles out of the fireplace. She eyed the chairs scrutinizing, trying to decide which looked the easiest to break apart.
Griffin and the man looked at each other – the beast came up to him when the girl went toward the hut. The beast gave a quiet sound of uncertainty.
The Archer sighed, considering, then gestured for Griffin to stay, and went for the hut.
He didn't bother knocking and stopped on the threshold.
"Can you make fire or your pendant is merely symbolic?"
The way he said it sounded like an insult, like he did not think her worthy of a witcher pendant. He was not the first to say so.
She turned to face him, trying to tamp down the sting of the fact she'd never become a real witcher. It had been her dream and ambition since Geralt first came for her. But fate had gone a different route. "I can," she said, for Yennefer had taught her the spell when Ciri was under her tutelage. But that did not matter. Ciri was not allowed to use her powers. "And I can't." Two very conflicting statements, she knew. She did not feel eager to explain. "Have you come to offer a solution?"
The Archer raised an eyebrow incredulously. "You either can or can't. Which is it?" Another idea came to him, and he swept a glance over her. "Are you hurt?"
Ciri followed his gaze, wondering if he had seen something she had not. "No, I–"
Oh, there were a few cuts from the sirens' claws. One on her upper right arm, another on her back judging by the intense stinging-sensation she only just noticed. It could have been worse. She was lucky.
"No," she repeated. "It's not that, it's… I just can't."
She moved to grasp one of the chairs, intending to smash it to pieces that could be used for firewood.
"Get me two pieces of flint, though, and I am practically a wizard."
He pulled the chair from her hand and overturned it at his feet to snap the legs off.
"Get undressed," he said, unbuckling the straps of his wolf-fur jacket, and tossed it on another chair next to her. The light shirt he was left in immediately soaked in the chill.
He half-turned away from her and began to snap the legs off the old chair, using the breathing technique to warm up.
Those words, that order, rang in her ears for a long time.
It brought her back to Bonhart, just after he'd forced her to watch him decapitate all her friends, when he ordered her to undress in the middle of a crowded tavern.
And it brought her back to Auberon, who had never used physical violence or force in his request, but who had damaged her, nonetheless.
The Archer was not Bonhart, not his type, the kind who took pleasure in other people's misery, who got off on it. She could already tell as much. But the thought of making herself even more vulnerable in his company terrified her to her very core.
Still, Ciri did. Because the cold was too much, to the point she could barely suppress the trembling anymore.
She removed her sword and its scabbard, placing it against the wall nearest her where she could easily reach it, and turned her back to the archer, undoing the binds on her shirt enough so she could pull it over her head.
Covering herself with one arm, she reached for the fur jacket he'd offered to lend her and put it on, struggling a tad to buckle the straps with her trembling, numb fingers. She managed eventually.
"Thank you," she said again, well aware she was now in his debt.
He didn't respond, didn't look her way as he tossed the chair legs in the fireplace, then snapped the seat in two and stuffed the pieces over the legs. He took a moment concentrating, and a flick of orange flashed beneath them, licked the offered wood tentatively, and began to crackle, growing and enveloping the chair in warmth and light.
Assuming she was decent, he cast a glance at her.
"How do you plan to get home?"
Ciri watched him build the fire, the spark of magic not going unnoticed. Somehow it did not surprise her. Elves were often proficient in magic.
The fire came alive and soon provided a steadily growing warmth. She stepped towards the fireplace, allowing her hands to hover close, curling and uncurling her fingers to work some blood back into them.
"Home?" she asked, befuddled until she realized he must have meant Kaer Trolde. She shrugged, unconcerned about that at the moment. "I don't know. I'll find a way. I always do."
Avallac'h would find her sooner or later and hell would rain down on her. Ciri tried not to think about that.
"You were going to Tor Gvalch'ca." Or he had already been. She could not tell. "Why?"
She was being too vague, and it was annoying. Even more annoying was the fact that he let himself get involved. He still couldn't understand why he did and why it had to happen near him.
The name she used elicited his frown. "To what?"
Ciri turned to look at him. "Tor Gvalch'ca." She had expected him to understand the Elder Speech, but perhaps she had been mistaken.
Half-elf, she reminded herself. Don't make assumptions.
"The tower." She gestured in the general direction, even if it could not be seen from in here.
His frown deepened. Why would she know where he was going?
"You're what, a seer?"
"I asked you first," she pointed out, managing the smallest of smiles now heat was starting to creep back in her body. She turned fully to face him, putting her back to the fire, so she could examine him properly in the light. He did not feel evil. Did not feel as though he had intentions of dooming this world and everyone in it. Perhaps he had merely been curious? Or just ended up here while letting his griffin-friend stretch his wings.
"Never mind," she said after a short pause, feeling that strange need to protect his privacy that she had felt earlier with Geralt and Yennefer. She could not for the life of her understand why. "It is not my business."
Seer or not, she was something. Or it's the witcher's practiced attention that she tried to read him with.
"It's not," he agreed, folding his arms and briefly checking if his own medallion was still hidden beneath the shirt. "But you're here, which was a rather stupid endeavor. So tell me it's not because of me you came here. The Elder won't be pleased."
"It's not solely because of you." She also wanted a good look at the tower.
Avallac'h had been upfront about the risks of our solo-endeavor, so Ciri knew there was a high chance The Tower of The Falcon would be the last she'd see of this world before she died.
A morbid curiosity, perhaps? Or a wish to find something that would help her succeed?
"The Elder?" she asked because that sounded ominous.
"Ermion. He's not fond of your finding out about me. If you're tracking me with whatever you use for it, he won't be pleased. So why would you do it in such a deadly way?"
"Oh." Her concern waned a little. She had no desire to make Ermion-Mousesack angry. But she also did not fear his anger. In the past, as a child, there would have been punishments a'plenty for disobeying her elders. She was not so sure how that worked these days. "Our first two encounters were mere coincidences. I am not tracking you. And tonight, I wanted the tower." She paused, considering him. "You were an added bonus. As for the boat… not all of us have friends with wings."
"You seem to have plenty of two-legged friends who'd accompany you to that tower. Why you sneak at night like that?"
"What makes you think I snuck away?"
He rolled his eyes, getting tired of having to explain the obvious. "You're all alone in a boat going to an abandoned island and can't do magic to save yourself. It seems like secrecy to me. So why?"
Ciri smiled a little. "Touché. And my reasons are my own. For now, anyway. Are you certain you were not in Brokilon nine years ago?"
He squinted imperceptibly. That again. "Why would you think so?"
"I dreamed about you. Before we met." It pained her to admit it but it was the truth. "I'm trying to understand why."
That was alarming and sent an ominous thrill down his spine. He shivered subtly, but his face didn't betray it. "If you're a seer, it happens, and there's not much to understand except for it all being signals to you from the powers that serve you. No one taught you?"
"They tried. But they didn't have much time." Ciri turned back to the fire. "I know my dreams. I can tell them apart. Which are fantasies, which are premonitions, which are visions. The nightmares always come true. Always. And they are there every night. Except last night. Then there was just you."
He mulled it over a moment, eyeing the fire when she turned away. "I hope you don't expect me to explain that – Ermion is the one who should be good at it. Sages, wizards and such. You might have dreamt it all as a premonition to this situation you've gotten yourself into. A part of your soul might have known in advance what you'd do and how to save you." He shrugged, even though she wasn't looking at him, and glanced at the window.
The moon had moved significantly – he had lost about an hour. And was going to lose more, because there was no way the girl would swim back.
"I should take you back. Or at least try. Griffin never had two riders before."
"You sound like him," she mused, moving her wet shirt closer to the fire. It was far from dry. "Are you going to the tower?"
"As if there's time for that anymore," he looked at her ironically. "Unless I leave you alone in here and just go while you're drying your clothes."
"You are running out of time?" She frowned.
He had an urge to roll his eyes again, but refrained. "Griffin can't fly around during the day – you said so yourself. I have to be gone before sunrise."
"There are no people on this island. You are planning to stay here?"
If so, he did not have to worry about being seen. Other than to deliver her back to Kaer Trolde, of course. "Right."
She turned her back on him again and undid the fur's clasps, intending to exchange it with her own clothing again.
"Leave it on." He made to reach for her wet clothes, then thought against it, and gave her a pensive look. "Did they hurt you? The sirens."
Ciri paused undressing. "Claws got me once or twice."
She regarded him over her shoulder. His clothes weren't suited for winter, either. "You'll freeze. You should go. Take your friend and go. I got myself into this mess. It was never my attention to make you suffer for it. I'll stay. Someone will find me eventually, they always do."
He looked at her with tired patience. "You're being stupid again. I can't leave you here for a chance of someone finding you or your bones.
"Where did they claw you? Bleeding won't do you good."
"Arm. Maybe my back." The cold had been worse than anything.
She hesitated, stifling the touch of fear before she slowly eased out of the coat, pressing it to her chest to cover, as Lambert would say, her womanly bits.
He observed a long scratch across her shoulder blades and glimpsed another, smaller one, on her shoulder. Both were oozing blood.
He skimmed over the options in his head, but none of the human ways would be effective now. He didn't have all night.
"Don't move," he said quietly, rubbing his palms together. It was the last thing he wanted to do – touch anyone, especially her of all people, knowing what touches could bring. He didn't want to know or see anything.
No other way.
He inhaled, focusing, letting himself feel the energy flowing into his hands until it prickled like tiny needles. Gingerly, as if she'd turn and bite, he held her palms over her scratch, so close he felt the faint warmth of her skin.
Ciri closed her eyes and tried to still her thrashing heart. She didn't want to be afraid and she especially did not want him to know just how much.
He didn't put his hands on her but she still felt the warmth of his touch. Healing.
Gradually, the gash began to skin over, the rims connecting and the traces of the cut dissolving, leaving the traces of spilt blood as the only mark of where it was damaged. He repeated with the arm, then stepped back, rubbing his hands against his hips to shake the prickling. It passed soon enough, but the light dizziness remained.
Without the actual touch, it took more power. He felt thirsty and thought longingly about a nap in their cave.
The pain eased and when he finished she scarcely heard his voice. She trembled, though not from cold this time. It was a kind of relief.
"You're fine," he said and went for the door. He no longer felt cold, and a breath of fresh air would do him good. "I'll see where my friend is."
He didn't wait for her response and stepped out.
She registered him leaving and was grateful for a few moments to herself so she could redress.
The cloak had shed some of the water but it was still too wet to be worn, and too heavy to bring on the griffin.
She left it behind and stepped outside to find the two. "Archer?"
He turned to her voice; the griffin screeched and stepped back a bit, still wary.
The girl was wearing her shirt, still damp and clinging to her body. Her coat was probably left behind as a dead weight. The sword handle stuck out behind her shoulder, gleaming in the moonlight.
"You sure you don't want this?" she tugged at the jerkin in gesture, stopping a few feet away from him and the griffin.
"You need it more than I do right now." He glanced at her with a squint of interest. "Why is that tower so important that you came here alone? What are you hoping to find there?"
"I suppose I am looking for answers. Reassurance that I might make it out of… everything alive." Ciri knew that wouldn't make much sense to him. "What are you looking for?"
He ignored her question, altogether, in the light of the answer she gave. "What is that supposed to mean – make it out of everything alive?"
Ciri watched him a long time, eye to eye, trying to read him. "There are things I am expected to do. And it is doubtful I will survive them."
He raised his eyebrows, both intrigued and annoyed at the vague hints. "Like what? Bearing children? You don't have to, even if every second man out there expects you to. Habits of perception rarely die. It should be your own wish, since it's your body that bears them.
"What else do people want you to kill yourself for?"
Ciri laughed. "You'd think that, wouldn't you? But people don't take no for an answer. Not humans. Not mages. Not elves."
She sobered because it was not really that funny. "Enough now. You know too much and I too little. Why were you going to the tower?"
It was the closest he came to a ghost of a smile to touch his mouth. "Sightseeing. I haven't been here before. Curiosity is every creature's sin. I'm no exception. Not always, that is."
He glanced in the direction of the tower, then at where the moon hung.
"We'll visit the tower before we go back…" He looked at her through a squint. "If you tell me what you fear will kill you."
Ciri inhaled in slight excitement, though it faded as soon as it had come. "Why?" She mirrored his expression without knowing. "Why do you want to know? Is this just curiosity as well?"
"It is," he said, folding his arms for additional warmth.
The griffin's chest and shoulder pressed into his back, and he leaned onto the animal. He was warm.
"I want to know what scares you so much."
Ciri lowered her gaze, watching her boots as she considered his offer. "You are asking me to put a lot of trust in you," she said softly and finally looked up to meet his gaze again.
He regarded her pensively, then shrugged. "If I wanted to harm you - I'd have done that by shooting you or letting you freeze. What was the point in spending my time saving you just to use your fear against you somehow? I'm not a mastermind of evil, princess. We'll part ways and it'll be over. But maybe you feel better if you share that with someone you don't have to face every day. Sometimes it helps, or so I've been told." He raised his hands briefly in the afterthought. "Not that I will force you to."
He stepped around the griffin's wing and hopped onto his back, then beckoned her.
"Some men enjoy the torment more than the kill," she said. "And they will use your worst fears against you. To control you. To hurt you." She caught herself, fairly certain he'd understood she was not talking about him.
She put her gloved hand in his and let him help her up, frightened she would accidentally rip feathers from the griffin's plumage and send the animal into a rage. Luckily, it went all right.
She tried to make herself as comfortable as possible behind the archer, lightly resting her hands at his sides. "Have you ever heard the prophecy of The White Frost?"
"I've heard more than I bothered to remember."
Griffin was wary, his ears pulled back hearing the girl. The Archer put a hand on his neck, and reassurance helped. He ran a bit forward along the shore, crouched and leapt up, wings spreading around them, pushing him up. It took him a moment to adjust to weight, then he took a course for the tower. The wind made it useless to try to talk.
Her stomach lurched as they took off and Ciri inhaled sharply, very briefly tightening her hold on the archer, until she was certain she would not slide off.
And then it was just pure bliss. It felt like jumping through space, gave her the same high of exhilaration as she travelled dimensions. Closest thing Ciri had felt to it anyway. She savored it, every single moment until they reached their destination.
They circled the tower once, twice. There seemed to be a round room on the top with wide windows and a broken wall on one side where they could land.
He focused on his bond with the griffin and her closeness didn't give her any unwanted insights, which was a relief, albeit meek one. Being around her felt strange all by itself. There was something about her he felt he knew very well, but couldn't quite put a finger on. And a part of him felt it was for the best not to try.
When the griffin went for the third circle, the Archer leaned closer to his neck; the beast careened and slipped between two columns, landing them in the middle if the room with a screech.
Ciri didn't linger, imagining the extra weight had to be uncomfortable for the animal, and carefully slid to her feet.
Then she took in the platform they were stood on, eyeing the various symbols carved into stone and the large basin standing at its center.
To her left there was a set of stairs leading down from the mountain, and straight ahead was what looked like an open doorway. Only it did not lead anywhere. It was where a portal could be opened.
Tentatively, she approached, allowing her fingertips to graze the cold stone of the archway.
The tower hall wasn't too big, but resembled a throne room with an empty doorway in the stead of a throne. It looked like a portal, and the girl immediately went to it. He watched from where he stood. Griffin sat behind him, hissing quietly, ears pulled back.
"What's that White Frost about?" the Archer asked.
"They say it is the beginning of the end. A winter so cold and ruthless nothing will survive. It has not yet reached our world, obviously, but it will. Shortly if the mages' calculations are correct."
She leaned in to examine the carvings in the wall. They made no sense to her. Must have been here since shortly after the Aen Seidhe settled in this world.
"Why does it scare you when no one knows if it will even happen, or when? It could be ages away."
"It is not just our world to consider. People are already trying to flee their worlds and settle in others. Many have already perished."
Ciri seen it. Had walked some of those worlds where there was nothing but snow and frost. She knew it was coming. As did the Aen Elle.
There was no sudden enlightenment or answers revealed. She didn't know why she had assumed there would be. Maybe her dream had nothing to do with the tower at all, and everything to do with him. Archer.
"Have you a name?"
Many worlds... She spoke with a tone of knowledge as if firsthand, and deep down he felt she might know, indeed. Especially if she was getting visions.
"Like everyone else."
"Will you share it?"
He reflected a moment. "What for if we'll go our separate ways after?"
Ciri wasn't so sure they would. Not for good anyway. She decided to keep that suspicion to herself, however.
She shrugged and gave a small smile. "Just nice to put a name to the face." He seemed reluctant, though. So she supposed he would just be Archer for now. "Curiosity waned? You are not exploring."
He cast a look around. "I'm not so sure I want to touch any of it. Not much to see here otherwise." He regarded her. "What about you? Was it worth it to nearly die on your way here?"
She considered that a moment and smiled. "Yes."
To be on an adventure with someone who did not expect anything from her, who did not want her dead but whose world would not shatter if she did — it felt freeing.
"It is close to dawn. We should go."
She wasn't elaborating. Neither was he, so she liked to play even.
He was fine with being even.
He shifted, and Griffin stood up giving a croak. The Archer hopped on his back and held out a hand, waiting for her.
Ciri took his hand and hoisted herself up onto the Griffin behind him, getting situated like before. "Ready."
The griffin was already taking off. He leapt off the edge diving down, then flew evenly over the mountains and then the sea.
Sirens burst every which way and into the water at the sight, but the griffin didn't play with them - the weight was less allowing for maneuvering.
They flew past the harbor and around the wall-like cliffs on the north, then snuck over the mountains where the castle was nestled to land three minutes' walk away from the gates.
This flight was just as thrilling as the last. She smiled the whole journey, savoring the sensation for she had a feeling it would not come again soon.
Archer dismounted with her and gestured for the griffin to take cover. The beast ran off into the closest forest.
"I'll walk you to the gate," he said and waved a hand toward the village inviting her to go. It was still dark, but the sky was getting lighter in color.
She was surprised by his insistence of walking her to the gate, but it wasn't an unpleasant offer. "Making sure I won't come running after you?" she teased lightly, starting on the path down towards the gate.
Laughter and hollering could still be heard from the village, but it seemed most had retired inside the inn or their own homes for the night.
"Perhaps," he said with a hint of a smirk. "I'm not easy to find, so there's no point."
"And yet I found you," she pointed out casually, undoing the clasps on his jacket while they walked in preparation of handing it back to him. Her shirt had still not fully dried but it was a lot better than it had been.
"You said you went for the tower. Not for me. If not for your boat, you wouldn't even know I was there."
"You were there. In my dream, you were in the tower," she admitted, slipping out of the fur and handing it to him.
The gate was already in sight. He took the jacket and put it on, not bothering with the straps yet. It was pleasantly warm.
"It's just a dream. Your mind connected two things it's been toying with. Nothing special."
"Of course," she said without conviction. Like she had said, she knew her dreams. She could tell the difference between idle ramblings of her own mind's creation, and images that came from another place.
"You're in hiding," she said. "Who hunts you?"
"I merely prefer to stay hidden. When no one knows about you, it's easier to keep your freedom."
"This is true," she agreed. "Once they know, it will never stop."
She'd resigned herself to that fate, and it brought her no happiness.
He stopped a few yards short of the gate and looked at her, ready to part. "Try not to get in trouble."
She smiled a little. "I never try to get in trouble."
She sobered a little, not sure why she felt so sad at this moment. It was not as if she even knew him. It was not as though they were close friends who would miss one another.
"Stay safe," she said, backing away towards the gate before eventually turning and picking up her speed.
That's the plan, princess, he thought, watching her go. Her shirt was torn across the back, tainted with blood. The skin beneath the tarnished fabric held no scars.
He turned and ran back toward the wood where the griffin waited.