Roach and Geralt weren't in any hurry; she was trotting lazily without any intention to pick up her pace, and he didn't mind.
Yennefer, though, seemed nervous.
Magic was so much easier to travel with, and, despite the cloak, there were obvious witch hunters posted all throughout town.
Yennefer only relaxed once they hit the outskirts and she no longer had to worry about being peeled off her horse or someone recognizing something about her.
She slowed so that she could fall into a trot beside Geralt and Roach, although her own mare echoed her concerns and wanted to run.
"I don't feel good about leaving her."
"What do you think will happen to her? She's not thirteen and alone, anymore."
Yennefer tossed Geralt an indignant glare, one she was sure replicated Triss's earlier. "A lot can happen. I'm not foolish enough to believe that your brother is going to be enough of a force to stop The Wild Hunt should they choose today to show up or find some other means of finding her. I worry."
"Because you haven't seen my brother in action fighting the said Hunters." Geralt gave her a smile, hoping to reassure both of them. "They'll be fine."
Yennefer nodded. Kain's fighting skills had been thundered about so much so that Triss was still plotting to turn the boy into a mystical breeder.
"I wish I had the same kind of confidence. The fact of the matter is that we've lost her once and I hardly want to do it again."
Geralt shot her a glare, "It won't happen again. Not while I still live."
"Nor I," Yennefer agreed.
Thought that spurred her to drive her heels into the mare's side so they could ride a bit faster. She knew it was pointless, but the sooner they got there, the sooner they got back.
They were met with respectful nods of the soldiers and guards, and even the Emperor's lackey that hated Geralt's guts bowed and smiled and invited them to follow him to the Emperor.
He led them to the library Geralt was already familiar with.
"Master Witcher is to wait here, for His Majesty wishes to speak to Lady Yennefer alone before His Majesty summons Master Witcher to join them. Please," the chamberlain gestured for a chair at one of the tables, "rest. I shall come for you shortly."
He turned to Geralt's pretty companion and bowed again.
"Lady Yennefer, please, follow me."
Yennefer was tired from the journey—which, all things considered, was quite long. Once they'd arrived, the Emperor hardly wasted time.
She nodded within the man's direction, offered Geralt a reassuring smile and fell into step behind the messenger.
The chamberlain led her through the corridors and past the throne room, up the stairs and through another corridor that ended with a tall door and a pair of guards standing still like statues.
The chamberlain went between them and opened the door after the knock; and as he stepped into the room and Yennefer made to go in after him, the guards seized her by the arms and quickly, like street magicians pulling a trick, snapped a pair of heavy metal shackles on her wrists.
And then, she was led - or half-carried - into the room where the Emperor sat behind his desk, rubbing his chin in thought. His massive rings gleaming in the candlelight.
The chamberlain stood at the wall, his hands behind his back, his face impassive.
The guards put Yennefer in front of the table and stepped back to the door where they remained, waiting for further orders.
"Why, greetings, Lady Yennefer," Emhyr said. "I hear your journeys took you far. Have you found my daughter?"
There had been no time to react as two hands clamped down on each shoulder and the chains were sealed around Yennefer's wrists.
She tested the tension as if she couldn't believe what had happened, cringing inwardly when she heard its clatter and felt her magic temporarily dull in the background.
Her heart dropped and she was shuffled forward like a slave. She couldn't even taper down the urge to fight, one of the soldier's hands bruising as he dragged her.
Yennefer calmed only once she saw the Emperor seated behind his desk.
After being placed before him like a prized cow, she hardly found herself able to contain her fury or to think rationally like she'd intended when they came here.
"What's the meaning of this, Your Excellence?"
A courtesy that had a bit of a snarl to it as Yennefer raised her hands, jingling the chains as if he wasn't aware that she was wearing them or might not have known as much.
Emhyr merely raised an eyebrow at her outburst, as if it was nothing more important than a bee disturbing his quiet with its buzzing.
"I have asked you a question," he reminded. "Do not make me ask it again. Speak. Where is Cirilla?"
"She's safe," Yennefer said after a lengthy pause.
It hurt to address his question when one's pride was hurt.
"But she's not here. She had no care to see you."
Emhyr's brow creased subtly as he pondered her response.
"I see," he said eventually, stapling his fingers over the table observing her. "Even though you were supposed to help with that exact fact, I may yet forgive your insolence. Because you can yet help. You are here, after all. She shall be, too. Unless she wishes to marvel at your pieces."
He waved a hand, and the guards stepped forth to grab the sorceress under her elbows again.
"Don't do this!" Yennefer yelled as soon as the guard's hands clamped around her shoulders, moving to hoist her off her feet when she started resisting. "This is not the way to go about getting her on your side!"
Only Emhyr stared at her blankly, scarcely seeming as though he even saw her as she was carried out like a doll for what Yennefer assumed would be jail or the gallows.
The Chamberlain - Mererid or whatever his name was - left and closed the door behind him, abandoning Geralt with the Emperor just like when he hired him to fetch his daughter. And just like back then, he had only the one question for Geralt.
"Where is my daughter, Witcher? You had to bring her to me."
"I had to save her," Geralt corrected calmly. "Which I have started, but haven't finished yet. The Hunt is still after her, and she has to stay hidden."
"Are you deaf or dense?" Emhyr inquired. "Or both? I am the Ruler of North and South. I have all the means in this world to protect my own flesh and blood."
Geralt smiled nastily, "But not to find her, apparently."
His face darkened, he got up and began to pace slowly, his hands clasped behind his back. "I believe I have made myself utterly clear, Witcher. Many times. You bring her here, or I shall put a lot of efforts into making your life exceedingly difficult, mayhap even lethal. And that concerns not just you, but your black-haired sorceress, as well. And everybody you ever loved or liked, starting with that annoying poet with flowery name. Is that clear?"
"Absolutely," Geralt nodded with his nasty smile widening. "I merely feel it's not clear enough to you that whomever you consider important to me is the same to her. What is your goal, Your Majesty? To make her resent you even more than she already does?"
"Her relationship with me is not your concern, Witcher. The sorceress and you depend on her decision right now. She survives if Cirilla comes here to speak to me."
Geralt tried to keep emotion off his face and demanded, "What have you done to Yennefer? Where is she?"
"Nothing yet, but many things can be done to a witch that can't respond with magic. She's fully at my mercy. Just like you are."
He picked a golden bell off his desk and rang; the Chamberlain returned with four guards.
"You are to follow these men to your new quarters," Emhyr said, and waved his hand dismissively. "I don't know if you believe in gods, but if you will - pray, Witcher. Pray for Cirilla to come save both your lives."
Gnashing his teeth as the guards grabbed him and rid him of his swords, Geralt made himself sneer menacingly. "You have given her to me, Duny. You have made a promise that couldn't be broken by you, nor even me. And now you're playing against destiny. Let me tell you what I have learned: Destiny never loses to people. Not even to kings."
Emhyr scowled and watched Geralt being taken away.
After being hauled down a series of hallways Yennefer eventually reached the jails in the west of the castle, hidden below its depth, panic increasing as visions of being on the rack swept through her mind.
"Where's Geralt?!" she hissed as her struggles intensified.
The Emperor and Geralt didn't get on and Yennefer worried that Emhyr might do something serious to cause Geralt harm.
She'd been asking about him since they started carrying her and neither man cared to listen. One broke away to unlock one of the cells while the other dropped Yennefer inside. It didn't look too far off from the place they'd saved Margarita and Triss from, although the stench of piss was less prevalent in the air.
"Stay put," one of the two soldiers added snidely, slamming the cage door, locking it for extra measure. Neither exchanged any other pleasantries before leaving.
The portals were no longer there, but the round frozen marks were scattered around the market and some in the streets leading to it. The crowd of people and traders caught there when the attack began were tightly pressing together like a bunch of scared sheep. The Riders trotted around on their armed horses, their hounds crept in circles around the crowd snarling and watching so no one got away. A few ripped and frozen corpses lay at the turns to the streets - the failed escapes.
"People of Novigrad," Eredin's voice boomed as he paced before the frightened crowd on his stallion, white puffs of smoke condensing around him and the mouths of the watchers. "Each of you wants to live, we know that. Even the most pathetic of lives yearns to continue, and we would let you. On one condition: if your city stops hiding the one we want. The girl with ashen hair, travels with one or two white-haired witchers. A scar on her face and emerald eyes. She should be in your city right now.
We shall return in five days. You are to give her to us, or we will take every life we come across. Do we understand each other?"
A few guards were pushed forward from the crowd. They looked very misplaced.
"We... ah... um... We understand, sir... um... We will find the girl."
"Good," Eredin boomed, leaning forth in his saddle. Kain imagined his nasty smile widening beneath the helm. "You better."
He waved a hand, and the wizard stomped his staff into the pavement; the pebbles turned misted with frost. The air distorted and a portal opened. The hounds snarled and howled and went into it one by one. When it came to the Riders, the first of them rode past the crowd of frightened people and swung his sword in passing by. One of the guards fell down, his armor frosted over. The Rider trotted into the portal and disappeared. The others went after him.
"It's for you to remember I'm not toying with you, humans," Eredin said. He was the last to ride into the portal. The Wizard stepped after, and the portal closed.
The crowd waited in frozen terror for another while, then gradually began to move. Women began to wail, men were pale and lost wandering around the market covered with frost.
"We have to track that girl or we're doomed!" someone cried. "The king should know! And all the guards! And everyone! The flyers! We need flyers!"
"I know her! I saw her at the market today! She was with that young Witcher!"
"We need artists! Best artists to draw flyers!"
"Right away! We only have five days!"
"What if they escape?!"
"We have to track them down! Right now! Before they get anywhere!"
"I saw them at Rosemary and Thyme! They might be staying there!"
"Go there now!"
"Artists! Where are the artists?!"
Kain turned and ran back, leaping over the roofs. It was still quiet at Dandelion's inn; people were oblivious and listening to Priscilla playing her lute. No one noticed Kain as he slipped through the crowd to the bar where Dandelion was talking to someone.
His eyes widened when he noticed Kain; he quickly excused himself to meet the witcher halfway.
"Gods, Kain, where is everyone? I was making myself crazy here, and no one tells me anything! What is going on?!"
Kain told him what was going on a few streets away from his establishment, keeping it short but clear. The poet was getting paler with every sentence Kain uttered.
"Oh my... Ah... Oh... What... What are we going to do?! Are they going here?!"
"You need the Lodge's help," Kain said. "Their magic can help convince the people that we were never here. But you need to hurry, you have minutes left."
"But... But... What about you?"
"We're going to be fine, don't worry. I'll take care of Ciri, we'll see you later. I'll make sure she's safe. You have to make sure you here are safe, all right?"
He nodded frantically, his eyes shifty. He was searching for ways out.
"Don't lose your minutes, run for the mages now!" Kain nudged him to the stairs and hurried for the door.
"Ciri, no!" Fealinn exclaimed as Ciri reached for the door handle, her slight frame appearing behind the girl and her hands clasping Ciri by the shoulders.
"I can't just sit here and do nothing. Something is obviously wrong, otherwise Kain would have returned by now."
Ciri could sense Fealinn's magic, subtle and soothing, trying to calm Ciri's restless body. But it only had the opposite effect. Ciri was too frightened.
"You have to trust he will return here safely."
"Why?" Ciri all but snarled, whirling on the beautiful elf. "Why should I trust that?"
Fealinn looked momentarily lost for words and Ciri could tell she, too, was worried.
Ciri softened, her own hands coming to rest gently on the elf's waist. "Fealinn, I cannot lose him. I cannot lose anyone else. I know everyone thinks I am incapable of protecting myself, of going into battle. But that is the one thing I know I can do right. I have to go."
She headed for the door, trying to ignore any further protests from the woman behind her.
When Kain opened the door, Ciri almost barreled into him.
He ushered her back in and closed the door behind him.
"I asked you to stay here," he reprimanded.
"And I did," Ciri replied, looking him up and down. "Are you alright? What happened?"
Kain gave her a skeptical look, then glanced past her at Fealinn.
"The Hunt was at the market square. They announced that they're after an ashen-haired girl that travels with one or two white-haired witchers, has a scar on her face and emerald eyes. They gave the Novigrad people five days to track us down or they will kill every human in their way when they return."
Fealinn stared at Kain, but he saw her deep in thought, frantic calculation shimmering in her gaze. "Your hair. You have to dye it right away. I have the herbs. We'll do it now." She hurried to her pantry.
Kain looked at Ciri. "I warned Dandelion. The Lodge will cover them."
Ciri stared up at him, horrified. "We can't let The Hunt kill those people. I'll have to lead them somewhere else. It's my fault they are here to begin with."
"They will tie you up and hand you over if they catch a drift of you anywhere in the city or even beyond it. You can't lead the whole city away - they will rip you apart to preserve their lives exactly as they are."
"Novigrad is the only city no one could ever take or claim," Fealinn said emerging from the pantry with a basket of herbs, berries and powders. "People will never leave it. They will sell their own mothers and children to the Hunt to stay there. It's all they know."
"So they deserve to die?" Ciri asked, brow creased in emotional turmoil. "We need to direct The Hunt elsewhere."
"I didn't say we should let them die," Kain said. "But we have time to find a way to fix this."
Ciri scrubbed a hand over her face. "We need to find a way to warn Geralt as well. If he comes back to town, people will attack him."
"We'll warn them," Kain assured, taking Ciri by the shoulders. "Don't worry. One problem at a time."
"Have they gone, The Hunt? Was Eredin here? Did they hurt anyone?" Ciri asked, unable to keep herself from doing so.
Kain sighed and sat down at the table, casting a glance at Fealinn boiling the coloring mixture.
"Eredin was there," he confirmed. "He announced his demands to whomever was at the market at the time, a few people tried to run and the hounds got them. Then the Hunt left and people began to plan their own hunt for you."
"Brilliant," Ciri murmured, feeling a headache set in behind her eyes. "I summoned them here by practicing magic. Doesn't matter how little it was."
"It couldn't be it," Kain said firmly. "They had help. Perhaps from the very creature that has been helping them before. The Crone directed them. That dream meant something. She knew where we were. She told them."
"How would she know?" Ciri sat down beside him. "Could she be using Vesemir's amulet in some sort of tracking spell?"
"I'm sure she doesn't hold on to it as a memento. She snatched it for a reason. And it had my blood on it when she did."
"Can we find a way to block it?"
Kain shrugged, "By killing her?"
"It's risky to go against the scorned Crone," Fealinn remarked, setting her pot off the stove to cool down while she stirred it. "She will be ready for you, and perhaps even have some Riders for aid."
"Well, we might not have much of a choice." Ciri reached across the table to take a sip of her cider. "How can we find her? Must we draw her out like we would The Hunt?"
Kain thought about it, turning the cup around on the table. "She is weak without her sisters. If my dream has any truth in it, she is confined to that place in the swamps. That wooden house with a sharp cone roof. It's her place of power, the only one she has left. She probably wanted me to see it to lure me there."
"Like I said, she will be ready," Fealinn said. She was scooping the mixture from the pot and depositing it into a bowl. "Ciri, you first. Your hair is longer."
"Do you think it is in Velen?" Ciri shrugged out of her jerkin and rolled up her sleeves, scooping up a handful of the mixture Fealinn provided before cautiously smearing it into the lengths of her hair.
"It's somewhere in the swamps around the Bald Mountain."
"I could take us there." Ciri grabbed another handful and rubbed it into her hair. "It could draw The Hunt away from Novigrad as well. Unless they are predicting this outcome."
"I don't think they would rob themselves of the joy to make you blame yourself for Novigrad. Even if they ambush you in the swamps with that Crone's help."
"Then we should go as soon as we are able." Rubbing the concoction into her roots, Ciri eventually raised her head and looked between the two of them. "Have I got it all covered?"
Fealinn and Kain nodded, and the elf pointed Kain to the pot. He stood up and took the swords and cloak off, then scooped the dark mass from the pot and started rubbing it into his hair.
"Sit for a bit," Fealinn told Ciri and poured more cider into her cup. "Let the color take hold."
"Do either of you have a way to send messages? Other than by post, obviously." Ciri sat down beside Fealinn, wiping her hands on a cloth the elf handed her.
Fealinn and Kain exchanged glances, and she said, "I used my mind with those I knew, or animals and birds. I can send an actual message but need to know where I send it. It's dangerous, though." She regarded Ciri. "You want to warn the Witcher and Yennefer? She is a mage, she will protect them both, don't worry."
"I know she will, but would rather she didn't have to. If we could get word to them not to return to Novigrad..."
"You have to think about yourself, Ciri," Fealinn reasoned. "So they wouldn't have to worry about your protection. Then they can take care of themselves. I will find a way to warn them if they return here. But you two have to make sure the scared crowd doesn't find you."
Ciri was silent because no matter what she did it seemed impossible to make everyone else understand she wasn't worth all this fluster. It seemed much more important to ensure Yennefer and Geralt were safe and wouldn't run into an ambush coming back to town.
Ciri drank.
After a while - no way of telling how long, for time was not an observable factor in the dungeon - Emhyr sent for the enchantress, and his guards dragged her back to stand before him, in chains and a filthier dress.
"Your Witcher is very annoying," Emhyr mused almost lazily. "But you're probably already aware of it. So how about a small deal? I squelch my irritation and don't rearrange his hide, and you tell me all about my daughter from when you went to hold that battle at your witcher keep to now when you left her to come see me."
Yennefer straightened up despite the ache in her limbs, the hunger in her belly and the irritation she felt with Emhyr once the men who'd dragged her inside stepped away.
"Where is he?"
He wasn't in the same holding area as Yennefer was.
"Not where you are," Emhyr spread his arms, smiling a cold smile. "Where he better stay, because he is to leave there only if he's dead. If you don't want it to happen right now, answer my question. If I have to repeat it - your witcher shall gain a few new scars."
"Ciri will never forgive you for that," Yennefer stated coolly, wanting him to understand that if it wasn't for these chains biting into her wrists she wouldn't have hesitated to launch him through that window or send him to the deep sea where some kind of monster could swallow him up. "Nor will I."
Emhyr smirked darkly, "You think it makes any difference to me whether you forgive me or not? She will have to accept her responsibility as a princess, and it won't matter whether she forgives anything or not. She will have to understand that she cannot escape her crown and duty.
"Now, I will have to repeat my question and send my men to scar your witcher some more or do you recall my inquiry and answer?"
Yennefer was well aware Emhyr didn't care what she thought one way or another, but she wanted him to understand that it was a veiled threat. That if she were to be free of her chains, any cordiality she possessed for the man would be buried, along with her hand in his back. Yennefer should have been afraid, but given what she knew of the man's relationship with his daughter and her distaste for him, Yennefer wasn't feeling all that inclined to speak. "That's a waste of time. Geralt doesn't remember anything about the battle. He hardly remembers me. I found a Djinn I thought might be able to grant us the help we needed, and I messed up. Had you thought to ask me as your guest upon my arrival, you'd know that already. What you're doing now is torturing a man who has done nothing but care for your child as you should have."
Emhyr rubbed his temples, annoyed. "You tell me all about my daughter since you found her or I give the order to hurt Geralt severely while you watch."
"No."
Geralt hadn't broken and neither would Yennefer.
It killed her to think of what they'd do to him – to her. The point was that they'd both done everything in their power to protect Ciri and neither of them was going to give up now.
"We know what we signed up for taking on the role as her parents."
Emhyr laughed, but there was not a sliver of mirth in that sound.
"You're never going to be her parents. No matter how hard you try."
"Blood doesn't make one family."
If it did, then Yennefer, like Ciri, would have been tied to the worst people.
"You might not have learned that lesson yet, Emhyr, but you will."
"Between you and me, sorceress, the one regretting this conversation shall be you." He checked a huge ruby ring on his finger and clucked his tongue.
"Last time: you tell me about Cirilla or they bring you the Witcher's sword hand. Which one do you choose?"
Yennefer thinned her lips with considered determination and curled her hands into fists. The only active thing she could do.
"Unlike you, mighty Emperor, Geralt would go to any length to protect his daughter, even if that means sacrificing a hand."
Emhyr nodded, "Very well," and waved a hand at the guard at the door.
He bowed and exited.
Yennefer resisted the urge to watch the man go, to call the soldier back and instead focused her gaze on the floor, on some spec that had been missed and aged. "If you truly believe that torturing us is the way to get to Ciri, then every detestable thought she has about you is valid."
Emhyr lowered himself into the chair and sighed, directing a bored gaze her way. "I'm the Emperor of North and South. I cannot concern myself with what children think about me. My concern is the future of my throne. The land and its people depend on it."
"She isn't children, she's one—singular—and she's your blood as you so prudently reminded me. You hurt Geralt, you hurt her. You don't understand that? I always presumed you a smarter man than what you're acting."
"I shall do what I have to do," Emhyr said. "And she will know that it was your choice rather than mine."
The doors opened and one of the guards returned with a small tray and showed the freshly severed hand lying on it to Yennefer.
"Shall I send for another," the Emperor said, "or have one of yours?"
"She'll know that you left me no choice and that I was trying to protect her," Yennefer snorted contemptuously. The semblance of civility she usually had in these matters having been drained from her at the sight of the hand.
She averted her gaze sharply, felt tears burn behind her eyes but refused to let them fall. Men automatically thought they won when you cried.
"Take what you need to assuage your pride. I'll give you nothing."
Emhyr smiled a lizard's smile. "She will know that you had a choice but decided to maim the man she loves like a father." He looked at the guard: "Bring us the other one - so Lady Yennefer can take the whole set to her quarters with her."
The guard set the tray on the desk before Yennefer, bowed and left.
Yennefer wanted desperately to be sick at his second command, to curse, to snap his neck clean off his shoulders.
She stared at the hand before her, trying to gauge if it were real, if it was in fact one of those gentle hands that had brought pleasure to her body so thoroughly, along with unmistakable caring that made her ache.
Only she couldn't see through the rush of tears that had started at their own accord.
When the guard returned with another hand still oozing blood, Emhyr nodded and considered Yennefer attentively.
"Please, see the Lady to her cell and take the hands that are now hers with her."
A pair of guards grabbed her, the third picked up the tray.
Yennefer was still silently crying when they came to collect her, dragging her back to her jail without carrying her as they'd done twice before. She didn't struggle and once they'd deposited her back in her cell, she cried harder, the same way she had when talking to Ciri about how she'd lost Geralt the first time.
This had sealed their fate.
Geralt needed his hands. There was no way he'd live without them – that he would even want to – and the resentment that would come from that, if he were to even survive the wounds, was enough to strike a killing blow to Yennefer.
She winced when she looked at the floor and saw the hands there, dirtied, bloodied and unrecognizable in their horror. She sat down and stared at them, not touching, unwilling to abandon her present punishment.
When Kain was done and sat down, as well, Fealinn cut them a slice of the pie each.
"We should do something about the scar," she said. "Nothing can be done about the eyes, though."
"Eyes change naturally in different light," Kain said. "It's easier to hide."
"You wish to heal it?" Ciri asked, frowning and uncertain how she felt about that.
Kain and Fealinn exchanged uncertain glances, and Fealinn gave a small shrug, "Trying to mask it is more complicated - the exposure to sun and winds and rain ruins make-up salves and powders; and maintaining a magical illusion is draining for an unexperienced mage."
Ciri's gaze fell to the table and she drank again. Deeply.
"At first I thought a disfigured face would keep men from trying to force themselves upon me. But it did not. They do not look upon your face anyway.
"And then... it served as a reminder. That I am not invincible. That no matter my training or my power I am flesh and blood like everyone else.
"And lately, now that I have had to rehash and share so many of the things I have experienced when I was alone, it has reminded me I am a survivor. That I endure even the worst conditions."
Ciri sighed, still not sure how she felt about it all.
"But if it will help us, do what you can."
"Remember what I told you," Kain said. "If that scar runs deeper, it will return. If you want it to return, it will do so sooner. But for the time being it's safer if you don't have it."
"I could draw some elvish ornaments over it," Fealinn said. "But then people will take you for a Scoia'tael, and it's even worse."
Ciri smiled a little. "The Aen Elle always called me the daughter of Lara Dorren. They said the human generations between us did not matter. And yet they wasted no time or effort in telling me how watered down my blood is.
"Being Scoia'tael would not be the worst. But I understand your point."
"Scoia'tael are being hunted and killed on sight," Fealinn said, taking a bucket from behind the corner of the kitchen. "It's best to not resemble them. Or an ashen-haired girl with a scar and emerald eyes." She smiled sadly and went for the door. "I'll bring water from the well, you sit tight."
Ciri mirrored Fealinn's sad smile, darting a glance at Kain. "I know it is silly and unimportant, but... I feel a kind of sorrow having to pretend to be someone I am not. Hiding, once more. Always."
Fealinn sighed and went outside.
Kain gave Ciri a sympathetic look. "It's to protect people who see you. If they recognize you, we will have to protect ourselves, and they get hurt. I don't want that. You don't, either. It's a necessary compromise. Temporal one."
"I know. I am simply tired of it all."
Kain smiled subtly, "Life is tiring. It's a struggle that comes after a bit of rest, and sometimes you find some happy moments along the way, sometimes you do not."
"Tell me of your happy moments. Comfort me."
Kain chuckled with no humor and slowly shook his head. "I don't think there has been anything since I saw my mother last. I've been following the path, wherever it led me, without thinking of my personal gains. Simply aiming to be where the life would put me, where the world needed me most."
Ciri frowned. "You have felt no joy since then? None at all?"
Kain pondered. "Nothing bright and significant. It's been all pretty... even. I haven't been giving my feelings much of a thought. I was just living."
"Is that not sad? No joy... What is the point of it all?"
Kain shrugged. "I was to be a witcher. Witchers need no joy. They're made to serve humanity. So, I would guess, that service was supposed to be the joy."
"Feelings suppressed by mutations. You never went through them."
"I did it to myself. I shaped myself into what I was supposed to be."
"Was it what you wanted to be?"
Kain peered at her for a long moment, uncertain of what to say.
"I never knew what I wanted. Before mother took me to the school, I thought I'd be among the druids. Even though she was already telling me we were to live hidden. I thought I was hidden enough there. And I was content with that life. And then at the School, I thought it was needed from me to be a witcher, and I learned to be content with it. When I got to Brokilon, I learned to bear it thanks to Morenn. When she died, I sort of exhausted reasoning and went on just... living."
"Existing," Ciri corrected with a small smile. "Like me. Maybe there will come a time when we can start something new. Something better."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, maybe once The Hunt is defeated, and whatever comes after that, we can start to live. Not just exist."
"I do live." Kain turned to the door as Fealinn came in with the bucket full of water.
"It's cold," she said, "but there's no time to warm it. Ciri, you first. Come here, yes. Bend over that basin, yes, like this. I will pour water and you rinse your hair."
Ciri's hair took two thirds of the bucket, Kain's took the rest, and then Fealinn gave them towels and observed them with a keen eye.
Ciri's hair was dark chestnut while Kain's became almost black once again.
"It panned out nicely," Fealinn said with an approving smile.
"What now?" Ciri asked, drying her hair and wiping at the skin closest to her hairline to ensure the dye hadn't stuck.
"Your hair," Fealinn said. "You don't look like someone they should be searching for. Aside from the scar, that is."
"I mean, what do we do next?" Ciri hung the damp towel over the back of her chair to dry.
"I have to check on Dandelion and the others," Kain said, putting the cloak on. "If you keep the scar, you better wait here."
"I am coming," Ciri said determinedly. "Kelpie is there. And I need to see that Dandelion and the others are alright with my own eyes. Take the scar if you must."
"You need to want it gone, and you don't."
"I am coming," Ciri repeated, getting to her feet and locating her jerkin.
"If someone recognizes you - and they will try - we'll have to kill people."
Ciri smiled. It was without warmth and filled with a persistent frustration and bitterness. Though not directed at him. It was the situation itself. She hated it. She loathed it. For a few moments after reuniting with Geralt and Yennefer, Ciri had begun to feel so close to freedom. So close she could taste it. But it continued to be taken away.
"Will you please bring Kelpie away from there?" Ciri couldn't look at him when she spoke. She was scared it would make her cry. "And I will need my sleeping draughts."
Kain sighed deeply and caught Fealinn's meaningful look, then peered at Ciri.
"I do understand how you feel," he said in a soft tone. "But I don't want to kill anyone. If anyone will see you, I'll turn around and bring you back here, you understand?"
"No, you are right. I should not come. I will be putting everyone in danger." Ciri did understand the peril of all of this. "Just allow me to feel sad about it. Better I work through it now rather than later."
"Fine."
"I'll make some tea," Fealinn said, cleaning the kitchen from the bucket and bowls.
Outside Kain found two black horses grazing behind the hut. They snorted and approached. Kelpie and Onyx. Kain peeked into the hut and beckoned Ciri.
"You've visitors."
He left her to it and hurried for the city. There were guards at every gate this time. He slipped along the wall and over it like the first time. From the roofs, he saw that most of the city didn't sleep. People who saw the Hunt or heard one of the witnesses' story told and retold it to others.
It wasn't empty in front of Rosemary and Thyme, nor inside. People still discussed their predicament and exchanged ideas of resolving their issues.
Kain slipped inside unnoticed like earlier. There was no music, only worried discussions and drinking.
"It was horrible!" Dandelion exclaimed pulling Kain away to the kitchen. "They searched the whole place, and if not for the Lodge's spells, they'd be dragging us out to the square and bonfires or worse."
"It's not you they want."
"I don't believe scared people ever care about such details," the poet reasoned. "They're ready to murder anyone they view anyhow connected to their problem. How's Ciri?"
"She's worried plenty but fine."
"You two need to hide away somewhere on Skellige or... or... Kovir? Poviss? Brokilon? Anywhere!"
"We can't leave it like this - people will die here if we flee. The Hunt will cut out everyone they find."
"Gods," Dandelion ran a hand through his hair. "You can't let them catch you, either. Geralt will kill me for letting you."
"I'm pondering another idea. We need help of someone who has power within the city."
Dandelion frowned, deeper so as soon as it dawned on him. "Oh, you don't mean-"
"Is there a better idea? Going to the king who loves putting mages on fire?"
"No, no, of course not. But..."
He had no chance to finish his thought as a newcomer entered the inn.
Another royal messenger.
Dandelion gasped softly; something was wrong with Geralt and Yennefer.
"I need to speak to Cirilla," the messenger said at the counter.
"But we don't have anyone by that name here," Priscilla responded.
"She goes by the name of Ciri," the messenger said. "I need to relay the royal message in person. By the royal orders."
Kain placed himself in front of the messenger and touched his right arm, squeezing subtly while he looked him in the eye.
"Your message will reach her and you can assure the king that you have done it right," Kain said, pushing the thought into his mind. The man's eyes went foggy, he nodded, entranced.
"Cirilla is to come to Vizima and meet His Majesty the Ruler of North and South as soon as she hears it, and then her friends might be spared. If she doesn't come by next sunset, they are to be put to death."
"You may return now," Kain said, squeezing his arm again, then withdrew his hand.
The messenger blinked like a man waking up from a slumber, then bowed and turned to leave.
"Damnit," Dandelion said, bumping his fist down on the counter. "That bastard!"
"We'll figure it out," Kain said.
"How?!" Dandelion stared at Kain with a suffering, imploring gaze. "What can we possibly do with the Hunt and now the Emperor? All at once!"
"Don't panic," Kain said. "We're still alive. That means we can still do something."
"I think the Lodge is going to relocate to Skellige, given newly discovered trouble. Cowards."
"Even so, you might want to do the same, Dandelion. Both of you."
"Where would we go?" Priscilla asked. "We have worked so hard on this place and its name. If we leave it all now-"
"You will survive," Kain said. "This place won't go anywhere. But you need to be safe to return when this is over."
"We'll have to think about it," Dandelion said. "How much time before the Hunt returns?"
"Four days."
"We'll see what we can do, but first I have to know Geralt is safe."
"That's fair," Kain nodded. "I'll take care of it."
"Convince Ciri to go to Skellige," Dandelion said. "It's the best place to be, with that elf sage of hers."
"She won't agree to go alone."
The poet rolled his eyes and shook his head, but didn't argue. It was the truth.