Geralt watched the flames in their small campfire crackle and listened to the sounds of the forest surrounding them while Kain dressed after his swim. Geralt had washed, too, but got out much quicker - the river felt rather cold, and Geralt preferred his bath time warmer whenever he could choose.
"Ciri told me about the Crone."
"I thought she would," Kain fastened the belts of his jerkin, settling with his back against another tree next to the Witcher. "We'll take care of it."
"Is it really so easy to track you both?"
"If someone with magic has your blood," Kain said, feeding more twigs to the fire, "it's not hard. She scratched me with Vesemir's medallion, and before that they tasted Ciri's blood. We cannot leave her be, vengeful as she is and with her connection to the Hunt."
"So much for keeping you hidden," Geralt smiled wryly. "I bet it's not what Visenna would like."
"She must've known I couldn't stay hidden forever. She wouldn't have sent me to the witcher school, either, for I've been safest with the druids of Maribor."
"Did she choose where you'd be from, too?"
Kain nodded. "I was supposedly from Lyria."
"Neighbors, eh." Geralt's bitter smile was slowly fading while he watched the fire. He wasn't fond of his mood. The tongues of flame reminded him of her hair, long and red.
"She abandoned you no more than she did me, Geralt."
Kain's voice was soft and also reminded him of hers.
"At least she made an effort to explain why. I never got that answer. I think she didn't have it for me. Or it was as simple as 'I didn't want you'. And she refused to tell me that to my face."
"Because it would be a lie."
Geralt's head snapped to him, eyes blazing, "How do you know? You didn't have to chase Vesemir for every bit of information. Beg to tell me another detail. Another little bit of who I am-"
"She's not what you are, Geralt. She gave you life, but you became what you are on your own, thanks to Vesemir and what you learned for yourself."
"She gave me away and never regretted it."
"I don't believe she was happy to part with you," Kain stated. "There had to be a reason."
"She would've told me, then. She denied me the answer."
Kain reflected. "She might not know how to put it to words. Magicians live in their own world and psychic revelations. She could've sensed your path and directed you. On that path you met Ciri, Yennefer, Triss, Dandelion. Do you regret that?"
Geralt sighed, gloomy. "No. I cannot regret it. I do regret, however, the wound she has left in me. Had she given me the answer-"
"Maybe she will one day. When you will understand it."
Geralt regarded him. "Your trust never faltered because you never felt she left you, pushed you off her hands into someone else's."
"I knew she wouldn't stay with me. And it's hard to be alone after you weren't. That trust in the path is the only thing we have, Geralt."
"Think she knew we would meet?"
"Perhaps a part of her knew of such possibility. Even with a low chance like ours."
"Ciri," Geralt murmured, staring into the fire. "The Child of Surprise."
"People bound by destiny will always find each other," Kain mused.
Ciri stood. "Will you come down for dinner later?" she asked Yennefer.
With the exception of The Lodge, she quite enjoyed when they all gathered for a meal together. Like they were a family. It was nice.
Yennefer made to stand as Ciri did. She nodded.
"Of course. We still have to discuss what we intend to do about protecting Novigrad and decide what battle provisions need to be made."
"Yes. If we intend to usher all the civilians out of the city..." Ciri paused. "Where will we even send them?"
"To the forests. They can at least use nature to their advantage. However, I doubt they'd going to be willing to leave."
"If I were who Eredin wants me to be, I could have moved them all to a different continent. Though, like you say, I doubt they will be willing." Ciri contemplated this for a while. "But surely they will want the children out of the way and safe?"
"They'd sooner hand you over to Eredin than give up their homes. Even if for a few minutes. Children included."
Yennefer moved to walk her to the door, reaching out to gently touch a hand to Ciri's hair.
"But don't you worry about that. You are not the cause for their stubbornness or the mistakes they make out of pride or fear."
"Perhaps not, but it certainly feels like it," the girl said, briefly leaning into Yennefer's hand before she stepped outside and headed down the stairs. Her sword could do with a cleaning and sharpening again.
"Think Dijkstra will convince people to leave?" Dandelion poured ale and pushed the mugs toward the two witchers and picked up his own.
"It would be a smart thing to do," Geralt said, sipping his ale. "There is no way of expecting him to go with smart. He'll choose what is more benefitting to him and his power. I can already tell he is squeezing every drop of advantage he gets from this siege situation. So people remember who they owe their lives afterwards."
"But how much can he do without you and the enchantresses?"
"Close to nothing," said Kain.
"We don't have the sorceresses yet, though," Ciri pointed out when she reached the bar, helping herself to a sip of Geralt's ale. "Without Fringilla, it seems they won't fight. Except for Yennefer and Triss."
"So they'll just open their portals and leave us to die?" Dandelion inquired. "So like sorcerers!" He snorted and drank.
"So like the Lodge to solely pursue their own goals," Geralt said. "And leave the world to burn behind them."
"One would think survival was in their goal as well as ours, but I suppose not."
"Oh, they would survive!" Dandelion said, leaning against the counter. "If they portal their magical behinds away from here. Say, to Skellige."
"I meant in the long run," Ciri clarified. "If The Hunt is left alive, our world will likely perish."
Dandelion shrugged. "They're mages. All mages have plans for any outcome. If they survived this far, they're likely to continue in the same fashion."
"They might be waiting for the moment to make better demands," Kain said.
"They want Fringilla," said Geralt. "She will make them stronger. Three are a better force than two. Triss is a bit of an outsider given her wish to aid us rather than stand with them."
"Would they be willing to give up their pardons for her, though? If so, freeing Fringilla could be easily arranged."
Dandelion laughed. "Naw, come on, Ciri! They want it all. No one would give up the pardons, nor forget about a possibly ally they want."
"First thing's first," the Witcher said. "We see what Dijkstra plans, and we go from there."
"Right," Dandelion drawled, looking skeptical. "That one plans for his own gain. You can be sure of it."
"Have you planned another meeting with Djikstra?" Ciri asked Geralt.
"Yes. We're meeting him tonight."
"Here?" She took a seat beside Kain, peering around him at Geralt.
The Witcher smiled, "Of course not. The place of his choosing."
"Can I come?"
"I don't think he'll like that. It's probably best that you don't. Besides, a woman visiting Passiflora catches unwanted attention."
"Loathes me that much, does he?" Ciri didn't mind if he did. But it annoyed her to be restricted once again.
"I don't think he cares about you enough to have any feelings," the Witcher mused, sipping his ale.
"So then why would he mind me tagging along?" She narrowed her eyes. "Because I'm a woman?"
"It's the most popular brothel and your presence will attract attention he does not want," Kain explained, studying the ale in his mug.
"Yes, Gods forbid a woman goes out to have a good time," Ciri scoffed.
"It's just that the only business a woman can have at a brothel is searching for her husband," Dandelion said, tipping Ciri a wink. "So most people believe."
"Most people are idiots," Ciri replied, leaning back in her seat with her arms folded across her chest.
"Most people means men," Priscilla specified, approaching with a few bottles of wine to refill the stash behind the bar counter. "That is why you're either a wife or a whore."
"Or a troubadour," Dandelion smirked, refilling the mugs with ale.
"That is luck I'm grateful for," Priscilla smiled glancing at Ciri.
"Lend me your lute and I could blend right in, Dandelion," Ciri teased, her annoyance abating ever so slightly.
Dandelion gave her a haughty look. "Do you truly believe it's that easy, young princess? Dare I enlighten you that I've spent years in the Academy learning that fine art of poetry and music. Cheap taverns are filled with that gimme-the-lute type and this is why the truest art and beauty I bring people are so welcome and well paid for." He shook his head and drank.
"Oh, Dandelion, I merely meant it might get me through the door without raising suspicions," she laughed.
Kain regarded her with a hint of a smile hiding in the corners of his mouth. "Why do you want to get in so badly?"
"Because I need something to do. Other than sitting here and waiting," she responded. "I'd like to be useful. And if I can't be useful, I'd at least like to stay updated on what is going on."
"That is the thing," Geralt drawled, amused. "You can't be updated there. You can be updated after we come back."
"Spend your time with me, Ciri," Dandelion offered, grinning as he leaned over the counter. "Pour ale and wine, entertain guests who can't talk about anything other than the bloody Hunt and death and hell coming to their city, all the while watching Zoltan so he doesn't lose his last pants in his card games. Lovely night. You can even touch my— um... Priscilla's lute."
Priscilla punched his shoulder, but without any real heat; she was smiling into her mug.
Ciri smiled, more amused by Dandelion than Geralt at the moment. "That's a generous offer, Dandy. Maybe another time. I've a few other things to tend to if I am not needed."
She tapped the bar counter and got out of her seat, heading for the door so she could get to the stables and the whetstone she had seen there earlier.
"You could help Zoltan with the bombs," Geralt called after her.
"Maybe," she called back over her shoulder before disappearing outside.
Passiflora was already buzzing and noisy when the witchers arrived. Even in the dire time of mortal danger hanging over the city like a suspended axe over a neck, people felt the need to combine the necessary discussions and planning with pleasures that had to soften the blow of impending doom's day.
Mostly there were men of higher and middle levels of wealth - lower classes had no way of getting into an establishment like Passiflora. The lords and counts and merchants talked and argued and plotted and disputed, sipping the best wine and liquors while groping the luscious women that worked here with their free hands. They occupied the tables in their tight companies grouped by either wealth or liaisons, best looking women on their lap. The more wine served, the louder their arguments grew, the more laughter they allowed. And the farther their debates drifted from the gloom of what was going to befall their city and lives.
"Geralt of Rivia!" Marquise Serenity cracked a beautiful smile that lit up her aged face, reminding the Witcher of how desirable she used to be in her best youthful years. "What a pleasant occurrence to see you here..." she regarded Kain with interest, "bringing friends."
Kain bowed subtly, executing courtesy.
Geralt smiled. "It is my pleasure to visit your splendid establishment. Bringing friends is only natural for a desire to share such pleasure."
"Ah, such a rarity for a man of your talent to be a sweet talker," she laughed, delighted. "Our common pleasures, however, will need to wait for a better moment, for you are expected. Both of you, I dare assume. Please." She waved a hand, and one of the bouncers detached from the wall where he was observing the patrons and led the way towards an alcove in the back.
A segment of the wall slid away responding to the bouncer's tugging at one of the wall decor elements, revealing a narrow stair passage leading upstairs.
Those suits were indeed the best in the whole brothel, decorated with golden candelabras and tall bookcases covering the whole wall; a desk with chairs from polished reddish wood adorned with puffy seats of cherry-red velvet. A couple of wide wooden bathtubs sat along another wall, water steaming in them. The fireplaces crackled emanating warmth inviting for indulging in any desire this place could stir. The door to one of the bedrooms was open, teasing a view at a royally wide and luscious bed with puffy cushions and round pillows adorned with silky tassels, flickering faintly in the light of fire and candles.
"Geralt! Cath." Dijkstra spread his arms in greeting but refrained from getting up. "Welcome, welcome."
Roche and Ves nodded their hello from their chairs, golden cups of wine in their hands.
"Now, shall we finally have the talk?" Dijkstra smirked, observing them in turn, and saluted with his cup. "To writing history, lords and ladies."
Ciri was just finishing tending her sword when she heard the lads leave. She still felt a sense of resentment – this was certainly a man's world. Doubted that was going to change soon. Even should she decide to take the throne.
She tucked the sword away and went to Kelpie's stall, taking a seat on the floor in the hay where she could watch the mare and attempt to connect with her in the way Fealinn had suggested, reading her emotions while attempting to send her Ciri's own. It wasn't terribly exciting work, but by the end of it Ciri felt as though her and Kelpie's bond had deepened ever so slightly.
She studied the bracelet currently clamped around her wrist, deep in contemplation for a while before she got back on her feet, a new determination in her eyes as she left the stables and headed out onto the streets of Novigrad.
She ventured outside of the city walls and walked along the river, a shadow in the darkness until she reached a small notice board. The kind that was posted in every village containing information about upcoming events as well as bounties on monsters. Witchers made use of them when doing their work.
She perused the various notes and paid special attention to the one promising coin in reward for a group of drowners slayed. Apparently the guards of Novigrad were less willing to take that job.
Ciri left the notice where it was but headed further down the river where the monsters were rumored to be. While she walked, some of her attention on her surroundings, she focused on the sensations of nature, letting them seep into her, her fingers splayed and palms facing the earth. She felt good. Strong. Calm.
It wasn't long before she came upon a carcass in the sand. From the measly remains Ciri would identify it as a fox or badger. The bones had been gnawed clean.
When she heard the first growl of a drowner, her first instinct was to draw her sword. But she didn't. She stilled, staring into the darkness until she could glean the shape of the rotting beast. It was the only one she could see, but she expected the rest of his flock was somewhere close by.
While the creature was still unaware of her presence, Ciri raised her hand and reached in its direction, trying to focus. Ten seconds later, with the girl's brow deeply furrowed in concentration, the drowner's head exploded like a ripe melon on a hot day.
A thrill of excitement rushed through her. She exhaled in a smile and eyed the dimeritium around her wrist before refocusing her attention on the incoming group of drowners that had now noticed her and were emerging from the water.
She reached for her sword now because she was not arrogant enough to believe she could explode several heads on her second try. Hack and slash, however, fueled by the speed her power allowed her - that she could do.
Yennefer emerged from the bedroom, briefly spoke to Dandelion who'd been polite enough to inform her that Kain and Geralt had gone out, and then went in search of Ciri. A stable hand said she was amongst the horse muck, probably playing with her horse. Sounded about right. Only, as soon as the sorceress entered the area, scanned the small stalls, she realized that maybe she'd been misinformed.
Where did she go?
Yennefer entered the inn again, zeroing in on the troubadour who appeared to be behind their drinks counter, playing a rift on his lute. "Where is she?"
Dandelion looked up, his features a mask of confusion.
"Ciri," she added before he could ask.
"Last I saw she headed outside," he offered in the way of what she was sure he deemed helpful information.
"She's not there."
Dandelion glanced in Priscilla's direction, broke away from Yennefer and went to talk to Priscilla with the intent to question her on whether or not she'd seen Ciri.
Yennefer probed both their minds for information, caught a glimpse of something about a brothel and a meeting that was taking place and stalked for the door.
The sorceress sashayed into Passiflora, dropping the glamour she'd been forced to enable to travel more smoothly through Novigrad. She hadn't bothered with a horse. The place was busy, bodies everywhere, the women working in the establishment either rubbing up on someone or laughing at a particularly obnoxious joke as if paid. And they were. There were also others, men mostly, merchants and bureaucrats.
No Ciri, no Geralt and no Kain.
Yennefer moved around the room with envious grace, disregarding leering male eyes that ventured her way, most she knew from scanning them filled with ideas of desire, while others assumed they knew her and tried to place her.
This was a dangerous game for all of them and one she knew might even be prepared given that there was more muscle than usual in the establishment.
That meant there was someone important.
"Nice job with the preaching," Geralt complimented, refilling his cup with Erveluce, and looked at Dijkstra, taking a sip. "Is the town council ready to accept help from those they used to execute?"
"Are those we used to execute ready to help?" Sigi played back. "That'd be the real question. Knowing Philippa, she would name a price. My guess would be Radovid's life. Are you willing to pay it, Witcher? And you, elvish spy, former or current, I don't give a shit - are you ready to give him to her and all of us? Because that is not just a price of the city, it's an investment into a better world. This world cannot thrive while there's a sore named Radovid spitting pus and decay in the middle of it. We have to get rid of him for the good of all. And not even you, Witcher, can argue this."
"Whether I argue it or not doesn't matter for as long as it's still a regicide and I'm a witcher."
Sigi scoffed and took a hearty gulp of his wine. "You came to me, remember? Not the other way around. And when you were planning your little family meeting with the Hunt, you also asked for my help. And now when there is something we can agree upon and do together in the name of peace and life of people here, including your daughter, you suddenly become self-righteous? Ha! That's rich."
"I'm still here, am I not?" Geralt said.
The Redanian spy laughed. "But of course: no sane man leaves Passiflora without getting what he came for."
Mild annoyance swept through Geralt's features as he drank.
"I understand your reluctance, Geralt," said Roche. "But even I have to admit we don't seem to have any better choice."
"Listen to reason, Witcher," Sigi said. "What will we have if Radovid lives? Go on and tell us."
Geralt sighed, an almost grumbling sound. "I do realize that. Yennefer and Triss, as well as any sorcerer and non-human will be an outlaw on their path to execution." He looked to Roche and Ves. "But I have to admit I didn't expect to see you two here."
"Like Roche mentioned, we don't see any better outcome," Ves shared. "If we did, we wouldn't be here."
"Aw, cut the softy crap," Sigi grimaced. "As if there is a saint being among us who's never taken a life or ten."
"It's true, we're no innocents," Roche nodded. "But killing shouldn't be senseless, and in this case, Geralt, it is for a better realm. Radovid has always been pushing solely his own selfish agendas. When Kaedwen asked for help, he invaded. When I begged to help Temeria, he showed me the door. He's dreaming of a northern kingdom under his thumb. No, while he sits on his throne and is allowed to rule, there will be no free Temeria. Nor any freely working enchanters, as you already know."
"No peace in the city, no acceptance of non-humans and their rights," Ves added. "No one likes that picture he's painting."
Geralt cast a glance at Kain who gave an imperceptible nod.
"Dark hair, nice touch," smirked Dijkstra, eyeballing Kain ironically. "You may hide your medallion under your shirt, but you're still a witcher, same as your friend the Wolf. You both reek of it. Your luck is that too few possess my nose for reading subtle signs."
"You read your spies' reports more clearly," Roche smirked. "Let's get to business. How and what do we do?"
"None of us can do anything until that rat gets off his ship," Sigi said. "He's rightfully scared to set a foot on the dry land where he's got too many enemies. I have no idea how to get him out of his hiding."
"By teasing with something he wants too much to remain careful," Roche said.
Geralt smiled wryly, turning to Dijkstra. "Why wouldn't you ask that very thing for help?"
"Ah, sod you, Witcher! As if you don't know." Dijkstra grimaced and drank. "I know Phil all too well. She wants him dead even more than anyone among us. But asking her for help... Gods spare me that misery."
"You ask me, however. What can a politically neutral witcher do in that regard?"
"He hired you to find her," Sigi stated. "You have every right to march onto his ship and announce that you have his prize. On the shore. He can go and grab it."
"And you grab him," mused the Witcher. He reached for the bottle and refilled his cup. "What makes you think he'll believe me? He might as well behead me on the spot for not arriving sooner. And then what are you going to do?"
Sigi barked a laugh devoid of humor. "He's acting all brave and stern, but the truth is he soils his trousers every time he hears her name. He needs to have her dead. It's him or her, he knows it too damn well. He will follow you if you swear you bring him to her."
"He will ask why I didn't bring her to his ship."
"Think of something," the Spy shrugged. "I'm sure your brain can work. He hired you to find out anything about her. You can waltz in and merely mention her name to have him salivating. Tell him you found her hideout and bring him on the bridge. We'll do the rest."
"He wouldn't understand why I found her hideout and couldn't bring her in," Geralt shook his head.
"She's one of the most powerful sorceresses," said Kain. "You're just one witcher. Last time at the bathhouse you had me and Triss for back up. Radovid expects you to do it alone - seize her up and drag her to him over your shoulder. Can a witcher do that? No. Can a wizard do it? Not just any." He spread his arms in a brief see-for-yourself gesture.
Dijkstra burst out laughing. "He talks sense for a mage witcher. I appreciate that."
Geralt reflected upon it as he drank. "Very well," he said finally. "Assuming he bites into that hook and follows me. There will be a panic after the deed is done. There should be a place to wait it out."
"That theater you took part in once - remember it? It's empty now and we can meet up there. No one will look for us in that hole." Sigi poured himself more wine and rubbed his leg wistfully. It still whined and ached.
"Fine," Roche summed up. "That settled, then." He downed his wine and made to set the cup on the table preparing to leave.
"Now that the boring part is done with," Dijkstra said, "let me introduce some pleasantries and celebrate the agreement."
He clapped his hands three times. After a bit, the door opened letting in a group of four dancers followed by the elven girl whose name Geralt recollected as Amrynn; she was playing flute. Behind her was another woman. Nothing reflected on Kain's face when his eyes met hers in habitual briefness. They had executed that particular act many times over and never failed.
Fealinn bowed to Dijsktra and went to the desk at the bookcase wall to set up her ointments and oils. She set her bag on the desk and yanked the velvet cover off a narrow backless couch meant for massages. Sigi was sneering watching her.
"My treat, my lords," he said. "Trust me, it's worth every extra moment you spend here."
Geralt hemmed observing the dancing concubines. "I don't feel like objecting. It's been a long day."
Roche frowned, contemplating, and Ves shrugged. "Bring me more wine and do whatever. I won't mind that bath, either." She downed what remained in her cup, then began to undress, discarding the clothes on the floor as she moved for the bathtubs. She lowered into one of them with a groan of pleasure. "Still hot."
"I guess we stay for a while," Roche smirked.
"Good," sneered Sigi unbuttoning his jacket. "I'm first on that couch. My ploughing leg is killing me."
Ciri looked down at the group of slayed drowners, her breath slightly labored as she went down to the water to rinse her sword. She would have liked to have disposed of them all with magic, but other than a miracle occurring it seemed too soon for that. At least she had managed to get a brief practice in before returning to the comfort of her sword.
She looked up at the sky to gauge the moon's position and the time of night, wondering if Geralt and Kain had finished their meeting already or if they were to remain for several hours more. Slowly but surely, she made her way back to the inn.
"Oh, Ciri," Dandelion smiled from behind the counter where he wiped the washed cups. "Yennefer found you?"
"Yennefer?" Ciri asked, removing her gloves. "No. Why was she looking?"
"As if she ever reported to me," the poet scoffed, setting down the cup he'd been wiping to take another. "Though she looked threatening when asking where you went. As if anyone ever reports to me! The amount of abuse I go through with your family, Ciri, is astounding."
She quirked a smile. "I do apologize. Is she upstairs? Geralt and Kain back yet?"
"No, she never came back. And no," he smiled knowingly. "They would be crazy to return that soon. I'm sure they'll be taking their time, those witchers."
Ciri snorted, her good mood instantly vanishing. "Right. Whores are much more appealing than what they've got back here." She spoke mostly to herself but it was possible Dandelion had overheard. "I need a bath. Can you help me arrange it?"
"Oh, but, Ciri, it's not just whores," Dandelion leaned onto the counter with a dreamy smile. "It's the best of the best we're talking here. It's not like what they - or, ehm, Geralt has here..." He frowned in thought and blinked at Ciri. "He doesn't really remember what he's got, so it's quite appropriate to take advantage of the opportunity. He's never ever passed on such, not on my memory, and my memory is very good. My profession requires it." He sighed and nodded. "Yes, I'll arrange the bath."
Ciri felt a little sick at his continued speech but tried not to show it other than pushing away from the counter the moment it seemed acceptable, darting up the stairs to relieve herself of her weapons.
Before long, a man Ciri recognized to be one of the stable hands and a serving-woman came into her room, carrying the large wooden tub which they promptly began to fill with water, running up and down the stairs at a rapid pace that had her feeling guilty for asking for the service in the first place.
When they finally took their leave, Ciri undressed and climbed into the tub, letting the hot water scald her skin to distract from... everything. And when that no longer worked, she slipped under the surface, testing to see how long she could hold her breath before her lungs burned and the need for air became too strong again.
Yennefer had found a quiet table in the corner, away from the crowd, the buzz and invitations that were steered in her direction. She sipped at mead, examining the faces that came and went, gauging and seeking those of familiarity.
What had Geralt come to discuss here of all places?
And was it even anything of importance?
If so, then why had Ciri run off?
Yennefer was regretting not hanging around longer to read the Troubadour's mind more thoroughly. Not that there was much in there aside from idle prose.
She sat back in her chair, saw two faces emerge from an alcove where some other men had drifted in and out and deduced almost immediately that they hadn't been here for the entertainment. At least not to the same extent. Their heads were bent together, their faces serious and their thoughts even more so.
Yennefer stood, thinking to follow them and then reconsidered, instead making a point of slipping into the hallway to take a better look around the dodgier interior.
"Viola, my love!" Sigi grinned spreading his arms as a dainty long-haired girl walked in carrying two carafes of wine. She was wearing a colorful mask embroidered with gold; her teeth glistened like pearls as she smiled.
She set one carafe on the table, then poured five cups of wine and clapped her hands before fluttering towards Dijkstra's bear-like embrace.
Two more girls appeared carrying trays with food. Fried pheasants surrounded by baked apples covered in caramel, fried potatoes and bowls of various fruits to enrich the tastes. They set the plates down and left as quietly as they came, like ghosts.
They all had dinner, with the dancer girls joining them. Fealinn sat next to Kain and ate like a bird, ever watchful beneath the perfect mask of nonchalance. They drank, told jokes, ate their dinner and laughed. All politics were left behind.
Roche and Ves left after dinner, but Dijkstra wasn't about to wrap the festivities. He drank a'plenty and watched the girls dance while Fealinn worked on his shoulders and back, being so masterful about it that he rolled his eyes groaning his pleasure. Kain and Geralt enjoyed their baths while Amrynn and Viola rubbed them with soft sponges - the best ones delivered from Kovir.
One more guest joined them for the night, a tall but scrawny bald man in small round glasses, one Geralt knew as Thaler. He expressed his laments for being late, to which Sigi responded that it was never late to celebrate a pact of agreement.
New meals were brought in, more wine being poured and toasted with, and while the dancers engaged in another performance with Amrynn playing flute and Viola on a lute, Fealinn helped Kain dry off with a towel and coaxed him away to the bedroom with fire crackling and incenses burning. There was no door to close, only a somewhat transparent dual curtain to untie from the sides to let it fall and provide an illusion of privacy, which wasn't truly a purpose of this whole suite.
Probably why Dijkstra and other famous conspirators favored it for such meetings: the best way to know your enemies and allies alike was through habits of intimate character.
The Redanian spy's small and sharp eyes kept darting to them as they moved behind the curtains, studying their silhouettes and movements as if trying them for pretense. Neither Kain nor Fealinn had ever failed in their acts.
She pushed him to sit on the bed, straddling his thighs. Their lips met, and Kain felt she enjoyed the show. It was a bit unsettling for him to find he sort of did, too. Why it was unsettling he preferred not to dig, but an image of a pair of judgmental emerald eyes loomed on the horizon of his thoughts.
Fealinn barely allowed any thoughts to approach and develop as her tongue slipped into his mouth and her hands roamed his torso expertly, applying just the right amount of stimulation to all the spots he wasn't aware of to ignite such sensations. His Cat Medallion was buzzing subtly alarming him to her magical tricks. She gently pushed him to lie down beneath her without breaking the game.
"You're not supposed to leave before morn," Fealinn whispered between kisses.
"I figured."
Kain breathed in hungrily when her mouth traveled sideways along the line of his jaw and the side of his neck while her hands never tired and provided a nearly overloading amount of sensations to keep the thoughts at bay. Her silky lips found his and engaged in another battle, stealing his breath and senses. Even through the veil of things dancing through his body, Kain felt Sigi's attention that coiled around like fine smoke from the incenses.
Fealinn's breath tickled his lips, "Do we..?"
He tried to inhale deeper, focusing to ponder. Temptation of novelty was nearing insane levels.
"Better not."
"All right."
Her kiss was gentle, tentative at first, sneaky and probing; her tongue snaked in while her fingers danced over his skin. They broke the kiss, panting softly; she lowered her head, blowing over his chest before bringing her lips to tease his nipple; her tongue danced around the areola, switching to gentle nips of her teeth.
She glided her warm palms down his chest, nails racking lightly as she sat back straddling his hips. Her hand wrapped around his shaft, she rose a tad and lowered herself back onto his thighs with a loud moan that sent shivers through his spinal nerves, creating the perfect illusion for all the beholders. He let out a shaky breath, his hands sliding up her thighs, fingers squeezing her flesh in encouragement of growing pleasure that began to push the spy's scrutiny from outside the room away into the dark of background.
Her thighs glided against his rhythmically to her moans, her hand heated up working him toward what promised to be an explosive release.
Their eyes met, and Kain smiled a bit impishly sneaking his hand beneath her bunched up skirt, and she tossed her head back, hair flying, her moans gaining the genuine notes.
They collapsed on the bed in one panting, relaxed pile, she snuggled up to him and he felt he was drifting off. He decided not to fight it.
Eventually, all the consumed wine inclined Sigi to get horizontal, and he excused himself to another of two bedrooms accompanied by Viola on his arm and two other dancers on his other.
Amrynn guided Geralt to the wide luxurious bed where Kain and Fealinn were dozing; it was wide enough to accommodate both couples without causing disturbance to either.
There had been enough wine to add the reckless note to Geralt's desire. Amrynn's eyes twinkled in the dark reflecting the fire still dancing in the fireplace, but the Witcher suddenly thought of the cold, violet gleam that lured and called from far away. Too far away... Geralt groaned, surrendering his mind to what his body craved, and the room around kept turning slowly like stars model at some scholar's library.
The Witcher and his elf concubine acted out the same play of passion but with no reservations or pretense, both vigorous and insatiable, feasting upon each other over and over until the night's darkness began to thin and they both were spent and tired.
Eventually, the suite grew darker as the candles died out one by one, and all sounds diminished to peaceful shallow breath of slumber.
When the water turned cold, Ciri heated it again the way Kain had taught her, using her magic and trying to familiarize herself with it. She also sent for a bottle of wine which she drank with gusto while playing, lifting globs of water from the surface of the tub without actually touching any of it. She was successful and soon moved on to trying to shape the globs into different animals. This proved more difficult and most of them ended up looking highly disfigured. It was entertaining enough for a while.
Until the lit fireplace beside her called to her.
('I forbid you from using fire-magic.')
Yennefer had told her something of the sort when Ciri was a novice under her tutelage. And she had broken that rule to disastrous consequences sometime later. Ciri remembered that moment with fear and self-loathing. And yet... the fire called to her like a song. She could already hear its voice in her head, imagining what it would whisper to her should she indulge.
You are mighty. The world is at your feet. Make it pay. Make them all pay. Those who have harmed you. Those who will. Let them beg for mercy while they drown in their own blood. They deserve it. They all want to use you. You are their pawn. Let the whole world burn! Let them all cower before the Elder Blood!
She'd heard it before. And it had been frightening. And tempting.
Ciri tore her gaze off the fire and closed her eyes, bringing the bottle to her lips once more, and leaned back against the tub.
Not today.
The door opened quietly, and Triss walked in with a plate of thin baked potato slices and marinated mushrooms.
"Ciri," she said in a tender tone and showcased the supper. "I thought you could use something with your wine. Are you feeling all right?" She held the plate to Ciri in offering.
Ciri attempted to smile but couldn't quite manage. "Thanks. Maybe later," she said, gesturing the sorceress put the plate on the nearby table. "I'm fine," she continued. "Just enjoying my bath."
Triss smiled knowingly. "I've known you since you were ten, Ciri, my darling. I can see and feel when you're not fine. What is the matter? If it's me and... last night, I didn't mean to upset you. I merely tried to aid and talked to him a little. He draws attention, stirs interest. I meant no harm."
Ciri was getting tired of people reading her so easily. Especially those with the ability to peek into her head. "I said I am fine, Triss," she replied tiredly. "You have done nothing to upset me."
Regret reflected on Triss face. "It pains me that you don't trust me with your hurt, like back in Kaer Morhen. I miss that."
"Why does everyone expect me to rant and rave about everything I am thinking? Why can I not have some thoughts for myself? Must I always seek advice in others before I can have a chance to search my own mind?" Ciri asked calmly. "It has nothing to do with trust. Or love."
"It's not about deciding anything, Ciri," Triss said with a small smile. "It's about sadness. I wish I could help you cast it away, my dear little sister."
"My sadness stems from being hunted for most of my life. From my loved ones being murdered." Ciri reached out to briefly squeeze Triss' hand. "You cannot help with that."
"You are with your family now," Triss said, covering Ciri's hand with her own, squeezing. "You cannot live in constant pain. It is not a way to live. We mages are often hunted, hated, murdered because of other people's fears. But if we keep on thinking about it all the time, we are dead already."
"I don't think about it all the time. I think about it now." Ciri leaned back against the tub again, taking another sip of the emptying bottle. "And I am allowed to if I wish, when I am here, alone where no one can see me."
Triss shrugged, looking sad like a kicked puppy. She rose from her haunches, nodding silently, and went to exit the room.
Ciri closed her eyes, feeling tired. It seemed she was not permitted to feel the way she did at current moment. Not even when she was by her lonesome. Because it made the people she cared about hurt. And that, that made Ciri feel lonelier than ever.
Yennefer passed a variation of rooms, all filled with couples, accompanied by all the appropriate sounds for such an establishment and laughter.
She wasn't as joyful, in fact, once she'd reached the end of the hallway and realized there was no more to go, she felt exasperated.
One of the Passiflora whores exited a room after her client to show him out, pausing when she saw Yennefer. Yennefer could sense from what was going on in her head that she knew she wasn't there to sample or work.
"Unless you're partaking, ma'am, you shouldn't be here."
"I'm looking for someone."
This gave the whore even more pause.
"A husband?"
Yennefer might have laughed softly another time, but yes, it felt that she was in search of a philandering spouse hiding from her in the shadows.
"No," Yennefer answered, the word and tone sounding the exact opposite.
The whore was smart enough to pick up on it.
"You can't be here. You have to head back down."
The woman didn't touch Yennefer but she did use her slender frame as a barricade, to keep her from venturing and to corral her like an animal for the stairs.
"I could make it worth your while," Yennefer said tightly.
"I'm not for sale," the woman retorted, contradicting her vocation.
Yennefer considered a burning insult. However, she didn't have the answers she wanted and therefore choose to be a little more agreeable. She pivoted and started back the way she came, probing the girl's mind like she'd done a couple others until eventually a stitch of information came to her.
A secret meeting with a secret entrance.
"Where is it?" Yennefer asked once she reached the stairs, hindering the woman from being able to head down the rest of the way or from escaping her gaze.
"Where's what?" the whore asked with sincere confusion.
"The door."
Her face appeared to take on a note of bewilderment and then settled as the realization dawned. She brushed it off.
"You're mistaken."
"Don't lie to me," Yennefer demanded in a lethal murmur, her eyes glowing with a shadow of neon violet. The whore shrunk back with alarm and before she could run, she'd been snared by an invisible hand, one that became physical once Yennefer's hands came to rest on either side of her face. As Yennefer sometimes tended to do, she inserted scenarios into the woman's head, calming her down, keeping her from running at the first sign or from looking at her as if she were a stranger.
Come morning the whore wouldn't remember a thing.
"Where's the door?" Yennefer repeated once she was sure she had the woman under her spell. Without hesitation the whore moved to point out a panel in the wall, carefully disguised amongst the wood in such a way that it was impossible to see if you didn't know it was there. Yennefer raised her hands to the door, felt around it and, when it slid open, smiled with satisfaction.
She didn't enter right away and instead spend a bit more time with the woman, deriving a bit more information about what was going on inside, and then sent her on her way.
When she finally made her way inside, she was disguised as the whore she'd been talking to, a food tray balanced within her hands. What she found was Geralt, Kain, Dijkstra and another man that had entered in a while before her and happened to be a cause for celebration. It didn't take Yennefer long to learn his name as he appeared to be handsy, similarly like the rest of the males in the room.
Yennefer's face endured only as long as a smile would allow and someone else came to take over, to show him off to one of the spaces designated in the spacious room for a more private setting.
Kain had disappeared first with some petite-looking elf and then Geralt had followed with another. Yennefer didn't know why she'd stayed, why she'd loomed in the shadows with an empty tray to watch as Geralt quite clearly took pleasure in the unfamiliar prostitute, and why, when she eventually dragged her gaze from the sight and decided to leave the establishment and return to the inn, she hadn't brought the structure down on them.
When the water turned cold again, Ciri finally climbed out of the tub. She put the empty bottle on the table, her steps uncoordinated as she made her way over to the wardrobe where she retrieved a clean shirt. She put it on and proceeded to push the bed over to the window, its legs scraping against the wood of the floor as she worked.
The plate of food was snatched off the table once she finished and she settled down atop her bed, shoulder against the wall and gaze on the moon outside while she nibbled her dinner.
The Inn was mostly abandoned for the night, save for a handful of troubadours and performers seated around a table having a fiery debate.
Priscilla didn't spare Yennefer a smile as she had other times, Yennefer assumed because she was still upset about spending a little time as a toad.
And also because she feared her.
Dandelion had made a point of regaling her with stories. He rose from his chair and crossed the hall toward her.
"You found them?" he asked, a tad concerned.
Not for her, for his friends' safety. Yennefer nodded.
"Has Ciri come back?"
"Upstairs."
Yennefer started for the stairs.
"I trust Geralt is unharmed?" Dandelion asked.
Yennefer said nothing but she pivoted on the landing to give him a look, one that matched the intensity of that she'd given the whore. Unlike her, Dandelion didn't shrink away from her. Yennefer didn't care to assure him, knowing that at some point the Witcher would do it himself, anyway, and continued to Ciri's room. Yennefer found her already in bed. She shut the door behind her, moved toward Ciri, and slid onto the mattress behind her, sliding in behind her to draw her close in the same manner she'd done a night ago when she sought comfort.
"You smell like a tankard," Yennefer added, speaking into her hair. She also smelt clean and felt slightly more chilled beneath her arms.
Ciri had already pushed her half-eaten plate away by the time Yennefer entered. She didn't protest being held, some of her insistence for privacy having been lost in her intoxicated state.
"I had some wine," she revealed, her green eyes still set on the night sky outside.
"Celebrating?" Yennefer asked, although she figured there was no chance of that and could pick up her disturbed energy.
"Just because it's lovely." And it was. For now. "Do you like my new bracelet. It's made from your dimeritium chains."
"There's symmetry in that," Yennefer mused, taking a hold of her arm to get a better look at the bracelet on her wrist. "Guess Emhyr gave us two gifts. How does it feel?"
"Like a bracelet. What does it feel like to you?"
"Like agony," Yennefer added. "Is it helping neutralize your magic?"
"No. Supposedly it makes my magic harder to track. For the hunt, you know?"
"Smart. Whose idea was that?"
"Kain. Maybe we will have to get one for him, too, eventually. When they start hunting him." Ciri was still convinced it would happen.
"Probably a good idea. You could talk to Emhyr about it when you return to him after we defeat The Wild Hunt."
"Oh, no. I will get it elsewhere. I am not telling Emhyr anything about Kain."
"I wasn't suggesting you tell him about Kain, but perhaps ask him for another set of chains. You can always pretend you don't already have something in place for yourself."
"There are other places we can get it. I don't want anything from that man."
Yennefer hemmed her agreement and then slowly released Ciri so that she could roll onto her back. "You should sleep while you can. The next few days are going to be rough."
"All days are rough," Ciri said but obediently lay down anyway, her head spinning and her fading consciousness already lulling her towards sleep.
Yennefer watched Ciri for a time. She was brooding and upset with Geralt, although she supposed she shouldn't be, given the djinn's effects had been broken and their love shattered. Geralt didn't owe Yennefer anything, least of all loyalty, and yet she expected him to want to, to have considered her and what she'd been trying to get through to him during their time together.
Maybe she hadn't tried hard enough?
Once Ciri's breathing evened out, the sorceress touched an index to her relaxed face and swept aside errant curls with tender affection.
Kain, also, had been pretty deceptive tonight. He knew what Yennefer's darling girl felt for him and unfortunately, given what the sorceress had seen, she knew another heart was going to take a beating. Yennefer, however, didn't want to be the one to do that to Ciri and therefore hadn't mentioned it, wishing to spare her from it as long as she could. Ciri had already endured so much.
Yennefer continued to touch her, sweeping aside anything that came up to mar Ciri's features or suggested she might have been having a nightmare, until eventually she too drifted and fell into an agitated sleep.
He didn't come at once. But he did come, as he always did when Ciri had not guarded her mind with magic.
Eredin is too close. She can feel the heat of his body, even though she has always imagined him to be cold. Cold as the ice-magic he and his men wield.
"We will see each other soon," he whispers smoothly, taking hold of Ciri's throat with his large, pale hand. His fingers squeeze her to the point of pain. "I am coming to get you, beauty. To take you away. Are you ready for a new adventure?"
She doesn't know where her courage comes from but everything feels different this time. She can move. She can speak. His hold on her is not as strong as it used to be.
"Get out," Ciri hisses, glaring up at the elf, her chin jutting out stubbornly.
The hint of surprise ghosts across Eredin's face. "What was that?" he asks, as though not sure he heard the girl correctly.
His fingers tighten on her throat and now they burn like fire.
"Get out!" she demands more firmly. "Get out! GET OUT!"
A flash of green. A cry of pain. And the elf is gone.
Ciri woke with a gasp, her hand immediately going to her throat. It had seemed too good to be real. For a moment she wondered whether it had just been a dream.
But no. When she carefully slipped out of bed without waking Yennefer and moved to the dresser with its looking glass, she knew that was not the case. It had been real.
The king's fingers still marred her skin.