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Ciri was slipping in and out of slumber when her door opened and Avallac'h swept inside. His blue robes were dirty, yet his face and hair carried no trace of the recent chaos.

He peered down at her a moment before taking a seat on the edge of her bed, peeling the bottle of wine from her hands despite her groan of objection. A leather bag rested over one of his shoulders. It was familiar. Ciri knew it contained various herbs and potions the Sage used for his magical endeavors.

"You faced Eredin," he said, undoing the bandages around Ciri's thigh. "That was careless."

Ciri swallowed, her mouth feeling very dry from all the alcohol. "It was necessary."

Avallac'h's fingers gently swept along the outer edges of her injury, his face twisted in displeasure. He didn't like the stitches. It was so barbaric compared to the Aen Elle's own teachings of medicine. "You risked your life."

He opened his bag and withdrew a vial of something that smelled foul, making Ciri briefly cover her nose.

"Just like everyone else in the battle."

"But you should not have," he said sternly, his cold eyes boring into hers for a few seconds before he cautiously allowed three drops of his tincture to fall atop her jagged wound. "You are not fodder for Eredin's soldiers. You are special."

Ciri barely held back a cry of pain, her eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched as she tried to breathe through the violent discomfort.

Avallac'h, who had treated many of Ciri's wounds before, though few as serious as this one, paid this no mind. Nor did he assure her it would be all right. He'd never believed in coddling children.

"You don't understand, do you?" Ciri retorted shakily, watching the elf with tired eyes. "Kain is special. Stronger. Wiser. Levelheaded. He is special! And if Eredin gets him, we have already lost."

Avallac'h paused his work just long enough to consider her, his expression thoughtful. "That is a very rash assumption. Kainar is indeed strong. Powerful. I doubt he would give into Eredin's demands so easily. If I remember correctly, you spent your first eight days in our world rebelling against everything. Even our mere presence."

He corked the vial and put it back in the bag, rubbing his hands together as if to warm them before firmly placing them over Ciri's injury.

Once more, renewed pain assaulted her senses and she jerked beneath him, an instinctual movement she had not been able to initially stop. She inhaled deeply through her nose, trying to regain control of her body.

"Maybe… maybe he wouldn't have been given a choice," she breathed, her head falling back on her pillow, hands clenched to fists at her sides. No one had yet told her exactly how Eredin planned to make use of The Elder Blood. Would it require her willing participation or would the elves be able to simply force her hand? Perhaps spilling her blood at the exact right time and in the exactly right place would be enough? Enough to open a portal powerful enough to save the Aen Elle?

"Doubtful," Avallac'h commented, his own eyes closing as he focused on the task at hand – healing the unruly child.

It was long after dawn and well into the morning when two witchers and two sorceresses came to see Dijkstra on board of the royal ship the Redanian Chancellor and spy had inherited after King Radovid's untimely demise.

"How is it going with your cleaning up that mess?" he inquired, mostly directing it at Geralt.

"We've been working for hours along with the medics from the Clinic and the students," Triss said before the Witcher retorted. "The wounded have been our priority. Two dozen fatalities prevented by our timely aid. Every wounded soldier and civilian in need of a bed regime directed to the Clinic, but I'm afraid there is not enough space for everyone. Many are being treated at the Academy."

"You may rejoice," Geralt said. "Not all of your soldiers are dead despite your lack of helping them."

Sigismund grimaced derisively. "What would you have me do? Die among the first ones protecting your Cirilla? And what then, Witcher? Who would stand at the head of Redania? You? Phil?" He surveyed them in turn. "Half the city is damaged. It needs to be restored as soon as possible - as if nothing happened. Otherwise, people get reminded at all times of what had transpired, and you know what happens then. Questions, demands, riots. They already want to know the reason that happened to them and not Novigrad or Vizima or some other ploughing city. If we delay with restoration, I'll not be able to keep your little secret. I'll sic that mob at you myself."

"How generous it is of you to warn me," Geralt proffered a nasty smile.

"Don't mock me, Geralt," Dijkstra growled. "I'm not in the mood."

"Let us remain calm now," Triss stepped in with her gentle tone. "We have had a horrible night, and many people are dead. There need to be the funeral arrangements for the fallen. They died heroes protecting their land and their people."

"Of course," Dijkstra said, his mouth creased unpleasantly. "What do we know about those bastards, Geralt? Will they attack again and what can be done to stop them? Where is that Elf of yours?"

"He's not going to tell us anything we don't already know," the Witcher said. "He's not as informed as you think. They reside in another world where he is considered a traitor for helping Ciri. Their leader wouldn't inform him of their plans."

"So what are we supposed to do? Sit on our asses waiting for another attack?"

"They have used a lot of resources to arrange this one," Kain said. "Magic for opening gateways into our world is not an easy one to perform. It's been a while since their attack on Kaer Morhen. They needed time to recuperate. This time shouldn't be different. As far as we see, they still have only one navigator mage who directs their portals."

Dijkstra contemplated, scowling as he watched them.

"What with the restoration?" he asked again eventually.

"We shall aid with some," Fringilla contributed. "With Philippa and Margarita's assistance. We'll have to wait for them to join us here."

"It has to be done as soon as possible," Sigi said. "I'm not letting this keep me for longer than necessary. I need to get back."

"Remember your part," Triss said. "Not a word of Ciri."

"Fine, fine, whatever," Dijkstra waved a hand in annoyed dismissal. "Some magical bastards can attack for the sake of attacking. Like the monsters witchers fight. I don't want any panic. I shall tell them we won and drove the whoresons away. But if the said whoresons attack again, Geralt, we will have a problem that hardly a speech or two would fix. I'm sure you don't need me to tell you what scared people are capable of."

Geralt didn't respond, but his frown deepened and darkened.

With that, Dijkstra dismissed them.

Ciri's slumber was not a pleasant one. She slipped in and out of foggy consciousness, shivering and sweating in intervals. Avallac'h was there, pressing something cold to her forehead, momentarily soothing her, his long fingers gently caressing her cheek, trailing lower, tracing the curves of her body... Dream or reality? She did not know.

When she next woke, the elf was gone and Zoltan was making his way into her room. It was already light out.

"How ye doin', lassie?" Zoltan inquired, settling on a chair beside her bed after placing a tray on her nightstand.

"Tired," Ciri confessed, her voice sounding a little gruff.

Zoltan nodded and gestured for her to sit up. She obeyed.

"Yer elf told me ye had a fever last night. Ye'll need to get some food and water into ye."

He stirred the soup-bowl with a spoon before attempting to hand it to her. She did not take it, her brow furrowed.

"Are the others back?" She already knew the answer. Geralt would have been here with her if that was the case.

"Afraid not," Zoltan said with a sympathetic smile. "Don't worry. They'll be back soon enough."

"There must be a lot of work to do," Ciri mused. "A lot of wounded civilians and soldiers. I need to be there. I need to help."

She made to get up and Zoltan put a gentle but firm hand to her chest, pressing her back down.

"Oh, no, ye don't," he insisted. "Yer not well, Ciri. Geralt would have my head and Yennefer would kick me bollocks clean off my body. Yer staying here."

Ciri relented, only because she felt weak. Maybe after she had managed to eat something.

Zoltan helped her, saving her the inconvenience of having the tray on her lap. Food didn't taste as good as it usually would have, but she ate, nonetheless, because Zoltan's eyes shone a little brighter with every spoonful she swallowed.

When Ciri couldn't stomach any more and Zoltan prepared to leave her to rest, the door opened anew and Avallac'h strode inside, carrying a washbasin.

"Leave us, dwarf," he said, not even looking in Zoltan's direction.

Zoltan glared and Ciri suspected had his hands been free Avallac'h might have been sporting a bloodied nose. Instead, he left them and closed the door behind him.

"You can't talk to people like that," Ciri chided, though without her usual heat. She was too tired. "They are not your servants."

Avallac'h ignored her, settling on the edge of her bed and dipping a washcloth into the basin, wringing it before he used it to clean Ciri's face of blood and grime. Later he cleansed her hair.

"Remove your shirt."

"No."

"Zireael..."

"Turn around."

Avallac'h sighed impatiently but indulged her, allowing her some semblance of privacy as she undressed and removed the bindings around her chest. The vial of poison fell onto her blanket and Ciri quickly stuffed it between the edge of the mattress and bed before reaching for the cloth Avallac'h held out to her, his back still turned.

She washed quickly, careful not to touch her left side where bruises had bloomed over her ribs. From her and Eredin's harsh landing on the rock, she suspected.

While she worked, Avallac'h sorted through the options remaining in her wardrobe, locating a clean shirt, which he handed her.

Once she was dressed again, he washed her legs, then proceeded to braid her damp hair back from her face.

He peered down at her when he finished. "Beautiful." It was such a soft utterance Ciri almost missed it.

But she didn't take it to heart. She knew that gleam in his eyes. He was looking at her, but he was not seeing her. It was a longing for someone else. Someone she could never be.

Ciri swallowed and lay back down, closing her eyes under the pretense she was going back to sleep. She didn't move again until she was certain Avallac'h had gone.

Dandelion and Shani stood side by side, scooping soup into bowls, offering bits of fresh bread that had been made to anyone who was in need of the food. And many were. It had been a long and hard night for all of them. Not many but those recovering had managed sleep.

"You should get some rest," Dandelion said to the redhead leaning against him, her head bent to his shoulder, her hand daintily covering her mouth as she yawned.

"Later," Shani murmured.

She'd been up all night tending to the wounded, using the troubadour as an extra pair of hands to bind and fix breaks and suture cuts. Medical students had been around, but they themselves had been very busy, and there was only so much that the sorceresses could do with their magic. Triss hadn't been able to help to the full extent because of how much magic she'd exerted during the battle. She tried to compensate with her potions and solutions spiked with magic she could still spare. And what more could anyone ask for? If it hadn't been for Triss keeping the Wild Hunt at bay as long as she did, they'd be dead.

"Oh, what is wrong with all of you, people?" Triss exclaimed, strolling toward the two. "You need some rest. Both of you. Don't be like Geralt. Those witchers think their stamina is insane – until they collapse."

"I could use rest," Dandelion added. He continued to scoop soup though and pass out bread as needed. He was doing it automatically. Shani, however, was snoring softly standing up. Dandelion shook her off his shoulder, eliciting a groan of protest from Shani. "Where's Geralt?"

Shani perked up, swiping at her eyes, peering past Triss in search of the Witcher.

"He was being crazy enough to go back with Fringilla – to see Ciri," Triss informed. "Kain's going, too, but he decided to ride. Both are equally insane. Truly brothers, these two. Equally frustrating."

"He didn't tell me," Dandelion said, sounding indignant and slightly hurt. Shani, too, looked disappointed. She hadn't spoken to him quite like she wanted.

"They shall return, I imagine," Triss said, not missing Shani's look. She could relate. "While Dijkstra is here, he wouldn't survive if he had no one to push around. As if we have planned this whole ordeal solely to make Dijkstra's new position difficult." She threw her hands up in a silent gesture of annoyance and sat down on a chair. She winced – it was a hard one to sit on. Unlike the ones she was used to.

"They better be returning," Dandelion said. Shani helped herself to a spoon of soup, stuffed a slice of bread into her mouth and moved to sit down beside Triss. "What did Dijkstra have to say? Anything of importance? What does he plan to do?"

Triss scoffed. "As if he reports to us. He raged about how the Lodge should help him with the destructions, and then hinted on how the mobs could find out about Ciri being the reason for the attack if anything like that repeated. It's like we have any control over it – not that he cares. If the Hunt continues to harass people of this world, sooner or later the people would start hunting Ciri."

"We won't let it get to that," Dandelion said. He sounded determined, too. As though he had the power to make sure that wouldn't happen.

Triss gave a sad smile. "We can try, but people who lose everything are ruthless, Dandelion. The most dangerous people of all are those who have nothing left to lose. People ridden by fear of losing are no less dangerous. Fear drives you as far as one could go."

Dandelion had witnessed that. He couldn't bring himself to smile back. "We won't let it get to that."

Nothing in his voice had changed. He glanced between the two women and turned on his heel, heading toward the main academy in search of a bed.

He found it in his old room.

"I… I should probably get a bit of rest myself," Shani said, a bit uncomfortable with the heavy silence stretching upon the poet's departure. "The wounded will need me. And you, too. You need to lie down. You helped so much with elixirs and your magic. We appreciate it with all our hearts." Shani smiled genuinely, setting her soup bowl aside.

"I'm glad to help," Triss said, touched by the medic's gratitude. An awful fatigue was riddling her, her bones were aching, her muscles whined.

"Come with me, I shall find you a bed. Please." Shani beckoned, and they went.

Most students were still working on the streets, dragging the dead bodies and searching for survivors they could have missed before. Many rooms were empty, and Triss could get some shuteye. She fell asleep almost instantly.

Shani, however, lay awake for a while, the images of the devastated square and crying people shifting before her inner eye. She had been to a battlefield but had never seen anything like that attack, like those warriors clad in black like Riders from hell.

She was scared. Very scared of them coming back ever in her lifetime.

The portal opened in the corridor on the second floor of Rosemary and Thyme, and Fringilla walked out, followed by Geralt.

"Thank you," he smiled. She returned his smile and walked for the stairs.

The Witcher headed for Ciri's room. He wanted to knock, but then thought she might be sleeping, and just opened the door as quietly as he could, and stepped in.

Ciri had not fallen back asleep. Instead, she'd taken to pacing her room the past few minutes – as much as she was able. Being confined to bed did not sit well with her. Made her body feel restless. No matter how lightheaded and feeble she was at the moment compared to the day before.

"Geralt!" A smile curved her lips when she saw the Witcher and she made her way towards him, arms extended for a hug. "You're back!"

"Ciri! What are you doing up?"

He swooped her off her feet and delivered her on the bed carefully and gently as if she were made of thinnest crystal.

"What is wrong with you? How hard is it to stay in bed while you're in pain? You're pale and tired."

She made a noise of objection. "You can't just pick people up out of the blue!" she accused, glaring without any real heat. "I'm always pale and tired."

She adjusted her position atop the bed to get more comfortable, pushing the pillows to the wall so she could lean against them.

"What is happening in Oxenfurt?"

"Treating the wounded, listing the dead." Geralt pulled a chair and sat down, heaved a sigh with a gander at her leg. "Has Avallac'h helped you? At all?"

"He does what he can," she replied, averting her gaze to the blanket as she pushed her feet beneath it. "How is Kain?"

"He is… fine. Much better. His magic beats the Sage's at that. Has he taught you any of it? Perhaps you could do it for yourself."

Ciri ignored his suggestion, for now, brow furrowed. "You hesitated. Why? What is wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong," Geralt said firmly. "You have nothing to worry about. I wouldn't lie to you, would I?"

She searched his eyes, her own gaze shrewd. "No. But you would conceal to protect me. Wouldn't you?" She released him from her stare and inhaled deeply. "Are you alright?"

"I am, and he is. I promise. Have you slept? You look like you barely did. You can't even stay in bed to recover quicker. Should I put Zoltan here to ensure you do? Or you will actually be reasonable?"

Ciri nodded rapidly. "I slept. I promise. And I am only doing what feels best for my body. If that is moving around for a few minutes so my muscles don't waste away, it is what I have to do."

"Nothing will waste away in one or two days in bed, Ciri," Geralt winced. "Don't be silly. We all need you up sooner, but you have to spare yourself those efforts to let it heal."

She opened her mouth to argue and then didn't. She wouldn't know how to explain why staying in one spot for a long period of time pained her so. And if she did, no doubt it would only worry Geralt more.

So she pressed her lips together in a smile and nodded. "Alright."

He frowned, only partially in mocking. "Something makes me doubt your resolve. I better be wrong." He studied her for a long moment, then ventured another question that bothered him. "What happened with Eredin when you took him away? How did he stab you?"

She shifted again, a little uncomfortable. "Oh, well, we had a harsh landing. It happens sometimes when I am not entirely focused. He recovered first. He picked me up like I was a… doll. My sword was missing so I reached for my dagger instead." She shrugged. "Again, he got there first."

"Do you have any ideas of how their navigator works? How soon would he find Eredin?"

"I don't know," Ciri admitted. "I know what he does is not something that can be done by just any elf. He was a result of Avallac'h's experimental breeding. I assume that's where his power comes from.

"As for Eredin… I don't think it would take Caranthir long to find him. Not if Eredin wants to be found. But after opening so many portals last night, it might take him some time to recover."

"And… you don't know how approximately much time he would be needing to recover?"

She shrugged and contemplated. "Unless he worries Eredin is caught somewhere by enemies, he would only need to open one portal. Would only need to bring himself, in theory. That takes less power than doing what he did here."

"In other words," Geralt sighed, "if they want to attack us again, it wouldn't happen much later. Do they have any other navigators or just one?"

"Just him, as far as I know. As I said – courtesy of Avallac'h. He used to be called the Golden Child because of what he could do for the Aen Elle."

"In that case, it makes him as good a target as Eredin himself. If we could take him out, Eredin would be stranded in their world. Do you know if he ventures on his own like Imlerith?"

"Not from what Avallac'h has told me. I believe he stays close to Eredin at all times, in case he needs him. He's invaluable."

"That is discouraging." Geralt felt a prick of anger: Avallac'h, the noble bastard that had bred a mage so invaluable, could have found a way to get rid of him.

If he wanted to.

"You said Avallac'h bred him. What exactly is their relationship?"

"I suppose if we think of Avallac'h as you, Caranthir would be his Ciri," she said, resting her head back against the wall behind her. "He raised him."

"Then he's protecting that mage, is that it? He would never choose you over him. And it is a problem for us, though it explains a lot about the Sage's actions."

"I think any affection Avallac'h may have had for him was lost when Caranthir chose Eredin's side. If there was any to begin with. The boy was an experiment. An investment. Not his own flesh and blood."

Geralt thought about it a moment, regarding Ciri. "You think Avallac'h is incapable of affection for anyone who is a mere investment." Like you, he failed to add, but he barely needed to.

Her lips thinned. "I thought he felt something for me. Some kind of affection. How can you not when you spend every waking hour of two years with someone, just the two of you alone? I was an idiot. A desperate idiot. I'm nothing to him. Just the vessel carrying the blood."

It was harsh, but the Witcher had no argument against it to offer. He didn't believe the Sage cared about Ciri any more than he cared about his world and legacy of Aen Elle. He didn't like having the elf around – around Ciri, of all people – but there was scarcely a better choice to have him removed. Not for as long as his knowledge aided them in any, however meager, way.

Geralt's face softened for the sake of Ciri, though his frown didn't go away. "You can't blame yourself for wishing for affection, Ciri. You're not even close to an idiot for wanting it. No sane person, let alone a child, should go through so many horrors and have not a speck of love to feel. It's normal to crave it. It's human."

"It was a weakness," she said, staring down at her hands. "I'm too easily manipulated. Maybe you should have given me the mutations, after all. If I had survived, I might be better suited for the life I am living now."

"Don't say things like that when you don't understand them fully," Geralt grumbled. "The mutations would have killed you, for it was a bit late, and it wasn't much better for human girls than it was for boys. There weren't many Felines at the Cat School. Not more than boys. Being a mutated witcher isn't a solution to anything at all. It's rather a problem all in itself. You deserve much better. And you will have it. Believe me, that day shall come. Sooner than you think when you feel desperate and worn out." He gave her a small encouraging smile. "We're still alive. We're still not giving up. And we're together."

Ciri reached for his hand and held it in her own, her eyes momentarily closing. She was tired again. "Stay with me a while? Until I fall asleep?"

Geralt smiled, "Of course."

It was probably one of those things she was too old for. One of those things she should no longer crave. And yet she did. She took great comfort in having Geralt close by, feeling his hand squeeze hers. It made her feel like a child again – in the most amazing way. One of those moments Ciri and Geralt had been robbed of during their many years apart.

Her fingers tightened around his just before she drifted off.

He sat there way longer than it took her to fall asleep. He watched her frown smoothen out, her face become calm and peaceful as she slumbered. He missed all those years he wasn't able to hold her hand and make her feel safer with his mere presence. He missed dearly watching her grow from an awkward adolescent into this beautiful and strong young woman she had become. He missed being a part of it, of her daily life, of her laughs and sorrows.

He needed to hope they would lose no more time.

"Forever, Ciri," he murmured under his breath.

"What a ploughin bastard!" Zoltan raged, pouring mead for both Geralt and himself. "What gratitude ye ever gotten from him for giving him Redania? Shouldn't have helped the whoreson, I'm telling ye. He never moved his fat arse to help us back at Kaer Morhen. And now he wants every pair of hands on cleaning? I say he ploughin order his men - ye don't have to pay for what the elves did, Geralt. Neither your nor Ciri's fault, that."

"But the city took quite a hit," the Witcher said, tearing a piece of bread to dip in the meat sauce. "Too few of his unit survived."

"It was too simple - to attack where and when they said," Zoltan clucked his tongue, shaking his head. "We should have known."

"We couldn't be certain."

"Nor can we be certain Novigrad is safe, is that it?"

"True." Geralt finished his broth hungrily and cleaned the remaining sauce with bread.

Zoltan chortled. "There's more if ye like. I'll bring ye more meat."

When he went and came back and put another plate in on the table, Geralt tore another piece of bread and asked, "Saw Avallac'h?"

"Aye, all but kicked me out of Ciri's room last night. Barely let her eat."

Geralt flashed a glare but said nothing, busying his mouth with food.

"Didn't even heal her, did he?"

Geralt shook his head. "His magic works slower than what Kain does. But it works, too."

"Kain all right?"

"Yes. Though he could use more rest and personal healing time he didn't give himself."

"Both of ye could. Yer here while ye shoulda been in bed, Geralt. And ye look like shite. I'm telling ye as a friend."

"Thank you very much," Geralt chuckled. "And not just for this great lunch."

"It's nothin. Better tell me, what do we do now? People will be returning here, and stopping them would be like tryin to stall an ocean wave as tall as a ship while ye stand before it with yer arms up."

"There's nothing we can do about it when we know nothing of the Hunt's plans. Ciri said she teleported Eredin to another world where he's alone. His mage is yet to locate him, but who knows how long that takes."

Zoltan scratched his beard pensively and reached for the pitcher of mead. "I wouldn't expect it to be long."

"Nor would I."

"What gets me all worked up is that haughty elvish prick who acts like a know-it-all but wouldn't offer any worthy plan of how to win this shit. Whose side's he even on?"

Geralt's face darkened; he took a hearty gulp of mead to wash down the meat. "Whatever side is mostly beneficial."

Zoltan scowled. "Then we can't trust him at all."

"Not fully, no."

"Well, that just stinks like their damned hounds' bollocks." Zoltan spat and took a swig of mead.

"What of Yennefer?"

"She scarcely shows face," the dwarf shrugged. "Been with Ciri, then went someplace, either to her room or to the sorceresses. I gave up keepin score of how those come and go."

The door opened, and both turned expecting to see the sorceress in question, but it was Kain stepping in. He looked even more rundown than back in Oxenfurt.

"Ye gods and little fishes," muttered Zoltan, getting up. "Ye witchers know no rest. Ye sit yerself down, mate, I'm gettin the food."

"Thank you," Kain smiled with genuine gratitude and settled across from his brother who gauged him with concern.

"Should've asked Triss," Geralt said. "You're barely standing."

"I don't need to stand. How's Ciri?"

"Sleeping. Still in pain, I presume. Stubborn about it, too. Was walking around the room, pale as a sheet, when I came in."

Kain simpered. "Can't pin that one down."

"Not for as long as a day, no."

"I better help her, then."

Geralt peered at him, conflicted. "Maybe you should not."

Kain considered him shrewdly. "You think it's to do her good to stay in bed? Thing is, you can't make her. Not even with a wound. And even if - what good will it do if she's constantly antsy and yearning to run? Better she be healthy and we don't have to worry about her leg while she runs around."

"We," Geralt repeated, smiling a bit slyly. "You worry about her."

"I'm here, aren't I."

"Should have been in bed."

"Right back at you."

"Here ye go," Zoltan put the plates down and set a mug before him, then poured mead. "Ye stayin?" He looked expectantly between the witchers.

"We catch some sleep, then go back," Geralt said.

"What is there to do for ye? Rebuild?"

"No. But Dandelion's still there. And sorceresses will be. We still need to make sure no knights were left behind to plan another attack."

"Aye, aye, true. At least some mages should be here in case we have news," the dwarf said.

"I hope they've spent all their current might on Oxenfurt," Geralt responded, refilling his mug. "Opening portals for an army cannot be a simple task. Not for someone who gets tired and can die."

"Who knows what potions those elves are abusing," Zoltan scoffed. "I wouldn't put it past those skunks to shove all of their merry family into our world and not break a sweat."

"They have only one mage for it," Geralt argued. "And he has limits."

"Finally some good news," the dwarf laughed and refilled their mugs again.

"Are we to stay in Novigrad for the foreseeable future then?" Margarita asked, having descended the stairs with a tray in her hands. Clearly, Philippa preferred to use the other sorceresses for such menial tasks as to clean up after supper.

"Not Skellige as the elf commanded?"

"For now, it's best to stay here," the Witcher said. "In case of any additional attacks."

"Maybe we should send Ciri to Skellige?" Zoltan offered. "She might be safer there. In any occurrence."

"And much more restless," Kain put in, finishing his meal. "She can do crazy things, and all that safety will be but an illusion to fool our minds with."

"There are ways to keep her calm, of course," Margarita said airily, disposing of the tray on the bar. "Magical ways. It is not as though rebellious children are anything new to us sorceresses. Many of us were the same when we were young. Until our mistresses disciplined us."

Geralt flashed a glare her way. "No one will drug her, nor put any spells on her."

"Besides, it could backfire," Kain added.

Margarita folded her hands in front of her, smiling pleasantly. "How so?"

"How so what?" they both asked.

"How would it backfire?"

"She's not your average mage, so it's unpredictable," Kain said. "Whatever you may attempt to do to her with the kind of magic you're used to in this world, there will always be that other part of hers - the magic of elven people that you, mages of this world don't fully understand - that could react unpredictably and destructively."

"Gwyncath is right," Avallac'h said, coming down the stairs. "Her temper makes her magic more dangerous and unpredictable. And when it blasts out, it's lethal to all life around her and farther."

"She's not a monster, Avallac'h," Geralt grumbled. "Stop posing her as such."

"Zireael lacks calm and reason at times occurring more often than we all would like," the Sage said. "She lacks discipline, and no amount of training seems to aid."

"Maybe yer ideas of training don't fit her," Zoltan said, sipping his mead.

The Sage gave him a look one spares a pile of horseshit on the street. "Perhaps you could manage more successfully if you ever bothered to try."

"It was just a suggestion," Margarita said, that smile still in place. "If only she had joined us when she was a child – as she was meant to – all of this might not have happened."

She spared Avallac'h a pointed look, as if blaming him personally for everything bad that had befallen them all the past few years.

"She barely changed her ways and character since she was a child," Avallac'h responded, studying his nails.

"Her ways depend on what is happening around and to her," Kain said. "She's been through war, she's been on the run, she's been through other ordeals no child should go through, and now she has her family around her, but the dangers never changed. She's still in survivor mode, still defensive and suspicious. Still afraid and worried about all the things her experience has taught her to worry about.

"And that defensive state is what works on her nerves and stirs her power toward destruction. There is nothing any of your training can do to make her feel safer when she knows that her enemy hasn't stopped."

"Training should teach her to discipline her mind - which is the source of her problems," the Sage stated.

"She is not a mutant," Geralt said. "She cannot eradicate her emotions."

"Not eradicate," Avallac'h corrected, looking bored. "Control. Discipline. It benefits any warrior, especially with such powers. But Zireael refuses to pay it all necessary attention. She believes it's not necessary. Until her power kills someone she cares about. Then it will be too late; however, it would provide a good lesson she will never forget."

"How macabre," Margarita commented with a look of disdain. "However, I believe my sisters and I would succeed where you have failed. We've experience in such matters. And let us be honest - Ciri could use some feminine energy in her life."

"Everything that concerns Ciri is for Ciri to decide and choose," Geralt stated. "She is a grown adult capable of making decisions. She wants to be in charge of her life and she should be."

"You might reconsider that one-sided delusion sooner than you think," Avallac'h commented, throwing an impassive glance his way.

Geralt stared back, unamused. "Of course. Look at all your triumphs at upbringing."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" the elf inquired, unable to help indulge his curiosity.

"What it sounded like," the Witcher responded. "You've been with Ciri every day for several years, have you not? So how come your efforts to instil discipline have failed, despite all your knowledge and principles? It seems that you excuse your inability to get through to her with her temper and lack of control.

"How I see it, the girl has enormous control to stay sane despite all the things she's been through, not without your own efforts and plots back in Tir ná Lia."

"She should have been trained from an earlier age. Instead, it seems she was left to run wild and do exactly as she pleased," the elf said airily, sweeping his hair off one shoulder. "We should have claimed her from birth. She would have been perfect then."

Avallac'h did not excuse himself, but simply made for the front door, his ropes sweeping behind him.

Margarita looked unwilling to get involved in this particular branch of the conversation and retreated as well.

Ciri could hear the voices coming from downstairs and noticed her own name mentioned more than once, but she could decipher nothing else.

Were they angry with her because of what she had done with Eredin? Because she had come to Kain's aid when they had wanted her to remain hidden?

Ciri sat up and carefully swung her legs off the bed, rubbing her face with both hands.

Eredin. He was alone out there in that dark, cold world. Alone. And vulnerable.

It would be so easy... If he didn't see it coming.

She peered down at her leg and slowly undid the bandages, trailing her fingertips along the stitches in her skin. Right now she was useless. She needed to heal. Quickly.

She grasped the edges of her bed and closed her eyes, trying to remember everything Kain had taught her about healing.

Zoltan scoffed, breaking the silence after the elf and the sorceress removed themselves from the room.

"What can he know," the dwarf grumbled. "All their discipline, and what? He is here against his own people. They don't know shit about any control or whatever."

Geralt drank, thinking about Caranthir, the Golden Child. "He merely blames his failures on her."

"All he wants is total control over her," Kain said. "He accepts nothing less. He keeps forgetting that she is of this world and not his."

"The Elf is a fool if he thinks he can manipulate anyone here," Zoltan said. "He's like a child himself, throwing fits whenever things don't go his way."

"He's not a fool," Kain said. "He's dangerous."

The dwarf looked from one to the other and frowned seeing Geralt didn't seem to object. "Ye two know somethin' I don't?"

"Probably not," Geralt answered. "But he is not our friend. We've known it all this time. He looks after his own agendas."

"Does she still think she needs him?" Zoltan grimaced.

"We need him to rather be here than back with his people spilling whatever intel about us and this world he has gathered," Kain reasoned and got up. He looked at Geralt, "What have you decided? Trust her and heal or pin her to bed and pretend to be in control?"

The Witcher rolled his eyes. "Let it be the first, but only if you can. Maybe you should sleep first."

"We stay or we go back?"

"We'll return after we rest." Geralt grinned meaningfully at his brother: "We'll ride."

Kain and Zoltan chuckled.

"Aw, Geralt, ye shouldn't court witches if yer allergic to portals," the dwarf teased.