Lurtch was sitting on a hill, and they dismounted halfway up to not be caught off guard by any creature.
The village looked abandoned and quiet as a graveyard. They stole around, keeping to the houses, and no sounds seeped from behind their walls and doors. They peeked in a few windows and saw no people or movement.
In the middle of the village, inside a square pen, there was a dead pig - ripped apart and gnawed on.
"Looks like a wolves' assault," Kain mused and glanced around. "Where are other pigs?"
"Maybe someone let them out to distract the predators?" Ciri whispered. "I thought the woman said ghouls? Means there were corpses to attract them."
She peered out from behind the nearest corner, attempting to get a better look at the dead pig opposite them. "Think it's been dead a while?"
"It died a couple of hours ago," Kain said, giving a closer look at the blood soaking into the ground around the carcass. "But if people are around, they're hiding. Basements or pantries."
"Well, if the monsters are still here, let's get their attention." Ciri didn't have the patience to sit and wait.
She pushed out from behind the house they'd been leaning against, and made for the middle of the village, whistling as if calling the beasts to her. Her sword was ready in her hand and her whole body was itching with the desire to spill blood.
Kain strolled along the narrow path in front of several houses built on the same line. He strained his ears and senses, something was amiss. Too quiet, too empty.
He stopped across from a barn and sniffed the air, eyeballing the door slightly ajar and the small dusty windows of the hogpen. There were frightened pigs inside, several, judging by the faint sounds.
A low growling tugged his attention to the line of the forest surrounding the village. He saw five wolves watching them from the shrubs. Three were snarling. Something moved behind them deeper in the woods, like a ghost. Kain couldn't make out the figure but felt a chill creep through his spine.
Ciri saw it, too, and smiled, baring her teeth just as the pack of wolves did.
When they charged for her, she was ready. She blinked in and out, her sword sparkling in the sunlight whenever she swung it at a beast. Like all her recent fights, it was a game. A game where she proved her power and athletics skills. The wolves were no match for her.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a few specimens of the pack darting off for Kain, drool dripping from their snarling mouths. They were set to kill. And not just for food. Something had gotten them all riled up.
The ghouls. Two of them. They emerged from the shrubs with growls of their own, pale and fleshy, on all fours. Like twisted, rotting corpses.
Ciri drove her sword into the scruffy neck of a wolf and delighted in its dying whine as she turned to focus on the oncoming threat.
Kain threw the two attacking wolves back with magic, sending them tumbling down the slanted path to the pen fence, and slashed at the ghouls, stalling their rash of attack. It bought him a moment to set one of them on fire with another quick spell and advance on the second while it was momentarily distracted by the screeches of its partner.
Kain hacked its head off and turned around swiftly, pinning the scorched one with the sword. It screamed and burst into brighter flames that devoured it whole. The creature stopped moving.
Kain yanked his sword out and saw an alghoul snarling from the bushes before it retreated away. It wasn't eager to lay down its life here. The remaining two wolves decided to follow the alghoul's example and sprinted to the woods.
Something moved between the trunks again, and Kain sensed another stroke of chill.
"There's something there," he muttered, starting toward the woods. "It's controlling the beasts."
Ciri followed and eventually advanced, curious to see what or who was hiding in the forest.
She didn't have to search long to find out.
"Leshen," she murmured, a little in awe. She'd never encountered one of the ancient beasts herself. But there it stood, at least eight feet tall, with a deer skull for a head and tree-trunk for a body.
That explained the wolves. Leshens were known for being able to control both plants and animals with their magic. And this one proved to be no different.
Ciri started forward with her sword ready to strike, only to be forced aside when a murder of crows descended on her. Just as when she had battled the Crones, the birds swarmed the girl, blinded her, disorientated her.
As she made attempts to blink away, Ciri barely noticed how the crows had shifted her away from the Leshen itself. Not that it mattered. The tall monster had dug its arms into the ground and the forest floor shook as roots and tendrils sprouted from the earth, lashing for Kain's body.
Kain was barely able to roll back several times as the roots shot out from the ground like angry worms in his wake. The tall figure of the leshen suddenly dissolved into smoke as if he were a figment of their imagination.
Kain flexed his fingers on the sword, pricking his senses not to miss the next attack. He heard the wolves - they ran around a dozen yards away waiting for either of them to flee, like onlookers in a village brawl that stand in a circle blocking any retreat.
Ciri screamed in frustration as feathers and claws raked across her face. She felt as though she was close to suffocating and her head was spinning with disorientation.
She teleported – further this time, away from the immediate reach of the crows. It took them a few seconds to catch on, and when they came for her again, she was ready.
Thrusting out both hands, Ciri's thoughts were consumed by fire. Bright, red, hot flames. They shot from her palms and engulfed the birds as they flew towards her. Their shrieks of agony echoed through the forest and the snarls of the wolves increased.
Ciri turned on the beasts and stared them down, eyeing their bared teeth and dark eyes. She blinked out of sight again, just long enough to reclaim her fallen sword, then returned, panting and eager for more bloodshed.
"Come on, then!"
Kain turned to the sound of her voice, and a sharp dagger of pain stabbed into his temples, drowning his vision in black. He grunted, trying to keep his balance, his head flooded with whispers and chanting he didn't understand.
He jumped to the side and rolled, despite the urge to be sick from a splitting headache, and it proved to be just in time to avoid the roots that began to chase his wake again.
He blinked, dashing away and pirouetting from their deadly stabs, trying to regain his focus. He didn't waste time on cutting the roots springing from the ground - there would be no time to avoid the wounds.
The leshen didn't relent and advanced after Kain, cutting to the place where the roots chased him. The creature held out its claws to grasp the Cat Witcher, but Kain noticed from the corner of his eye and spun around catching the monster with his sword through its chest.
The leshen screeched like a murder of spooked crows and broke apart into black smoke that fell to the ground and seeped in. The woods were deceptively quiet again, save for the wolves that worried yards away, snarling and yapping.
Ciri was on them within the next second, using their distraction to her advantage. She hacked and slashed and stabbed until the wolves were no more and her hands were stained red with their blood.
She flicked some off her sword and turned to where Kain was standing, listening for any telltale sign of where the leshen would re-appear.
When it did, it was silent, and it took both Ciri and Kain a few extra seconds to notice him among the trees.
"There!" Ciri pointed, rushing for the very spot the beast was standing.
She was the first on it, but the creature swung his long branch-like arm and sent her flying for a dozen yards. She collided with a tree and fell down, making Kain's heart skip a beat.
He had no time to dwell on worry, for the creature struck his claws into the ground, and the roots burst out of it, rapidly gaining on the Cat Witcher. Kain jumped, rolled, and danced out of their range, making a wide circle to get closer to the leshen. The monster wasn't about to wait to be slain. Kain hurled his sword into the tall figure; it went through its head as it turned into a swirl of black smoke, and stuck into a trunk behind it.
Kain sprinted to it, grabbed the handle, and yanked. The leshen grew before him in the very moment he turned around, its claws struck through his abdomen pinning the man to the tree.
Kain hissed through gritted teeth, dropping the sword, and gripped onto the dry branches of the leshen's chest, gathering all his fury and magic into one push that blasted the creature with fire.
The leshen screamed, staggering back, its claws torn from Kain, who cried out and fell on one knee. His hand felt for the sword handle, dragging it to him while he watched the monster stagger and wave its arms as if it would shake off the flames.
Kain made himself get up and come a few unsteady steps closer to the beast; he flicked his hand, throwing blood spatter at it. When the droplets hit the creature, the fire went wild, devouring the whole figure, turning it into a howling torch.
Ciri's back ached and throbbed as she pushed back onto her feet, but the pain was easily forgotten when she saw the spectacle of the flaming leshen a few feet away. It excited her, made her tingle in all the right places. And her own earlier discomfort, the cuts on her face and hands from the crows, meant nothing.
She watched in glee as the leshen staggered blindly around the clearing, its screeches and howls otherworldly and eerie. When it finally fell like a tree trunk to the ground and moved no more, she sheathed her sword.
As she turned to face Kain, the memory of him slaying the leshen was still fresh in mind. It had been a glorious sight to behold and her whole body sang with admiration.
She closed the distance between them and grabbed the front of Kain's jerkin, pushing him back against the nearest tree and pinning him there so she could fuse her lips to his as though her life depended on it. It didn't matter that he was bleeding, or that he looked as though he could use some rest.
Her very being vibrated with power and arousal. Surely Kain had to feel it. Surely he had to feel the same way in the afterglow of the kill.
A wave of searing pain thrust through Kain when his back was shoved into the tree, his groan muffled by the kiss he didn't expect, nor fully perceived. Now that the leshen was dead, his focus was quickly dissolving into the throes of the wounds and fatigue.
He put an arm between Ciri and himself, gently pushing her away so he could bend and cough blood, holding onto the trunk to not fall down.
Ciri frowned, a pang of hurt stinging her heart when Kain pushed her aside.
When he bent at the waist to cough blood, some of the hurt gave way to concern.
"Heal yourself," she demanded softly, trying to get a look at where his injuries were.
He closed his eyes, trying to calm his breathing that hurt too badly. He made an effort, sinking deeper into himself in search of the healing impulse to ignite. It was elusive, but he managed to get a hold of it to make his wounds skin over a bit to stop the bleeding. Deep inside, however, it still hurt and needed a better concentration.
Breathing carefully, he lowered against the trunk to sit on the ground.
"I need to get to the river," he uttered quietly, with effort. "In a moment..."
Ciri sighed. This was all quite inconvenient. Her needs weren't considered at all.
She knelt beside the wounded witcher and offered him her hand. "Let me take you there. It will be quick and painless."
His pain eased a little bit, enough to gain some clarity, and he eyed Ciri with an alarmed wonder. He took her hand, nevertheless.
The moment Ciri had Kain's hand in hers, she brought them to the lake as he had requested. She helped him close enough to the edge of the water without having him fall in.
"I'm fine, I can walk," he said, carefully shrugging the jerkin off. He discarded it on the bank and toed off his boots before going in.
There was something in the water. He could sense some tint of darkness, like a faint trace of poison. Velen was still a No Man's Land - to some extent.
He closed his eyes and focused within himself again. This time it was easier to accomplish with minimum distractions, and the pain began to dissipate.
When he felt good enough, he took off his shirt and washed the blood out of it. He returned to the shore wringing it out, then picked up the jerking to clean it, too.
Ciri lay back on the lakeshore with her arms folded beneath her head, feeling highly disappointed by the sudden cold-plunge of Kain's injury. Despite her belief the two were meant to be, it felt as though the world was working against them.
"Do you need to find a place to rest?" she asked once he'd resurfaced from his healing. "Or shall we continue on as planned?"
Kain wrung the water out of his jerkin and put it on, shivering slightly. He adjusted the sword belt and glanced at where the horses were drinking.
"We'll go back up there to make sure there is nothing else," he told her and clucked his tongue for Onyx.
"You don't think it was the leshen's doing?"
Ciri got up and walked to meet Kelpie halfway, swinging herself onto the mare's back.
"It was a leshen, but it couldn't have been its own intentions."
Kain turned Onyx and sent him into gallop up the path.
The village wasn't as abandoned anymore. People were slowly beginning to emerge from their homes and basements. Most of them were hiding in the mill tower.
"You," a woman pointed at Kain when he trotted closer and dismounted. "You're the witcher?"
"Yes," he said. "It was a leshen and its wolves."
"Oh, Clarita!" Another woman fell on her knees in the pen before the remains of a torn pig. "Oh, mah sweet..."
"Them wolves," an old man muttered, shaking his head.
"The Ladies are angry!" a woman shrieked. "They're angry with us! We failed to serve them!"
"How do you know?" Kain asked.
She looked at him with wide eyes as if he were insane. "We always know! They our Ladies! They protect us and now they angry! They want blood! They want sacrifice!"
"Isn't your pig enough?" Kain waved a hand toward the pen where the first was still weeping over the carcass, calling its name.
The wide-eyed woman gave it a thought, then shook her head abruptly. "No. It's taken. But ought t' be given."
"And you think those terms are fair?" Ciri scoffed, arching a brow. "Slaughtering an animal or one of your own to appease some haggard old women in a swamp? Why would you worship something that has no reluctance to harm you?"
"How dare yee, gal!" the woman waved her hands at Ciri as if she were a swarm of wasps. "Yee not live here! Yee an outsider! Yee don' decide!"
"She didn't mean to," Kain said, pulling the attention back to him. "Where can we find the Ladies?"
The woman let on a slow, wicked sneer. "Yee don' find the Ladies. They find yee."
"The rest of them pigs here," one of the men announced. "Them dead wolves pelts are cut up, a waste."
"Do you know where Thecla lives?" Kain asked the woman.
"Old Thecla be talkin to Ladies," the woman said with an air of reprimand as if Kain had to know it. "She be livin alone in them bogs."
"How do you find her when you need her help?"
"She knows and sends for yee when yee in need."
"Thank you," Kain nodded and went back to his horse. "I'll take that boat ride, after all," he murmured to Ciri before mounting.
Ciri smiled with evident amusement, then followed in Kain's wake.
When they got back to the boat, she was the one to take command of the oars. Kain could clearly use a break from heavy activities considering the amount of energy he had to have spent from the earlier fight and healing session. Besides, they had no idea what awaited them when they reached shore.
The water was murky but still, and yet the closer they got to their destination, the colder the air around them grew. It was subtle but enough to prickle at Ciri's senses.
Kain watched the shoreline, recalling the vague visions he'd had in the forest hut. The most imposing view was the Fyke Isle with its tower. Kain could make out the figures of drowners bustling about. He knew a pack of ghouls might be stalking deeper in the island, closer to the tower.
Ciri rowed around the island, following Kain's instructions, and steered clear of teasing the drowners. They were aware of a bunch swimming below the boat's belly, but those didn't surface to attack.
The boat coursed along the shore, past Olena's Grove. Kain tensed and sat straighter when a ghost of a house shimmered through the evening gauze of fog forming over the lake surface.
"Let's move for the shore," Kain said, pointing between the Grove and the strange group of houses.
Ciri obeyed, eyeing the cluster of buildings curiously. "Is someone living there?"
It was a rhetorical question; she didn't expect Kain to know the answer.
But she couldn't imagine anyone wanting to set down roots here. Not with the drowners so close by.
Ciri jumped out once the boat slid over rocks and sand, taking hold of the front and, with Kain's help, maneuvered the vessel far enough onto shore to keep it from floating away.
There was little of dry land - more like the grassy patches in the bogs. It was a wonder how even a small village could have been built here. Kain thought it could have happened a long time ago - the water level had risen since then.
The remaining houses of Frischlow were rotting from their foundations, and no one lived here but a group of drowners that immediately rushed to attack.
Ciri drew her sword and met the slimy creatures half-way, slashing at their limbs while pirouetting and dodging their lethal claws.
Fighting both with sword and her powers made her feel invincible. This is how it was supposed to be all along. This is what she was made for.
If only she had discovered her talents earlier, Ciri's life might have been so very different.
She saw Bonhart's cruel face on that of the drowner and her motivation to slaughter them all only heightened. If he had met Ciri now, he would never have been able to even touch her...
A few drowners hurried to Kain and met their quick end as he danced between them, slashing them open, and whacked the head off the last one who dashed to him.
He sheathed his sword, watching Ciri finish off her last enemies. Something strange was in her face, both incredible fury and elation. It mesmerized and petrified at the same time.
"Seems we're lucky today," Ciri breathed with a smile, sheathing her weapon. "We may be delayed, but at least we get to play."
Kain saw no game in having to kill anything but kept it to himself as he moved to peek into the houses. He strolled among them, carefully stepping around the pools, trying to sense for the same energy he had picked up in the forest hut.
"She's been here," he said eventually. "But a while ago. When these houses were still livable. There's no way to know where she is now. Maybe on the mountain."
"She's quite old," Ciri pointed out. "Would she be able to survive up there on her own?"
She paused, squinting at the mountaintop in the distance. "Unless she's not alone."
"She wasn't alone," Kain reminded. "There was a younger woman with her. Marica."
"She was with her on the sabbath," Ciri agreed. "Think she was a constant companion?"
"She might be her daughter or someone with the same goals and beliefs."
Kain sighed and gauged the sky. The sun was steadily declining, the clouds were gathering.
"Let's get back to Novigrad and meet Geralt there," he suggested.
Ciri frowned. "Our mission was to search Bald Mountain. Why do you wish to leave?"
"Because it's silly to walk into a trap before informing Geralt."
"And you think he is on his way to Novigrad already?" Ciri started back for the boat, conceding if that is what Kain truly wanted.
"I believe he will come sometime before or during the night," he said, heading for the boat. When they settled, he picked up the oars and squinted at her inquiringly. "Don't you find it strange that a woman in terror whose village is under attack rides past a rather large settlement of Lindenvale without stops and all the way down to where we were - to ask for help? It took her twice as long to get to us by skipping Lindenvale."
"I find it strange she was able to ride a horse without falling off," Ciri murmured, leaning back on her elbows and eventually meeting his gaze. "But now you mention it... does seem oddly convenient to run into two monster hunters."
"She didn't run into us," he said, rowing. "She rode past the first place to go for help to a remote village, losing an extra hour, and we just happened there."
"Did we?" Ciri mused. "It was planned, after all." Though how anyone would be able to know that, Ciri didn't know.
"We planned to come and ask around, but when precisely we would get there we couldn't know."
"So you think it's a coincidence then?"
"Of course it isn't. She was directed. But by what force or her own will - that's hard to tell."
"Must have been some omnipotent force – if it knew where we'd be when we did not."
Kain sighed, glancing over his shoulder to skirt around the Fyke Isle on their way to Drudge. "Even though the Crones are gone, Velen is still under some force's control. It's hardly as strong, but still something to reckon with."
"And that Thecla might know what it is," Ciri murmured, leaning onto the railing of the boat to let one hand lazily dip into the water below.
He smiled instead of answering and gave wide berth to the Fyke Isle shore where drowners were lurking.
The sun was sinking behind the treetops when they stepped onto the land in Drudge and returned the boat to its owners.
"We can get a meal in Lindenvale before Novigrad if you like," Kain said when they were approaching their grazing horses.
Ciri nodded. "I'd like that." In fact, she was ravenous. And who knew? Maybe after a heavy meal, Kain would feel like spending the night?
"I'd like that a lot."
With a sly smile, she closed the distance between herself and Kelpie, climbing onto her back and galloping away, expecting Kain to catch up.
When night fell, Dandelion, in his new purple velvet attire, stepped up to Yennefer's door and knocked. While he waited, the bard leaned back to catch sight of himself in the hallway window, fixing the angle of his hat so it sat just right.
Yennefer was in the middle of adding the final touches to her outfit—her signature perfume—when she heard Dandelion's expected knock. No one else had dared to bother her apart from the innkeeper and he'd come and gone less than an hour ago.
She checked on her reflection in the mirror a final time. The dress was its usual black, with thick shoulder straps, a bustiere top replicating a corset, and half-attached sleeves that flowed down each arm with lace that swept over her hands in a shade of dark purple. She also wore her obsidian star. The seamstress had done splendidly in such a short amount of time and Yennefer was satisfied that the dress was suitable enough for the ostentatious and noble occasion.
Yennefer twisted away from the mirror and seconds later opened the door. She scrutinized Dandelion from head to toe without much of her thoughts being given away on her features.
"Is the hat truly necessary?"
Dandelion looked appropriately affronted. "I would no more have left my house without a hat than I would my trousers, good lady! For what is a man without a hat?"
He paused dramatically and stared into the empty air. "Just a fool in a doublet."
Yennefer's marvellous gown caught his eye at last and he smiled. "And you look beautiful. It will be an honour to have you on my arm tonight."
Even if he knew this particular encounter would not end in a blissful state of naked entangled limbs.
But what did that matter in the grand scheme? Dandelion was being charitable and kind. He could sacrifice one night for that endeavour.
Yennefer refrained from saying that he looked like a fool with a hat, the corners of her mouth twitching at his compliment. She tipped her head, took his arm lightly, and allowed him to lead her out of the inn toward their party. "It's been some time since I've seen you with your blonde minstrel. I also haven't seen her at the Inn in Novigrad."
"Priscilla left for Gors Velen before the attack on Oxenfurt. She brought a few of our musically gifted friends to arrange future performances there. She may be gone a while yet. The journey is quite long," Dandelion said, leading Yennefer outside and down the street.
It was particularly crowded tonight and, judging by the multitude of couples in fine clothing heading the same way as Dandelion and Yennefer, it was all due to the party.
"Have you attended any of the Vegelbud feasts before? They are quite a treat. The masquerades especially. It is always so tantalizing to not truly know with whom you are fornicating in the hedge maze."
Yennefer had attended a number of masquerades herself over the years so she could agree. She did so silently. "I have heard of the Vegelbud's but I've never had the chance to meet them. Do you know them personally?" She amusedly wondered if he'd taken one of the prestige's family's daughters into that fine hedge.
"I am acquainted with the matriarch of the family. Ingrid." Dandelion eluded the story of how they knew each other. "And Zoltan is fairly friendly with her nephew, Luc, the one who arranges those famous horseraces in Novigrad. Black sheep of the family, that one."
Dandelion clucked his tongue, though there was an impish gleam in his eyes.
"Gambling is so unseemly."
"Very," Yennefer agreed straight-faced, finding his joviality to be easy to match as there wasn't any approaching distresses hanging between them on an emotional level or awkward rift. "Can I expect there to be any such clandestine gambling in the shadows tonight?"
It wasn't unheard of for horse races to be part of the festivities, especially when one's family owned or profited from such an event. Nobles' greed was no different from that of their poorer counterparts.
"Perhaps," Dandelion mused. "Though I would not expect horses. Ingrid thoroughly disapproves of Luc's activities. I've even heard she loathes the man himself."
They soon came up to a very fine and tall townhouse. It was nowhere near the size of the Vegelbud mansion in Novigrad, with its accompanying garden and maze, but it was an impressive home nonetheless.
Dandelion produced his invitation from his pocket and handed it to the man at the door, who then hurried to admit them inside.
Inside, the townhouse had been decorated with all the grandeur of a mock citadel. Rich stretches of fabric draped between the lights in a sequence of three colors Yennefer presumed the Vegelbud used for representation.
Like most banquets, there were two tables on both sides of the room. One with a variety of finger foods and another with an assortment of different wines. A small number of partygoers that had arrived before them had already gathered around the tables, conversing and pecking.
Others danced freely to the harmony provided by a three-man group of performers toward the middle of the well-lit room, picking up where they'd presumably left off with the Inn earlier in the day.
Lastly, those they'd followed in made their presence known to the hosts.
"Dandelion," Ingrid cooed warmly as soon as they'd made it to the front of the line, extending her right hand for him to take. "And Lady Yennefer of Vengerberg."
Yennefer wasn't surprised that the woman had found out who she was. The Vegelbud family had a lot of power in the Redanian state, and more specifically Novigrad and its surroundings.
"Ingrid! Darling!" Dandelion took the woman's offered hand and bent to kiss her delicate knuckles, ensuring to keep eye contact the entire time. Some may have thought the bard as taking too many liberties, but he knew where the lines were drawn and the gleam of enjoyment in Ingrid's eyes told him he had yet to cross it.
She was a woman in her late forties and a widow, at that. Dandelion expected, despite her charming looks and fortune, Ingrid no longer received as much attention as the younger ladies in town.
"Thank you for your gracious invitation. What an honor!"
Ingrid smiled kindly and withdrew her hand. "It is my pleasure to provide some comfort to the people of Oxenfurt in these difficult times. I trust you are both well?"
"As well as can be," Yennefer replied, bowing her head respectfully in thanks. Ingrid's attention shifted to Yennefer, reflexively the woman's thoughts about Novigrad bank came to mind, along with weariness and guarded suspicion. Ingrid had the decency to make no mention of her feelings on the matter and what she knew of Yennefer's alleged ties to the incident. Yennefer imagined she had a lot invested in Novigrad's banking system, so it didn't come as a surprise to Yennefer that Ingrid or her family would have been informed of the loss their might have been or who they suspected was behind it. In a situation like that the rich demanded answers and assurances. Gratefully Geralt and his quick thinking had spared Yennefer any cause for outward insult.
"Can we expect the Witcher Geralt to be joining us this evening?" Ingrid asked politely, her gaze sparkling as it returned to Dandelion, a tinge of color in her cheeks.
"Afraid not," Dandelion apologized. "Geralt is off on one of his urgent contracts."
"That's a shame," Ingrid said. "I would quite like to thank him again for the kindness he showed me last time we met."
Upon Dandelion and Yennefer's curious silence, she continued. "Geralt of Rivia and Triss Merrigold assisted my son in getting out of Novigrad undetected. Back when the witch hunters were still roaming the city like hungry wolves.
"Albert has always liked to dabble in alchemy," Ingrid explained, a slight frown on her petty face. "He caught the witch hunters' attention. But thanks to your friends, he managed to get away before they could attack the estate. He is safely in Kovir now."
"When next we see him, we'll be sure to pass along the news that your son is well. I'm sure Geralt and Triss would be delighted to hear an update and know that their undertakings have been successful. May he stay safe," Yennefer said, loathing that her tone sounded jealous to herself.
No one else would have been able to tell if they didn't know her, but she knew it, could feel it at the very depth of her soul when she remembered the look on his face after she'd mentioned Fringilla and Triss vying for his attention.
Thankfully she was able to deflect any more pleasantries as more folks had arrived and were waiting their turn to greet Ingrid.
"If you'll excuse me," she began politely, offering the woman a last tip of her head in recognition of her hosting status. "I think I'll help myself to a glass of wine."
Or three.
She waited on Ingrid's acknowledgement—that came a second later—and headed for one of the tables, choosing one with less of a crowd so she could save on the continued pleasantries while she worked on getting herself in the right mood.
What Ingrid had said wasn't old news to her, and yet Yennefer could hardly understand why she was so bothered that they'd worked together, that they'd had some kind of success? It wasn't as if Yennefer and Geralt hadn't had their own successes over the years despite the volatility of their relationship. Maybe it was because she knew what it must have been like with them working so closely together. Triss could hardly control herself around Geralt and undoubtedly there had been some kind of re-visitation of her feelings. What if with Yen outside of the picture the outcome hadn't been the same? What if he remembered loving the troublesome redhead? Would Yennefer be able to wish him well and let him be with someone else?
She'd promised Ciri she wouldn't go anywhere, that no matter what happened they'd stay together, but the idea of being forced to watch from the sidelines while he moved on with someone else or to someone else sickened her.
Dandelion, oblivious to Yennefer's pain, cheerfully strutted along behind her, surveying the room while he did so.
"Good crowd," he surmised, twirling once after claiming a glass of wine for himself, so he could continue eyeing the other guests. A young woman in a ruby gown sauntered past and Dandelion found it difficult to look away. "Good, indeed."
Yennefer scowled, studying Dandelion contemptuously while she drank.
"What is it with you and Geralt never being satisfied with what's under your noses?"
She proceeded to tap his nose, to steal his attention away from the ruby-gowned woman he was practically undressing with his sparkling gaze. Earlier she'd encouraged his behaviour, found it amusing, now she only found it irritating.
Dandelion blinked. "You mean... you?" he questioned, looking her up and down as if he'd never even considered Yennefer an option. And he hadn't. At least not lately. And not because she was not stunningly beautiful and enticing but because... well, Geralt. And truth be told. the sorceress had always frightened Dandelion. Just a little.
She hadn't meant herself, but now that he'd brought it up – why not? And why did he say it with such a vast amount of disbelief and confusion? She knew for a fact he appreciated her tits.
"You invited me to this get-together. What do you think others will think of me if my escort is ogling every walking pair of breasts with a half-decent hairdo?"
She narrowed her eyes, daring him to try and conclude that thought with anything other than what she wanted to hear.
Dandelion blinked again. "Right."
He cleared his throat and tried to look repentant, offering her his hand with a dramatic bow. "Would you care to dance then, Lady Yennefer?"
He was not going to suggest the other thought that had crossed his mind. She'd turn him into a toad for the audacity.
Yennefer considered his outstretched hand and then drained her glass, unperturbed with what anyone else might think of her drinking habits. Who were they to judge?
Without a word, she set her hand in his own and let him take the lead this time to fit them into the slew of bodies already moving together in the middle of the room.
Dandelion cautiously placed one hand on Yennefer's thin waist, assuming she would not mind. She hadn't when they danced earlier in the day.
The tune played by the minstrels was slow, so rather than twirling the sorceress under his arm, Dandelion was forced to keep her close.
Heat crept up the back of his neck. Soon he would start to perspire! He could only imagine what Geralt would say had he seen them now.
Only... perhaps he would not care in the least? That struck Dandelion as immensely sad. He did not want the love that had inspired so many of his famous ballads to be broken.
Yennefer felt the waves of ailing emotions rushing off Dandelion, incredulous to find that it was laced with sadness. For her? For him?
At the moment she didn't care.
He didn't move like Geralt, nor did he smell or feel like him, but there was enough of a shared history that allowed for her to use him as a substitute.
"Do you think it's possible to make him jealous?" Yennefer asked, unafraid of admitting that she'd taken a glimpse into the troubadour's mind, her free hand making its way up and around his shoulder, toying with the ends of his hair lightly. "I know Geralt currently finds me desirable, but if my understanding of our last altercation is anything to go by, he doesn't want to be possessed by me."
"Every man gets jealous," Dandelion declared softly, a shiver rippling down his spine when Yennefer's fingers came to toy with his hair. It was such a bizarre move on her part, so unpredictable and unlikely. Dandelion felt baffled. "But whether or not that jealousy is fleeting or lasting, that depends on the man. And the woman he desires."
He pulled back a little to look the sorceress in the eye.
"And do you want to possess him? Like a toy?"
"A toy?" Yennefer echoed, the movement of her hand stilling at his neck, her eyes narrowing on his face although she continued to dance. That had been a strong choice of word. "With all the material gifted to for your glorious ballads, what do you think?"
Geralt had never told her how he felt about their time in Vengerberg, and given the state of his mind as of today, he couldn't remember. Would he have told the troubadour why he left? Despite Dandelion's penchant for drama and eternal poems, the two were confidantes.
"You did not answer my question," Dandelion pointed out, gently swaying. "Do you want to possess him?"
There had always been rumors. Rumors of Yennefer treating Geralt as though he was disposable. But even though the dramatic in him wanted to latch onto that juicy gossip, Dandelion could admit to himself he wanted the truth.
He had heard Geralt's version over the years. But never Yennefer's.
"What is love and being loved, if not a form of possession?" Yennefer asked. Dandelion was a renowned poet. He had to have some kind of understanding of the feeling even if he had a tendency of seeking out the beginning portion over and over. Who didn't love the feeling of getting to know someone for the first time? Of experiencing only the good parts? Not that her relationship with Geralt had started off that way. Those came later, in many forms. "Being with someone dictates the way they potentially look at the rest of the world. At anyone else. You, almost having died for that very reason, should know that better than anyone else."
She shifted the hand, sliding it across his throat gently, squeezing to emphasize what she was talking about.
"How many times have you escaped being possessed?"
Dandelion swallowed against the motion of her fingers across his throat.
His near execution in Toussaint was not a fond one. Mostly because so much had been lost that day. Dandelion's property in Toussaint included.
"I escape every night!" he declared proudly. "I am in very high demand, you know. Especially here, in the larger cities. I cannot fault the beautiful maidens for wanting to keep me, of course. But my true love is my music, my craft! No woman, no matter how spectacular, can come close to that."
"Not even Priscilla?" Yennefer asked curiously. From what she knew of their relationship the woman had done quite a bit for him. "Not even a little?"
"Oh, uh," Dandelion was starting to perspire again.
Luckily, Ingrid Vegelbud chose that moment to approach them, just as the music came to an end.
"Dandelion, I have some friends I'd love for you to meet." She leaned in a little to whisper. "A minstrel from Emperor Emhyr Var Emreis' court. He is quite an admirer of yours."
She looked to Yennefer and gave a slight smile. "Do you mind me pulling him away for a few minutes?"
"By all means, please do," Yennefer said with respect to the intrusion and Ingrid's request. She had wanted to hear what Dandelion had to say about the blonde he appeared so close with and argue the contradictions. Yennefer knew how easy and wonderful it could be meeting new people as she herself had spent many years fornicating with varying men that struck her fancy, but there had never been a permanent fixture apart from Geralt and Istredd in over a hundred years. They'd both served their purpose throughout the shakiness until one outshone the other and going back got harder and harder. She wasn't even sure how, when for the longest time she'd only found herself anchored to and comfortable with Istredd. At least that had been the thought.
Her body, mind, and heart had thought differently and she'd hardly caught up until it was too late.
Until she'd ruined it.
She smiled at the two and then turned away to let them get to it, heading back to the table for more wine. Yennefer hadn't been alone long when another man appeared at her side, briefly shared some words with her, and coaxed her into another dance.