Geralt was staring at the milk and rabbit blood droplets soaking into the floor in a circle around the panting Pellar, the silence was only interrupted by the soft ringing of Princess's bell on her collar as the goat chewed, and the old man's heavy breathing. The Pellar was rubbing his temples, blinking to restore his normal vision. It was a hard one and left aching bones and a restricted chest behind.
"Some nebulous matter, this," the Pellar muttered, rising from his haunches to lower heavily on the worn wooden bench at the wall.
"Your presage about Anna and her child made more sense than this," Geralt said, hardly smoothing the sharp edge of disappointment from his voice.
"Pellar knows, White Wolf, Pellar knows." The old man sighed. "Some visions come easier, some truths reveal themselves eagerly, but some elude and flow in silky ribbons slithering between the fingers."
Geralt tried to overcome his irrational anger at the Pellar for his vague visions, at destiny and fate and all forces that kept endangering Ciri and trying to take her away from him - at that stupid, entitled wheel of events Avallac'h was proudly explaining back in the cave years ago telling the Witcher that he would find her only to lose again. His heart was thudding quicker than he was used to, and it created an unpleasant tightness in his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and made an effort to focus.
"You said she's light dimming in the dark," he recited, peering at the soothsayer. "The dark that's giving birth to Three."
"Aye," the Pellar nodded, scratching his balding head. "What came to Pellar, he told you."
"The Crones are dead. What Three is this about?"
"Pellar knows not, White Wolf."
"Is she possessed?" Geralt asked, fearing the response. "Maybe those Crones managed to possess Ciri?"
"Pellar saw no possession, but much is concealed. Much is concealed. We all have dark in us. We do have light. They battle in souls of men, and sometimes dark wins."
Geralt shook his head abruptly, he didn't want to accept it. "You also said that the oren is paid."
"Aye, mayhap Pellar said so," the old man agreed. "Do you know of any orens?"
The Witcher, once again squelching his irritation, tried to think. "There was a damned oren the blind woman gave me on the Bald Mountain."
"The blind woman that sees... Ah, Pellar heard of her, aye. Not much. Some women come to Pellar, some go seek a woman that understands and sees what they believe Pellar does not, for Pellar is a man, and men upset them."
"If I have to find that crone, where is she?"
"Pellar knows not," the soothsayer shook his head remorsefully. "Old Pellar wished to help the White Wolf with all his heart, and he knows who might help."
Geralt looked up at him with a spark of hope, albeit faint but present.
The dusk was draining the last of the sunset colors from the sky when Kain and Ciri rode into the Crossroads Inn's yard. There were several horses chewing hay, and barely two spare tables inside.
The patrons shot curious glances their way, but then returned to their drinks and noisy conversations.
"Greetings," the innkeeper sneered at them. "No spare rooms this night, but meals we do offer."
"Works for us," Kain nodded.
"Good," the man waved toward the corner. "I believe there's still a free table. What do we bring yee?"
"What do you have?"
"Fried potatoes with mushrooms with fresh vegetables and mead."
They nodded and proceeded to their table.
"All the rooms are taken," Ciri mused as they sat down. "Strange. Are people coming or going?" It seemed an unlikely place for anyone to want to come.
Kain shrugged. "Probably merchants on their way to or from Novigrad with its gates being open again."
Ciri hummed in vague agreement.
"So this is really where you were while on your... contract?"
He looked at her with a hint of reprimand. "I was in Velen. I didn't lie to you."
"Slaying errant creatures attacking the villages," she murmured, her gaze shrewd in the dim lighting of the candles. "A trap then as well? Or by chance?"
"I was questioning people and hunting information rather than creatures."
"Did you get paid?" She smiled, head tilted. "Did you leave here with more coin than you had when you came?"
He chortled softly. "It wasn't about money. People got butchered, and we had to find out how to prevent another massacre."
"Then it's not truly a contract, is it?" She said it airily as if it meant nothing to her. The truth was something else entirely. "Why would Geralt leave you behind to handle this alone when people were dying? He had no idea there was trouble in Novigrad."
"He decided to check on his friends and make sure things were fine there." Kain perked up an eyebrow, "Is that strange to you?"
"Yes," she said. "But then again, everyone has been strange lately."
"How so?"
She shrugged, averting her gaze to the innkeeper, idly watching his activities. "You look at me strangely. You all do. You think I don't notice, but I do. You, Geralt, Dandelion, Yennefer... Sometimes you look at me as though I am a stranger intruding."
"You're not a stranger to us, but you do say and do strange things - things none of us thought you'd do. You've become harsher towards people. You don't want to help anyone anymore."
Her gaze shot back to him, her lips twisting in a displeased mien. "That's a bold assumption to make. My mission has not changed. And if I succeed I will save many lives in this world. Most, in fact."
"What is your mission?" He narrowed his eyes. "Destroy Aen Elle? Or the Frost?"
"First one, then the other."
He made no response and looked at the maid that brought a tray with their meals. She smiled sheepishly and hurried to put the plates down, darting her eyes between them.
Kain thanked her, and she curtsied with a giggle, blushing adorably, and poured their mead. He glanced after her when she went away, then picked up his fork.
Ciri didn't miss their brief exchange and ice-cold fury instantly gripped her. "Planning to fuck her? She seems willing. Could take it as payment for our work."
He stared at her, stupefied and frozen with his fork on its way to a potato. He swallowed, composing himself, and lowered it. "I'm not planning to fuck her or anyone else," he stated in an even tone. "I didn't lie about that, either."
Ciri only smiled. She leaned back in her seat, arms folded across her chest. In the matter of a few seconds, she had gone from furious to airy once more.
"Do you think there are witchers who have done such a thing? Demanded sex as payment for a contract?"
He felt weary with constant bafflement at how her moods swung. He could sense the solution under his nose, but couldn't quite put the last pieces together yet. He was close, but she didn't make it easier.
"As an addition to payment, more likely," he responded, forking a potato. "Some Cats I knew did that. None had to demand, however."
"Why? Are all witchers so attractive people cannot help themselves?" Ciri snorted, reaching for her mead. "Surely there has to be one short and fat specimen in the club."
"Short and fat specimens wouldn't survive training and fights. And it's not about how attractive a witcher is. It's the way he presents himself and all the mystery and myths surrounding our guild that makes him more interesting."
Ciri was not so certain of that. But she had no evidence to prove him wrong.
So she began to eat.
"Is a Witcher allowed to retire when it suits him?" That particular topic had never been covered during her training, nor her lessons with Vesemir. "You weren't working when we met."
"I stopped being a witcher when I killed my partner for Griffin. I had to hide and search for my path again. It took a while and some choices I wasn't fond of.
"Any witcher is free to decide, but few stop being witchers before they die. Only corrupt or whimsical ones like some of the Cat School. I never met anyone like Geralt who would decide to stop being what he is on a whim."
"Few of you chose the life," Ciri commented. "So, it shouldn't be a sin to want something different."
"Not so few of us chose feudal intrigues and assassination contracts," Kain retorted. "It's not life. I'm yet to meet someone who chose an actual life over his duty."
"Assassination. Like with Radovid," Ciri grinned. "Did you know he and I were formally betrothed as children? Suppose I dodged an arrow there."
"I'm certain he wasn't the only option. And who knows, you could've made him a better man."
"My grandmother was quite cross when the King broke the engagement, actually. He never revealed the reason."
As for making him a better man, Ciri had her doubts there. It was more likely she would have turned cruel and insane, like him.
"He lost his father early and was influenced by Philippa Eilhart. I suppose it all played its destructive role in his decline as a ruler. It's unfortunate."
Ciri shrugged again, not truly caring either way. "He's no concern of ours anymore."
Kain didn't care to continue the pointless discussion, either, and focused on chewing while his mind kept trying to go through things they found out.
Half an hour later, Dandelion was well on his way to intoxication. With his third cup of wine in hand, he sauntered back in Yennefer's direction. Whereas he had been introduced and made merry with several of the other attendees, Yennefer appeared to have remained alone. Was it melancholy, he wondered? Were her thoughts so consumed with Geralt she could not find a moment of distraction?
"Are you sulking?" he asked brazenly, accidentally sloshing a good amount of wine onto the floor from another dramatic hand gesture. "You should take advantage of these lovely people! Have some fun!"
Yennefer made an automatic attempt to steer clear of the wine the troubadour had accidentally messed. She'd danced a little with the man – even flirted – and then excused herself.
She had no idea when that was or why but she'd instead remained at the table as she'd warned Geralt in the past was in poor taste and hoarded anything that looked remotely edible.
"I am having fun," Yennefer countered, sounding defensive. "I'm taking advantage of the wine. I see you've done the same," she said, wrinkling her nose with fleeting distaste. "Only you've little tolerance and look as if you're having a hard time staying on your feet!"
"The ladies keep plying me with wine," Dandelion responded. "It would be rude of me to decline!"
"Ridiculous! You're playing right into their hands. How do you know they aren't out to take advantage of you? How many times have you been robbed?"
Dandelion scoffed. "Robbed? At the Vengelbud residence? Now, that is ridiculous. No one here has any reason to steal. They're all well off. More so than you and I."
He paused and took another sip of his drink, his eyes taking on a dreamy sheen.
"And their bosoms heave so heavenly with delight when I accept their offerings."
"You should impart that into your next ballad," Yennefer proposed, marginally tickled by the look on his face. Everything had reached a point of hilarity and she could almost say she was happy. She was also incredibly weary and unsure. Her head was beginning to spin and that ache at her center was making her feel uncomfortably needy. "I think I've had enough for the evening. We should go."
She drained her glass, took a hold of his elbow, and carefully started through those that remained for the door.
"Already? Are you sure?" Dandelion would, of course, escort her back to the inn. He was a gentleman, after all.
But he was far from done with the party. He'd have to return later.
He stood up a little straighter and made an effort not to sway on his feet as they headed for the door.
"I always thought you sorceresses had the endurance to play all night long. Is that not why you get along so well with witchers?"
"Plural?" Yennefer asked, slowing her stride until she'd stopped. Had he really just gone there? As if she had to prove that she knew how to have a good time! Or was it that Dandelion was referring to other mages that he'd heard about through the grapevine? "That's certainly one of many reasons Geralt and I get along. The only substantial reason as it stands at the moment."
Just as easily as she'd decided to leave, she'd decided to stay.
"Humans have weak tolerance levels when it comes to mead or any kind of drink. Have you visited the food tables? If you're going to keep up with me, you're going to have to get something into your stomach. I'm not one for dragging people around."
Before he could respond she'd steered him in that direction – practically dragging.
Dandelion tried not to grin in victory and failed horribly. He allowed the sorceress to drag him to the tables where they could indulge in the multitude of finger foods.
"You know, I always got the feeling you never much cared for me," he admitted while picking some grapes off a vine. "So either I was completely mistaken, or you feel so out of sorts you'd prefer my wretched company to solitude. Which is it?"
Yennefer's hand fell away from his elbow so he could help himself to whatever he felt would absorb the wine or mead he'd been consuming. Had Dandelion forgotten the last time they'd visited this topic of conversation or was it that he was digging for more? Could be the adrenaline from the near-death experience after she'd saved him and what might have followed thereafter made him forget the talk they'd had or the confessions shared.
She supposed she couldn't blame him.
"It's true that there are days when you open your mouth that I wish to close it for you and have felt tempted to do so on many an occasion, but I have never hated you. Apart from Geralt, we've never really had much in common and we've never tried to find out what that might be."
If she was honest, she wasn't all that enthusiastic about starting. She liked the man. Appreciated the role he played in Geralt's life and who he now was to Ciri. What more was needed?
"So you are not here because you are utterly miserable, then?" The poet challenged, uncharacteristically slinging an arm over her shoulder like he would Geralt. He sobered, just for a moment. "If it means anything, I am sorry you are in pain."
Even if Yennefer was in pain she wouldn't have admitted it and the way he pressed on assured her that he knew that. They might not talk much or confide in each other, but at least he'd come to learn more about her than the fact that she had a heart of ice. It made her think he saw her marginally different than most – more so than she'd ever given him credit for.
She found herself leaning into him slightly, playing along with the display of showy affection he'd offered her. Yennefer hadn't realized and nor would she admit how much she needed it. Their lives had been such chaos lately that she wasn't sure at times if there would ever be light again. At least not in favor of what she wanted.
"I thank you for saying so."
It did mean something. It meant that he could be labeled as a friend, someone she knew she could trust where Geralt was concerned but perhaps even herself. She hadn't been sure of that before. She smiled slightly, eased out from beneath his arm, and picked up a small flatbread with minced crab on top.
"Eat," she suggested, shoving it under his nose gently.
Dandelion let her feed him the appetizer, for a moment too busy chewing to speak. Which was probably Yennefer's plan all along, that wily minx!
When he finished, a fiendish smile claimed his handsome face. "So, tell me, mindreader, who among our fellow guests has a story worthy of a ballad?" He cast a look out onto the dancefloor where people continued to mingle. "Any juicy gossip?"
She'd been getting a lot of grief for reading people lately, and here Dandelion was encouraging her to make use of it. There was a sheer contradiction in that, and she was sure a lot of it had to do with the fact that they were both befuddled.
She averted her attention to the crowd while he ate, sorting through the rifts of information that assaulted her at once as soon as she opened herself up.
It didn't take her long to settle the challenge.
"The auburn-haired woman believes herself to be with child but is too afraid to tell her husband. I suspect because it's not his," Yennefer began, staying close to his side, keeping her voice low so that no one else could overhear what they were talking about. "He—" Yennefer said, subtly tossing an eye at one of the performers, a young boy that appeared to be seventeen, "-itches to visit a shaded corner with the ample bosom you'd been eyeing earlier. Eckardt of Yamurlak thinks your purple outfit is obnoxious and wonders what you'd look like without it."
Her lips twitched into a smirk as she continued.
"And it seems Ingrid doesn't only admire your ballads. She's also interested in your lute."
"Everyone admires that," Dandelion smirked confidently, subtly adjusting himself while casting a glance in Yamurlak's direction. "Obnoxious?! This is the latest fashion! Well, it will be once word gets around I am wearing it." He sighed mournfully. "It is so hard to be a beloved artist, Yennefer. The jealousy of these people..." He shook his head.
"Notoriety is a considerable burden for any one man. I'm sure you often assure them of their mistakes and unreasonable behaviors," Yennefer said with mock sympathy.
"I have had to engage in fisticuffs once or twice in my day," Dandelion admitted, smoothing a hand down his doublet. "For some, words are not enough."
"For some," Yennefer agreed.
She'd been scanning the crowd again for gossip when a middle-aged woman made her way to the table and accidentally brushed against Dandelion in search of food for herself. The woman wanted to be the cause for his next ballad and was trying to provide a scenario in which to talk to him more frankly, her ego driving her to outshine anyone else he'd made eyes at that evening, ever romantic and desperate in her attempts, although her actions were a touch subtle.
"Shall we take advantage of the music and attempt another dance?" Yennefer asked, no longer ready to hand her companion over to the next greedy wolf. She'd had enough of that with Geralt.
"Indeed, we shall!" Dandelion declared and offered the sorceress his hand. He needed to work off all those appetizers lest his beautiful clothes become too tight.
He took Yennefer by the waist when they reached their spot, bolder now than he normally would be. The wine helped. It was a wonderful aid!
Dandelion even took advantage of Yennefer's magnificent cleavage so up and close, allowing his eyes to rest there for a significant amount of time. He remembered having seen them in their full glory once before during the Golden Dragon Hunt. Worthy of their own ballad, that pair!
He briefly considered voicing this thought aloud but in the end decided against it, instead coaxing Yennefer to begin moving to the music.
Dancing with Dandelion grew easier and easier as the night progressed and before long they'd lost themselves to at least three other melodies. They drank and eventually even sang. Although Yennefer was the only one not to bother with the latter commotion, instead staying on the side-lines, listening as the others sang along with a variety of folk songs.
When the night drew to a close and the party-goers starting taking their leave, she was buzzed, a flush at her cheeks, and had to admit that the night had brought about an unexpected comfort.
She'd linked arms with Dandelion as they walked back to her Inn – as much for her own support – as it was for his.
"I have to admit that you surprised me tonight. I can't remember the last time I actually had this much fun. It's been… "
Years? Months? Ciri had been gone far too long and her heart too heavy.
"There is rarely joy in wartime," Dandelion lamented. "And if it is, it is short-lived. Usually found in the bottom of a wine barrel or between the legs of a saucy minx!"
She squeezed his arm in silent agreement, and then, before she knew what she was doing, drew him to a stop in the middle of the square and pressed her lips to his. She'd never felt any compulsion to kiss the troubadour and she'd hardly felt any kind of attraction, but tonight, for all his efforts to try and lift her spirits, that had changed – and significantly so.
Dandelion froze, his shock so complete he could not move for a few seconds. Until Yennefer's one-sided kiss became awkward. Noticeably so.
He pulled away gently, one hand resting on her shoulder. His lips tingled pleasantly, but in contrast, his stomach was tangled in knots.
"Yennefer," he murmured, "I cannot... I... You are a beautiful woman. No! That word does not even do you justice. Believe me. And if the circumstances were different...
"But there is Geralt. He is my best friend. I could never do such a thing to him. Forgive me."
If it was possible, his response to the kiss made her want him that much more. Perhaps because he'd called her beautiful, maybe because, unlike her own friends, he valued his friendship with Geralt.
"There is nothing to forgive," Yennefer reasoned calmly, not even the slightest bit offended that he hadn't returned the warmth. She should be. And yet all she felt was appreciation, more than she knew how to put into words. "You're a faithful friend. A respectable friend."
Yennefer raised a hand to his face, briefly touching his cheek before reaching up to straighten his lopsided hat as he'd done himself earlier and many times throughout the night.
"I've said it before, but I'm pleased he has you in his life." She flashed him a genuine smile that went beyond the usual half-measure. "I can get myself to bed from here. Why don't you try and safely get to your own?"
Dandelion felt relieved and some of his guilt faded.
"Are you certain? I don't mind escorting you." Even if Yennefer would probably be the one to defend them if they ran into trouble. It was simply the gesture of politeness and how a true gentleman should act.
"I'm certain. I know the way back."
The building was in view and she doubted anything would happen of interest. He wasn't staying at the Inn and Dandelion had a tendency of getting lost and in trouble. Their night had been good, she'd rather it stay that way.
"Thank you for inviting me to the auspicious gathering with your noble friends and entertaining me so thoroughly. I've had a fantastic time, Troubadour Dandelion."
She curtsied for gracefully, flashing him another smile that had lost some of its shine, and then started away.
"Goodbye, beautiful maiden! How you have broken my heart with your wiles and charms!" he shouted loudly, clutching his heart with a dramatic pained expression on his handsome face. He turned his gaze towards the heavens. "Oh, cruel world! Why must you torment me so? Am I never to find love?"
All at once, two young women who were seemingly on their way home from the Vengelbud party as well rushed to Dandelion's side. They urged him to wrap his arms over their shoulders so they could help him home, both cooing and wishing to take care of the heartbroken poet.
Dandelion turned his head, flashed Yennefer a jovial wink, then allowed them to lead him away.
They were silent a long while, each focusing on their meals. When Ciri finally spoke again, her plate was mostly empty.
"So we are to head back to Novigrad tonight?"
"Yes, we'll meet Geralt there and catch some sleep." Kain finished his mead and swept some grease on the bottom of the plate with a piece of potato, then sent it into his mouth.
"Shall I take us? It'll be quicker."
"You have such a magnificent mare and you don't like riding?" He gave her a curious look, finishing the last of his meal.
"I love riding. But my ability saves time."
He smiled. "If you're in a hurry, you can go. I will ride."
"Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed. "I'm not leaving you alone when there are fiends out there."
Despite his gloomy reveries, he was amused. "I'm a witcher, I can take a fiend."
"You can. But the fiend can also take you. Depending on the situation."
He chuckled, getting up. "If a fiend takes me, I'm not a witcher worthy of living. We survive until we can't perform our duties anymore. And then we die. It's a normal course for a witcher."
He fished a few coins from his belt and left it on the table.
"So if I find you broken and bleeding from a monster attack, I should leave you and let life take its course?" she challenged, getting up as well and heading for the door. "Hardly."
"It's exactly what you need to do," he told her in all seriousness and sent a thank-you smile and nod to the maid before exiting the inn.
"I'd never. No matter how annoying you are being." The last statement was a direct jab at his friendly approach towards the maid. Ciri didn't like it. She wanted to claw the girl's eyes out.
They fetched Kelpie and Onyx outside and began their journey. If Kain was right, Geralt would be on his way, too.
Kain rode after Ciri, keeping Onyx a bit behind while contemplating everything she'd told him and what happened every time she used her magic. How different it was from before the Crones... Whatever happened to her, had to have happened in the Crones' dimension.
His inner wariness grew and wriggled inside him. He wished he could talk to Fealinn.
"You're lagging," Ciri said, throwing a glance over her shoulder. She didn't know why he was refusing to ride beside her.
"Your mare is faster," he said, pulled from his reverie. The lights of Novigrad were visible ahead. He spurred Onyx and rode past her.
That was more like it. Ciri grinned and rushed in behind him, Kelpie nipping at Onyx' behind.
They had to slow down to ride through the gate, and trotted down the empty street toward the inn. The stables were empty, and Ciri had to unsaddle Kelpie on her own. Kain took the leather belt substituting the reins off Onyx's neck and hung it on a hook, then picked up a brush to sweep over the stallion's back and sides while Onyx chewed on fresh hay.
"How are you feeling?" she asked after putting Kelpie's gear away, watching him while leaning against Onyx's stall door. "After this afternoon."
"I'm fine," he said, brushing the horse's rump. "Healed." He turned to look at her. "How about you? Your scratches faded on your face. Were there other wounds?"
Ciri touched her cheek absentmindedly. She had entirely forgotten about the scratches.
"No. Nothing else." Not that she remembered.
She slowly detached from the wall and stepped close, hands coming to rest on Kain's chest as she looked up at him from under her dark lashes.
"Though I've an itch you could scratch."
His hand stilled on the horse's coat, then slipped down to his side, his fingers tightening on the wooden sides of the brush. He felt pain and it sobered him a little, reminded of illusory normalcy he had to see through. Despite the yearning to dismiss alarm.
"I told you I can't," he uttered quietly.
"Because you don't want to hurt me," she whispered. "Because you don't want to be hurt. I won't hurt you, Kain." Ciri's eyes darkened noticeably. "I'll be ever so gentle."
He sensed something, as if a darker cloud passed inside her. Her aura was sporadic and murky and he couldn't understand how it was happening. It scared him. He felt his spine turn cold.
"No, Ciri, I cannot be with you that way," he said in an even tone, sounding strange even to himself.
Onyx snorted and shifted away, eyeballing them. Kelpie was staring, too, her ears pricked.
Ciri stared up at him. Her hands had stilled at his chest.
Then, suddenly, she grasped his throat, first with one hand, then another. She pushed him back against the stable wall, her face a mask of fury. "You don't get to say no. You don't get to push me away. This is supposed to happen." She squeezed him mercilessly, her whole body tight and tense. "You're mine."
He gaped at her, stiff but keeping his hands down to not fight her. He was still squeezing the brush in his fingers, he noticed, and it struck him as ridiculous. The whole scene was a bizarre show of ridiculousness.
She was like an essence of fury, a vengeful spirit that he had wronged. It hurt; her hands burned and stung, he barely breathed, but couldn't bring himself to touch her. A part of him still couldn't believe it was true, after all. It couldn't be Ciri, and yet she was.
"I—," he wheezed, "cannot… be… yours."
Kain's words rang in Ciri's head like a taunting echo. Her whole body was burning, and now tears stung her eyes as well.
She pushed away from him, looking at him as though he was the stranger now.
"Why do you keep hurting me like this?" she whispered, suddenly trembling with the onrush of grief and pain. "Why do you tell lies and deny me what belongs to me?"
He gasped for air, touching his free hand to his throat. It felt as if it had been scorched. He coughed and finally put the brush down; his fingers nagged from strain and wore deep imprints of the brush's edges.
Her pain hurt him more, however. Even recognizing an unnatural tint in her energy, he saw the pain was hers, piercing and shrill.
"Forgive me," he said, a bit husky, his face a mask of remorse. "One cannot belong to another. We cannot own each other."
Ciri shook her head. "I don't understand. I don't..."
Words were hard to find and suddenly she felt so very tired, her earlier rage had gone and left an empty shell in its wake.
She didn't say anything further. She merely turned around and left, feeling like the earth was shaking and swaying beneath her.
"Ciri, please!" His heart was aching, making it hard to breathe. He made a few hasty steps after her, reached out but curled his fingers into a fist, and lowered his hand before it could touch her. "Please," he repeated, "understand me, Ciri! I would die for you, I'll protect you until my dying breath, but what you want… it's what I cannot give. It complicates things, it always does, and it always hurts. I don't want you to be hurt when you'd expect to be happy."
"Yes," Ciri whispered. "I understand."
Words said only so she could get away. If only she could lie down for a bit. If she could just close her eyes and breathe and...
Something was very wrong. But she couldn't figure out whether it was her or Kain. Or everyone else.
Something had changed. Shifted.
What was it?
Ciri staggered for the inn. She knew Kain could hear her anyway and didn't turn to call back over her shoulder. "I have to sleep. Tell Geralt... Tell him..." She paused a moment, in search of words again but came up empty. She gave a shrug and headed inside.
"I will," he responded before she disappeared inside. He leaned heavily onto the hitching rail, his head hung, and sighed. His throat still hurt, and he left it so. He felt like his whole soul was burning just the same as his throat did.
Geralt was staring down at the floor, saying nothing, and muscles in his cheeks were bulging as he ground his teeth. Fealinn poured him more cider, but he needed a stronger, much stronger drink. It wouldn't help, of course, but he couldn't focus without it. The finalization of the conclusion with all the evidence burdened him too much. He thought of Yennefer with longing, but then pushed it away and reached for the cider and lilted it out.
"It's not a possession, you say?" He raised his eyes to the elf woman, then turned them his brother's way.
"She said she drew from nature," Kain recited. "The nature was the bog – the place of their power. They're gone, we haven't found any signs to think otherwise, but their power was too strong. The land has been keeping it for too long, and when she drew from it…" He trailed off, looking grim, and ran a hand through his hair.
Geralt cursed and nodded his thanks to Fealinn, who refilled his mug before settling at the table.
"It's more like poison," Kain said. "That power, or rather its dark nature poisoned her. Acted like a drug clouding her judgement, addicting her to power she hasn't used before."
"What do we do with it now?" Geralt asked, and looked at Fealinn. "Can you heal her?"
"It's not something we can heal," the elf said, her voice soft and her face full of sympathy. "She's not ill, she's not crazy. She merely doesn't know any better."
"Her perception is corrupted by whatever filth that's seeped into her," Kain added. "She doesn't know anything is wrong with her. She thinks something is wrong with us."
"We cannot help her until she wants us to," Fealinn said. "Thinking of you as the ones who are wrong, she wouldn't accept any help. It would rather upset her greatly."
"And with her power and temper, there's no way to predict how bad her anger gets," Geralt said, and buried his face in his hands, sighing.
"I suspected it," said Kain after a while of silence. "Her aura was tainted at times, and then it was normal again. She's never been too calm or collected, so her flares of temper seemed her own. It's like that poison highlights her own dark impulses and drives them out of proportion. She doesn't separate it from herself, nor have I when trying to read her."
"It's true, it could be that," Fealinn agreed. "Ciri's had a hard life for many years, none of those traumas have gone away yet. And there is a dark side to her that was born during those dark years."
"We cannot cure her of her past," groaned Geralt into his hands. "It's impossible. She won't ever forget it."
"She doesn't have to forget it," Kain said. "She has to overcome it. She hasn't had the time."
"What then?" Geralt rubbed his eyes and looked at them. "What is there to be done?"
"She needs to want to get rid of it," Fealinn said. "You will not save her against her will."
They rode slowly along the riverbank, the night breeze breathing into their faces. They were silent for a long while, neither feeling up to speaking. Then Geralt turned to look at his brother in the light of the crescent moon that had just peeked from behind a cloud.
"Your pain," he said. "Is it worth it?"
"I don't know, anymore," Kain responded, his hand rising to rub his throat. It stopped aching, but he could still feel her phantom grip. "In my head I know it's right, but when she looks at me as though I've stabbed her in the heart, whatever I know in my head just stops being important."
"I know what you mean," Geralt said. "I know exactly what you mean."