"Is it truly all and exactly as it happened? Are you certain you haven't forgotten anything?" Fringilla Vigo's emerald eyes were boring right into Shani's soul, making her very uncomfortable, which was nearing outright anxiety fueled by the medic's growing feelings of worry and guilt.

Shani swallowed, struggling not to doubt her own story. "I'm quite certain it's all there was," she said, shooting a sheepish glance in Triss's direction. "I really don't know what else to tell you…"

Another one of Triss's sneezes from behind made Shani jump a little. She and Fringilla looked to the chestnut-haired sorceress as she struggled over a basin in the corner of the room, rinsing her nose with a mixture of salt and herbs Shani had given her to stop her nose from itching and running.

"Are you really feeling up to all of this?" Fringilla asked. "We might not have any calm hours ahead of us until this is resolved."

"I'm fine, really," Triss muttered, and both Shani and Fringilla were dismayed to hear her voice gaining a nasal intonation. Triss wiped her face with a cloth and smiled returning the empty cup to Shani. "Thank you. It stung a bit, but I believe I can breathe better now. It's helping already, I know it."

Shani regarded her with faint disbelief. "Well, if it's a cold settling in, you will have to use more. I shall make you some for the remaining night. Keep rinsing every hour or two, and maybe it shall pass."

"Thank you, darling." Triss gave her another brilliant smile and went to wash her hands when Shani turned for the door.

"I'll be right back," the medic said and left the sorceresses alone, closing the door delicately behind her.

Fringilla sighed, folding her arms, observing Triss with a sardonic tinge. "What if you're wrong and Rita said nothing because Yennefer asked her not to? Have you thought about that?"

"I don't believe Yen's stupid enough to think it can be kept a secret at a time like this. When Phil's so eager to get her hooks in both of them, Ciri and Kain."

"Rita is smarter than this. We all got smarter since the witch hunts started. There must be a reason." Fringilla shrugged and pulled a chair to sit. "We had our objectives set. We were supposed to gather information on the Sunstone and then meet on Skellige. The witchers are strong enough to handle themselves, especially with Kain and his magic. I don't see why you're so worried they won't be able to handle it without you. If they needed us, Yennefer would have sent a message to us all."

A small wince ran through Triss's face. "And she'd run right to you and me with Geralt involved." She shared a meaningful glance with Fringilla and plopped on the other chair. She sniffled and winced at the itch in her nose.

"She would never pass on our help if he were in true danger."

"If he went through a portal and never appeared on the other side — don't you feel it fits in true danger?"

"Well, elvish portals are strange. We all know that. He could be anywhere, but within our world still."

"Then he'd be back already with Ciri having found him. But if Kain was also clueless about where he ended up, and I've seen his powers with location—"

"That is actually the only worrisome aspect," Fringilla agreed. "Kain and Ciri would have found him."

"Only where are they?" Triss asked. "All of them. It's been a long time."

"Just a couple of hours."

"It took her kestrel some time to get to Skellige," Triss reasoned, wiping her reddish nose with a handkerchief Shani had offered her. "And then two more before I called you. Time is of the essence here."

"First of all, if the portal killed Geralt, there's nothing we could do even if we reacted immediately," Fringilla said, noting the mixture of horror and indignation in the blazing look Triss shot her. "But that's too unlikely, despite what Geralt still believes, and I honestly think they're all fine."

"But where? That is the question."

Fringilla nodded. "We'll find out. Just keep that cold at bay. Whenever you catch something, it renders you useless."

When Shani returned with the bottle of her mixture for Triss, Fringilla set her sharp eyes on the medic once more.

"Kain asked you not to tell Margarita about your findings, is that right?"

Shani nodded. "Yes, he thought it was best to keep it from, well, everyone else for now." She looked apologetically between them. "She thinks it's just some ancient elven portal we foolishly used."

"And then you sought out Yennefer and Ciri because he told you to?"

"Yes, they were about to leave Oxenfurt when I found them. I barely made it in time. I told them everything. Ciri seemed upset…"

Fringilla frowned, "Why? She said anything?"

"Well, I think it was because it's me the witchers took with them. I explained that I was the mediator between them and the Academy masters to gain passage to the catacombs for them. Usually, it's something outsiders need permission for. But it didn't really soothe her. She probably wished to be a part of it, and I'm sorry she couldn't share it with them." Shani sighed, then darted a skittish glance between them. "Maybe I wasn't supposed to tell anyone else, either… you know… about the catacombs and all, but Geralt's still gone… Gods, I need to know he's alive! I'll never forgive myself for not stopping them if he's—"

"I don't see why he wouldn't be all right after you and Kain came out just fine," Fringilla said. "He got merely misdirected, I'm sure."

"Really?" Hope flared anew in Shani's eyes. "You're positive about it?"

"Absolutely," Vigo assured and added a small smile for better effect.

Shani frowned, "But then they were gone, too…" She looked at Triss, "Think that portal sent them away the same as Geralt? Maybe they found him now… or maybe not? Maybe they're all lost or stuck somewhere or—" Her eyes widened with new terrors she imagined.

"The possibility of that happening is nearly non-existent," Fringilla said, using her best convincing tone. "Ciri can teleport instantly. If there was danger, she'd take them all to safety. I'd assume that the place they ended up delayed them… maybe there's something of interest. As soon as they're ready, they'll be back, shaming us all for worry."

"Oh… it does make sense…" Shani began to smile a little. "Yes, you're probably right. You have to be."

"All shall be well, don't worry your head. You need to stay calm and do your work here. Those patients need your skills."

"Thank you, surely, I shall focus on that," Shani nodded, hugging herself as if she felt a sudden draft of cold. "But please tell me when they're back? I need to know."

"Triss will keep you informed," Fringilla said, ignoring the look Triss tossed her way. "Sorry we distracted you for so long and thank you for the information. We shall be on our way now. Lots to do for all of us."

"Of course," Shani said, and looked to Triss who was at the door already: "Be sure to visit tomorrow if it doesn't improve. Best we treat it sooner, so you beat it fast."

"Thank you, darling. I'll be sure to do so."

Margarita Laux-Antille raised an arm lazily from the water and reached for her magically refilled glass of Est Est. She didn't bother to open her eyes but her fingers unmistakably wrapped around the glass and brought it to her lips, sending a soft wave through the bath pool's water. The faintest veil of steam added an air of mystery to her quiet time alone with herself.

"Are you aiming to fall asleep and drown?"

A light chuckle escaped Margarita's lips against the rim of the glass. She sipped again and set the glass gently back on the rim of the pool, not bothering to look at her visitor. "Witches don't drown, don't you know?"

"Witch Hunters proved that to be a silly superstition enough times by now," Fringilla said, approaching the pool on quiet feet. "Including your own time with them, from what I heard."

"That time is too condensed in stories you hear and an eternity while it lasted." She heaved a sigh, spreading her arms under the water in a languid motion, warming it up with her magic. Her body wanted it hotter — it helped the relaxation she craved.

"At least it ended, after all," Fringilla said, stopping at the rim of the pool. It could fit four people, but seemed like there had been no guests planned. It was a private party with a sole bottle of wine, which was three-quarters empty. "Needed to rest your mind? You look worn out."

"Been a busy day," Margarita said. "Even with all the recovery work going on, it'll be a while before Aretuza is back to its former glory. With so many dead, it's going to be quite hard to convince young talents to apply. Barely anyone left to deem it safe anymore, even now that Radovid's dead."

"It will certainly take a lot of effort to revive it all," Fringilla agreed. Her thoughts momentarily went back to Tissaia's time and the bloom of their art at Aretuza with brilliant banquets flaunting the best graduates and their teachers to the potential royal engagements at courts all over the continent. "If the world allows it."

"The Empire, you mean," Margarita scoffed. "Ah, those kings and rulers, eternally greedy and eager to control everything and destroy all that they cannot conquer. Ever scared to lose their power and seeking enemies in everything, even among the allies and the very ones who put them there. What good are kings, Frin? What good are politics? Look what it's done to us. What good was anything mages ever did for crowns?"

"Politics, like magic, is not an exact science," Fringilla said, picking a puffy pillow from the pile around a low tea table in the corner of the room. She put it down and lowered onto it. "It takes all life to learn, and no life is long enough to master it. Not even for us."

"We're not meant for it. Never were. We had to take care of our own instead — maybe if we did, we'd be better off now instead of being hunted and despised." She reached for her glass again.

"We are alive," Fringilla said. "And while we are, we can change things. We need to make better choices this time, is all."

Margarita opened her eyes and studied her, sipping Est Est. When the glass was empty, she held it out, and the remaining wine flowed from the bottle into its confines, sloshing softly. "You mean we have to change priorities? Or minds that pick them?"

A subtle smile touched the corners of Fringilla's mouth. "Perhaps a bit of both needs to be considered carefully."

"Carefully," Margarita mused, eyeing her. "Very carefully." She drank, thinking about it a bit, then said, "I still don't want to have anything to do with politics. All I want has to do with the craft. The Arts without any crowns casting shadows on it."

"I know. But for that, the world needs to change. It needs to become a safer place for the Arts. I reckon we are alive to help make it finally happen. Do you believe so?"

Margarita shrugged, eyeing the wine in her glass, rocking it slightly to make it slosh against the walls in ruby waves. "From where I stand, it doesn't look promising for any of us. Not for Aretuza, nor the Lodge. Do you believe we can really bounce back with it as Phil suggests? It's all way too easy coming from her mouth. She has a way of making things sound enticing."

Must be the wine talking, mostly, Fringilla thought to herself, and it brought her a touch of satisfaction, a bit of a balm smoothed on ideas Triss had been trying to promote to her earlier. "I don't believe it will be as easy as simply bouncing back," she responded, brushing a hand through her short black hair. The vapors of the bathtub made it a bit damp. "But say we don't try it — then what? We crawl under some rocks to hide and live the remaining life in fear of being discovered? We betray every girl with gifts that come after us? Magic is not going to evaporate from the continent, Rita, just because the Hunters and priests believe they can achieve it. So why help them create that illusion for common folk instead of standing up for what we are?"

"A few of us against the world of shackles and burning stakes? Or you expect Ciri and her witchers to deliver us?"

"I expect them to be on our side, yes. But I don't believe they should be the ones to deliver us. We have to stand our ground if we want to be heard and respected."

"Like Phil killing her royal rival in the open while the soldiers gaped? She'd never dare it without the silent approval of Nilfgaard. But even with his death being a gift for Emhyr, she's still hiding like the rest of us. With our pardons, we hide until we're being summoned to fight for someone else's cause, be it Ciri or Emhyr or those eternal political plots. Do you feel as tired as I am?"

"Tired or hopeless?"

"Either? Both?" Margarita shrugged and took a swallow of wine.

"Neither," Fringilla said, surprising her. "I've had enough of it sitting in the dungeons and nursing my shackled limbs. Despair like that is what is killing us. I don't want to feel it ever again. I think it's worth fighting for — to never fall into despair again. To never wear shackles. To never have to sleep in your own filth for being what you are."

Margarita seemed to ponder it awhile, eyeing Fringilla wistfully above the rim of her glass. Then she gave a small smile and took another sip, savoring it for a moment before swallowing. "Is it why you came? To offer a pep talk?"

"No, definitely not. The library back in Toussaint is rather overwhelming. Perhaps after the Oxenfurt attack and all the restoration, I find it hard to focus enough on sifting through all those books and scrolls all by my lonesome. Seems too much to sort through on short notice, so I thought you might be willing to lend your pair of eyes." She offered a genuine smile.

"Mm, I know what you mean, must be tiring. That library is huge. Think there's anything about the Sunstone in any of the books?"

"I wish I knew exactly where to look, but there is no way of knowing. I managed to find a couple of references to the legend, but not even the legend itself so far. I would appreciate your aid immensely."

Margarita finished her wine and nodded. "I can help. I hear they make their young wine at this time of year."

Fringilla smiled. "The first casks are being bottled and served any of these days now."

"I shall sleep this one off and join you if you wish."

"Thank you. Unless you're willing to tend to the Oxenfurt library."

"Oh? Isn't Triss working there?"

"No, she went ahead to Skellige."

"Right. Must have slipped my mind. It's Yen, then."

Fringilla faked a confused frown. "Haven't seen her there today."

"Maybe she took a break with her witcher." Margarita rose from the pool and reached for the towel, wrapping it around herself.

Fringilla grunted getting up. One of her ankles fell asleep. She picked up the pillow and tossed it back in the pile, then turned to regard her fellow sorceress. "I thought Geralt was busy with Kain."

Something swept through Margarita's face as she looked up at her, Fringilla was sure, but after a moment of contemplation, Rita smirked. "He and Yennefer always seem to gravitate towards each other no matter how busy either get with anyone else."

It stung, but Fringilla made herself smile a little. "Then maybe all Yennefer needs is you to keep her focus on the books, mm?"

Rita laughed, toweling her hips and legs. "Hardly it's possible, but might try it if you insist. That stone is for Ciri, after all, so she might be willing to cooperate."

"Precisely. Good luck."

"Don't get too lonely on your own, then, dear. Maybe we shall both come help you when we're done."

"I would be glad."

In a moment, a portal carried Vigo away from Gors Velen.

"Oy, put that back! Right now!" Dandelion raced across the tavern floor, from the bar to the stage, where a crew of hardworking dwarves was busy decorating for the night's premiere. His hat had come askew in all the jostle and combined with his outraged expression, made his appearance seem a tad unhinged. "That is an original Henri Rautlec, I'll have you know!"

He reached for the golden frame of the giant portrait two workers were hauling away, trying to yank it back but only succeeding in creating a feeble tug-of-war.

Darin, a stocky bald dwarf with a bushy beard and wild eyebrows had to interfere. He was the crew leader, after all. "It takes up too much space, Dandelion. If we don't clear somethin' off the stage, you won't even fit on it!"

The stage that usually held no more than a few storage crates and, on occasion, a few listlessly dancing concubines had indeed been decorated to the max per Dandelion's request. Lit lanterns burned brightly to illuminate the heightened plateau. The back wall had been covered and draped with red velvet for a softer look. And all of Dandelion's priced instruments had been delicately placed in order of the musical numbers.

The portrait he was now currently clutching with bejeweled fingers depicted his likeness particularly well, in Dandelion's own humble opinion. From the perfect coloring and textures of his doublet and breeches to the lifelike gleam in his eyes, to the obvious bravery he possessed… which was proven by the slayed beast that lay at his feet, pierced by a giant sword. Dandelion thought it might be a wyvern but wasn't truly bothered enough to identify the creature.

In any case, the glorious painting was a well-thought-out set design meant to remind tonight's audience of his fame and glory. It would make them appreciate the opportunity to see him perform all the more.

"I need the stage to be crowded!" Dandelion objected as Zoltan appeared from behind the bar to pry his fingers off the frame, letting the workers go about their job in peace. "I am all on my own tonight! With Priscilla still in Gors Velen and our choreographer having fled the city, no one has been able to prepare the dancers! It would be humiliation to send them out on stage in this condition."

"Calm yerself, lad!" Zoltan said gruffly, shoving the bard into a chair behind the counter and pushing a tankard of mead into his hands. "Yer performin for the common folk. Not Kings and Queens. They just want some entertainment is all, and yer more than capable of givin it to 'em."

Dandelion squinted up at his colleague with unveiled surprise. "Never thought I'd hear such encouraging words from you."

The dwarf shrugged, his mouth twitching in a smile as he wiped down the counter with a rag. "Whatever it takes to calm yer arse. We haven't even opened yet and I'm already gettin a headache."

Dandelion took a couple of calming breaths and indulged in a large sip of mead, slowly reclining in his seat while his eyes continued to roam the busy tavern.

"Yennefer promised she'd be here to help," he lamented. "Blasted sorceresses. Never keep their word."

"Cut her some slack," Zoltan replied. "Her mind's preoccupied with Ciri. And the Hunt."

"Yes, yes, the sodding Hunt!"

The bard was becoming sulkier with every passing moment. Almost enough to make Zoltan chuckle with amusement.

"I'm doing this for them, too, you know!" Dandelion exclaimed between gulps of mead. "We all need a break from the horrors we've endured, and no doubt will continue to endure in the near future. I am giving my precious time, sharing my world-renowned talents, for the good of the people! And those who I call family are not even here to witness it."

"There's still time," Zoltan reminded, though the hour was coming close. He'd already ordered the cook to fire up the ovens and prepare for when their first customers began to trickle in. The scent of roasting meat was mixing with the heavy fragrance of sweaty workers. Hopefully, the latter would air out before the doors opened for the night.

Dandelion didn't appear to have heard him.

"There was a time Geralt appreciated my musical genius, you know?" Dandelion wasn't entirely sure if that was true, but he liked to pretend it was. "And now he just abandons me in my hour of need."

Zoltan arched a brow and grabbed the bard's half-empty tankard, moving it out of his reach. If Dandelion had reached this level of dramatics already, he didn't need more drink to spur him on.

"He's with Yennefer and Ciri. And the kitten-lad. And Triss, come to think of it!" Zoltan pointed out. "If they're runnin' late, one of them will open a portal. Have 'em back here in no time. Quit yer worryin'."

At least, Zoltan hoped so. Triss had seemed so flustered earlier, she'd almost convinced him something was amiss. But it wouldn't benefit Dandelion to learn about the dwarf's suspicions now. Better to keep quiet for the time being.

"Ye gonna wear that?" Zoltan gestured to his friend's current state of dress, dusty from his time spent on horseback earlier and wrinkled from the minimal physical labor the bard had partaken in to prepare for his cabaret.

Dandelion's gaze fell to his own chest. He gasped and stood abruptly. "No, of course not! I have a marvelous costume prepared."

"Better go get ready then," Zoltan urged with a small smirk. "I know how hard it is to tear ye away from the lookin glass. All that primpin takes time."

Dandelion shot the dwarf a scathing look. But he didn't argue.

Can't argue the truth, Zoltan thought to himself as Dandelion disappeared up the stairs. Now, please come back, Geralt.

Triss was no longer in Oxenfurt — that much became clear to Fringilla after a few minutes spent alone in the library where she had hoped to find the chestnut-haired sorceress. It was beginning to get dark outside, and the first stars were twinkling faintly between the thin clouds. Time seemed to be flying faster, yielding no news.

Fringilla strolled around the huge desk with the maps still spread over it and stopped, hovering over it and skimming her gaze across Temeria and Redania, then letting it travel south to Toussaint and eventually the northern parts of Nilfgaard. She wasn't thinking of anything in particular but rather tried to catch anything at all with her senses. The power lines ran through the continent carrying magical currents every which way, but to truly feel and locate them on a map one needed additional means like crystal pendulums or other specifically sensitive tools. She didn't intend to execute that kind of magic here, but couldn't resist attempting to seek for some inner guidance. Her finger glided slowly across the map, lingering on the free city, then Oxenfurt itself, then absentmindedly crawling down towards Gors Velen. Fringilla's mind went back to the bathhouse of The Silver Heron, to Margarita's impassive face and weary attitude, to her bottle of wine igniting tiresome reveries…

"Took a bit to find you."

Fringilla jerked unwittingly, darting her widened eyes to the intruder. The next instant recognition kicked in, and her frame relaxed, but she hated to have dropped her guard. Given the times, it was unforgivable, no matter the surroundings.

"Didn't expect to be sought out so soon," she said. "What is the matter?"

"I've visited all the places and faces I could think of, and placed the orders," the blonde sorceress said, pushing the hood of her jerkin off as she took a couple of languid steps toward Vigo. "I bet Yennefer would know a few more leads, but I don't suppose she's busy with it." A hint of irony twitched her lips.

"Not today she is, apparently," Fringilla said. "Hopefully your contacts work out."

The woman shrugged. "You never know. Too many dream of finding treasures of the elven past. Those quests are ever ongoing, the demand for books and scrolls and maps is sky-high."

"You told them price matters not, did you?"

"Of course. I couldn't be the only one saying that, however." She turned her back to Fringilla and raised her arms to open a portal.

"Cynthia?"

The blonde looked back at her over the shoulder, her eyebrows raised in question.

"Have you perchance been in touch with Philippa?"

"Kept a few souvenirs, so every now and then they come in handy."

"I need to know about today."

The blonde lowered her arms with a sigh, half turning. "I need specifics."

"A place would suffice?"

"I will see what I can find."

When Vigo gave her directions, Cynthia nodded and exited the library through her portal. Fringilla cast another glance at the maps, then followed her example.

"No, no, just a wee higher. Just a tiny bit… Aye, that shall do it." Zoltan turned from the two dwarves fiddling with the painting over the stage and watched Fringilla descending the stairs.

"Always thought that thing's too big for that alcove," she said, jerking her chin towards the portrait while the dwarves got down their ladders and folded them to carry away.

"For as long as ye don't mention it to our poet tonight, yer by all means entitled to that opinion," Zoltan smirked. "He had a fit when we tried to pull it down." He turned to the two dwarves and raised a hand in a parting wave before they went out the door, "Thank ye, lads! Great job all round."

"Don' mention it, pal," one of them said, pulling the door open, then picking up his folded ladder. "Don' be a stranger."

"A barrel of our best lager with gwent on me come next week's middle!" Zoltan called after them, then turned back to Fringilla, his face losing the smile to a scowl of concern. "Is somethin the matter today? Them witchers back yet?"

"You believe they report their comings and goings to me?" she retorted, folding her arms.

"Not what I meant," Zoltan swatted a hand. "Merigold's plenty worried all day. Said they disappeared or somethin. If that's true, I don't want Dandelion to hear about it before his show, but when he finds none of em in the crowd… well, it can pull him off kilter."

"I haven't seen them today," Fringilla admitted. "I've been busy with books in Toussaint and I need to find out what happened, if anything."

Zoltan squinted with disbelief. "Right. Be it as ye say, but if there's any real trouble Geralt gotten into, I ought to know. Magic or none, we all can help. He's family."

"I understand that. As soon as I know anything for certain, I shall tell you. Is Triss around?"

Zoltan waved a hand sideways, and following the gesture with her eyes, Fringilla spotted her fellow sorceress in the furthest corner nursing a mug. Her head was bent over it as if she dozed off or was close to it.

"Came in about half an hour ago, shiverin and sneezin all over," Zoltan said, shaking his head subtly. "Blamin Skellige chill. I made her some mulled wine for it. We open shortly and, well, ye know, it's best if no one's sneezin around the patrons. If ye get her upstairs, I arrange ye both a swell dinner in the room."

"I'll do what I can," Fringilla said.

"That'd be splendid."

Triss slowly raised her eyes to look at Fringilla as she settled across from her. "My head's killing me," she complained and sniffled before taking a sip of steaming wine.

"Why did you go back? Should've stayed put in Oxenfurt and deal with your cold."

"I tried waiting, but it wasn't helping anything. I checked the druids' camp on Ard Skellig. Mousesack hasn't heard from any of them. Then I went to see if Avallac'h is in Kaer Trolde. His quarters are empty and cleaned since the Queen's celebration. He never returned."

"Not surprising," Fringilla said. "He prefers to be on his own until Ciri needs him, I suppose."

"But we do need him now, do we not?" She took another swallow from her mug and groaned. "Argh, can't even taste it properly…"

"He's a Sage," Fringilla reminded. "Means he knows when and where to show up. He's been doing it for Ciri all these years."

"Even so, he won't come to Geralt's aid," Triss said with gloomy knowing. "Nor would Philippa, for that matter. If something happened to Geralt and Yennefer, it'd be the best day since Radovid's death for her." She set her blue eyes on Vigo questioningly, "You seen Rita?"

"I have. And I think you're right about Philippa knowing."

"Of course she'd tell her," Triss said through gritted teeth, her fingers tightening on the mug. "Winning favors. It's back to that again, like old times."

Fringilla glanced at her with furtive irony but said nothing. Triss had not been the last person to offer Philippa bits of enticing intel over the past weeks. Perhaps it was partially why Merigold was so annoyed now that this time it was someone else.

"You need to lie down and let your head rest," Fringilla said. "The cabaret night is about to start."

"We need to search for them," Triss said with stubborn persistence. "They'd be back by now if nothing bad happened, you know it. We both know it, so why you're stalling?"

"Look at yourself," Fringilla retorted. "You barely recovered after your malady in Oxenfurt, and now you're making this cold worse with restless worry. Stop abusing the noble hero antics, it will render you useless. Shani was right, you need to squelch it first."

"There's no time, don't you see it?"

"I'm sure there's time for you to make use of Shani's mixture and doze for a couple of hours. I will be working on finding them with magic. Nothing else we can do. Come on. Now."

Triss scowled but didn't argue more. She finished her wine, then reluctantly followed Vigo upstairs.

The suite had been empty for quite a while, but both of them still sensed the magical residue that lingered like the faintest whiff of perfume left behind after the person was long gone.

"There must be something here," Fringilla muttered.

Slowly, she went about the room, her hands spreading slightly to guide her with magic. Triss remained by the door watching her progress and wiping her nose with her handkerchief. A few minutes passed before Fringilla found the right spell that guided her to the desk. After a thorough examination, she came back with a small feather - spotted like an owl's - that had been hidden on the underside. She showed it to Triss, then tossed it up and snapped her fingers, destroying it in a bust of sparks.

"Ugh, I should've known." Triss scoffed, heading for the bed to sit down. She blew her nose and looked to Vigo settling behind the desk. "Do you think that portal under the Academy was meant to lead back to the Aen Elle world?"

Fringilla considered it. "It's possible, but then Kain would have gone missing and not Geralt. Shani was there, too. And they both ended up in Tor Lara."

Triss's face brightened. "Then maybe he's in one of the towers? Dammit! I was in Skellige, I should have tried Tor Gvalch'ca! How stupid!"

"He'd have found his way back from there by now." Another idea made Fringilla ponder. "Tor Zireael, though… It appears as old ruins to everyone, so maybe its portal no longer works or exists. That explains why Kain and Shani ended up in Tor Lara. On the other hand, had Kain been without Shani..."

"Yennefer told me Ciri was able to get inside Tor Zireael once because of her elvish bloodline. And it sent her to Avallac'h in his world. Geralt wouldn't get through. He might be outside, though, wandering around in the fog with no living soul for miles to help him."

"You think they wouldn't have found him by now?"

Triss was rubbing her nose with the handkerchief, concentrating on her thoughts. "Ciri and Kain are Elder Blood. Yennefer has a bit of elven blood in her, too. What if they ended up inside instead and not with Geralt?"

"Nearly every ambitious sorcerer tried to get inside there at least once in their life," Fringilla reasoned. "Yennefer being one of them. All she ever saw there were ruins with occasional mirages when it was foggy, like the rest of us. Her elven blood was of no help."

"But this time she was with Ciri and Kain," Triss insisted, feeling it in her gut she was onto something solid this time. The feeling was getting stronger the more she thought about it. "It must be it."

"You told me Kain had demonstrated some great skills in locating Philippa."

Triss narrowed her eyes. "Yes?"

"He would've found Geralt before sending Shani back to alert Ciri and Yennefer if what you surmised about Geralt's location were true."

Triss was annoyed and wiped her nose with an angry gesture. "Maybe this time it turned out to be trickier than with Philippa who was in the same city with us. Tor Zireael is too far and its power is too strong."

"And yet locating his own blood brother should be easier than some sorceress he never met, no?"

Triss gave a growl and blew her nose. She crumpled the used hanky and held it on her open palm, making it flash with magical fire and disappear in a whiff of sparks, then snapped her sharpened glance to Fringilla as another idea exploded in her mind. "What if he did locate Geralt, and say it was as I surmised — around the ruins? But when Ciri tried to take them to him, all three ended up inside? Doesn't that sound possible to you?"

Fringilla turned it this way and that in her head, staring at Triss with narrowed eyes. Eventually, she had to admit it was not an impossible scenario.

"Wouldn't Ciri go after him on her own while they waited?" Fringilla tried. "It's quicker and easier than taking two people there and three people back."

"Safety in numbers when the Hunt can still attack," Triss reasoned. "And it's quicker to find someone in an open area when there's three of you looking."

"Well, I suppose it makes sense," Fringilla conceded. "More or less."

"We have to look around the ruins for him," Triss said, getting up. "Now."

The door opened and Zoltan came in. The dwarf was carefully balancing a loaded tray of bowls and plates. The wonderful aromas of freshly baked chicken and pastry followed him in a cloud and spread around the suite as he carried his load toward the desk.

"Here ye go," he said. "All hot and steamin." He turned to Triss with an assessing once over. "Feelin better? There's hot tea with honey and lemon. They say it's best for kicking a cold's arse. Ye gonna feel great in no time, ye'll see." He grinned, rubbing his hands.

"Thank you, dear Zoltan," Triss offered her best warm smile. "I'll certainly be as good as new come morning."

"No doubts on my part," Zoltan said with a wink. "Gotta run, ladies. People are comin, Dandelion's flirtin with his mirror, food's cookin. Enjoy yer night, we talk after." With that, he left them.

Triss turned to Fringilla, her smile dissipating. "What are you doing?"

Fringilla raised her eyebrows in mute question, a plate with chicken before her. "What does it look like?"

"We have to go now!"

"We have to eat first. Stop it, Triss. Just have a bite and drink your tea."

"Time is wasting." Her eyes drooped closed, she sneezed and cursed under her breath, wiping her nose.

"A few more minutes won't make a difference," Fringilla stated and forked a slice of chicken. "So hurry and eat."

Triss had to obey, and with her dimming senses of smell and taste, she was shoveling the dinner in her mouth with sole duty rather than pleasure. Fringilla was given little time with her plate, but she enjoyed every moment of it. That dwarf certainly could cook.

Afterward, they dropped by Yennefer's room and went through her things on the vanity table. Another disguised owl feather was discovered under it and immediately destroyed. A few black hairs were collected carefully from the hairbrush in the final preparation before Fringilla opened a portal.

A few documents nearly fluttered off the desk when suddenly a portal opened at the opposite wall. Dijkstra cursed, slapping a hand over the worried papers, and met Philippa Eilhart's blazing black eyes with a glare of his own.

"Should've lined out the place with dimeritium a long time ago," he grumbled.

"Aw, don't be so rude," she smiled lightheartedly as the portal dissolved behind her. "There were times you were quite delighted to see me."

"So you decided to annoy me for the old times' sake." He returned his eyes back to the documents in front of him.

She glanced over the letters and reports, but nothing held her attention, so she focused on his face. Muscles in his cheeks were clenching and it amused her. "Let's say I've been in the vicinity and decided to treat you with the pleasure of finally looking me in the eye."

"Doubtful pleasure, if it's all there is to it. What do you want?"

"What if I come bearing gifts?"

His eyes shot up at her, narrowing. "What in the hell did you do this time?"

"Sadly, nothing of any sort to yield such results, but sometimes good things come to those who wait." She propped her hands on the edge of the desk, leaning closer to Dijkstra, smiling. "A little bird told me earlier today that a certain witcher went missing. Apparently, their merry band of two brothers found an old elvish portal under the Oxenfurt Academy. Two witchers went in and only one came out."

Dijkstra's eyes were boring into her while he assessed the implications of that news. "You must be ecstatic. But what stopped his gang from finding him?"

"Ah, that's the best part - a mystery. I believe Yennefer and Ciri rushed over there to help his brother search for him. Nothing so far, or I'd know by now."

"Don't get your hopes up," he suggested with a simper. "That prick always manages to turn up someplace sooner or later. But even if this time his bad luck kicks in, there's still his next of kin and your favorite Yennefer to stand between you and your prize."

"Our prize, you mean."

"I'm done with that brat. Have been since Thanedd. Whatever you still want from her is between you two and her guard dogs. Leave me out of it."

"Have you finally lost your wits or still suffering the hangover after the mind control trick? Do you truly believe Radovid's death made you a real Chancellor? You're a rebel leader with a target on your back waiting for Nilfgaard to bury you any moment of their choosing."

Dijkstra cracked a wry sneer. "Is that also what some little bird told you or you're drowning and trying to use me as a raft? I smell the latter. So what do you want? Scrape the target off your own back? Radovid's been a poisonous thorn in the Empire's collective arse, but your killing him didn't win you any favors. You're still hiding behind spells and sodding feathers. There's no Lodge, no former glory, and no way of winning it back. You can't turn back time, Phil. And when you look at Cirilla with all of your sorceresses and her witchers uniting around her, you read the same omen in all of their eyes: you're on your own and your time's up."

She made a face and emitted a scoff she tried to pass as a chuckle. "Was that supposed to shock me how well you've calculated my situation? What about yours, Sigi? What's your plan for yourself and Redania?"

"What does it matter to you?"

"We've spent enough time side by side shaping Redania together for you to dismiss all my work now. Radovid's dead thanks to me, not you. I eliminated him before he ended up burying half the North in the ashes of his witch hunts and madness. I did it while you sat on your fat ass waiting for the scuffle to end."

"I hope you're not waiting for me to thank you, Phil. That's not happening. We've known each other for long enough, so spare me your noble-cause bullshit. All you ever did or plotted was primarily aiming to benefit you before anything or anyone else. That never changes."

A small caustic sneer claimed her mouth. "Stop playing dumb. We could help each other like in the good old times. It's foolish to deny that Ciri is still the only key to saving the North from occupation."

Dijkstra rubbed the bridge of his nose in vexation and glared at her, scowling. "I don't suppose you asked the brat what she thinks of all those grand plans. Last time you stupid ambitious wenches tried to corner her with your decisions, nothing ended in your favor. She's not a snotty child anymore and you should accept your failures. If Yennefer still has a small chance of influencing that girl, none of you can boast the same. Even if Geralt is out of the picture — if you're wild enough to assume that — the girl will never be alone at your mercy."

"She doesn't have to be alone at anyone's mercy for this to work. But we all need to make certain efforts to ensure our win."

"You're here, and that means no one else can drive your plans forward. I wouldn't give half a turd of my pet troll to hear about it, but if it's the only way to get you out of here eventually — please, by all means, speak up and leave."

Her mouth creased, barely masking contempt and utter disgust at having to be humiliated. The urge to abuse some magic to simply make him swallow back at least half of the insults was scorching her insides, but she merely displayed another smile of cold nonchalance. "If you believe Nilfgaard has left us alone, you're nothing but an old fool. As we speak, they're cooking up multiple plans and routes to gain full control of every piece of land they can reach. That never changes — unless we use Cirilla to turn the tides in our favor. She is the sole person on the continent capable of making Emhyr reconsider his course; only Ciri can free the North—"

"—and reestablish your precious Lodge with you at the top of it to bark orders and plot your schemes." Dijkstra pretended to yawn and made a lazy gesture for her to go on.

"What have you all achieved without the Lodge?" she inquired with a haughty demeanor, her eyebrows furrowing. "All the stupid fat kings slaughtered one by one like pigs, their lands seized and ruined, people living in poverty and fear. There's no stability, no order. There's nothing to withstand the pressure of Nilfgaard anymore, so tell me, Sigi, what good are you mortals without the wisdom and powers of the Lodge to lead the North to prosperity? We could've had it. We had the Cintran Peace — and it barely held before the Empire decided to keep pushing. They'll always be pushing until the North breaks, if Ciri will be left alone and follows Geralt and their stupid destiny they seem to still believe. Law of Surprise… Ha! Yennefer never managed to rule down her temper, never trained her properly, and never put the right thoughts into her stubborn head. But now — especially if Geralt gets lost for good — we finally have a chance. With him dead, there's no folly of witcher destiny she kept believing in. But her royal heritage ever remains. Being of Elder Blood doesn't change the duty she inherited from Calanthe and Emhyr both. She used to care about it, she used to be a war orphan. We have to make her see that she can finally stop the wars. Mages would stop being hunted, the Lodge would be overseeing the safety of the North it was meant to do. All she has to do is to accept her duty as a ruler and work out her conditions with Emhyr. He would do near anything to make sure she becomes his heir."

"She hates his guts," Dijkstra remarked, rubbing his neck with an air of boredom. "Good luck enticing her with that speech. A few more rehearsals with proper emotional push, and you got it." He added with a mocking three claps of his palms.

"That's where you can do your part."

His eyebrows flicked up momentarily in mock surprise.

She smiled condescendingly as though explaining something simple to a dimwit. "The only reason you're still breathing is thanks to Geralt's brother. Hardly he spared you for beauty or charm. He did it because he used to be of your ilk and knows what drives you. One never stops being a spy, you both know it. If he wouldn't believe you can serve better alive than dead, he'd have let Geralt and his allies kill you for crossing them."

"A spy has no friends or allies. So be it as it may, whatever reason drove him is of no importance. There's no kinship between us, nor ever would be."

"There's an understanding between you two – both Nordlings, both been trying to keep the world together through any means possible. Unlike Geralt who loves to boast his neutrality in political matters, the Cat is driven by noble intentions. He would see how Ciri can make a difference and stop the wars tearing the world and people apart. If he's made to see it, he can convince her like no other."

Dijkstra pondered a moment, eyeing Philippa with amused disbelief, then scoffed a laugh. "If you suggest I'm the one to sell it to him, you must be jesting. That Cat doesn't give a rat's ass about any of it."

"Don't pretend to know him so well. I can see you know I'm right. I won't demand you admit it out loud — you're too set in your sullen pride right now. But think about it, Sigi, and think carefully, because it's not even about me or my ambition. It's about what becomes of your position, as well. If you don't get creative and lure that Cat into serving your cause, Emhyr and his Golden Spy prince will devour the remaining North along with the free city, meeting no resistance, and Roche will be sitting in Temerian Council laughing at your bending the knee and kissing the Black Boot."

She didn't wait for him to respond; she turned and walked out into her portal.

A couple of letters flew up as the portal closed, and fluttered down to the floor. Sigismund Dijkstra didn't move to catch them. Rubbing his chin absentmindedly, he was too deep in thought to even notice that Eilhart's exodus had blown out his candles.

Twilight was darkening rapidly around Tarn Mira. The half-moon was rising among vague clouds, saturating the thickening veil of fog with its silver shine. The mist coiled and flowed in lazy strokes of the invisible brush of nature like milk spilled into a glass of water. Moonlight made it seem like ghostly dust filled the chilly air, and not even the strengthening gusts of wind could blow it away. The fog isolated you from the rest of the world, distorting sounds and muffling the sloshing of lake waves, disorienting, convincing you that there is no world left around and only some empty, ghostly space between the death of old worlds and the birth of new.

Emitting a curse under her breath, Fringilla shuddered as the icy cold water seeped quickly into her shoes. She was ankle-deep in it, and when she looked around intently to see where the shore was, the milky wall of mist seemed to thicken around her as if to smother. She couldn't see further than an outstretched arm. Grimacing at the chill of the wind and the cold spreading from her feet upwards along her calves, she picked a direction and started walking. After a few steps she realized the water level was getting higher, so she turned around and went the other way. This time she was lucky to finally step onto the sandy shore peppered with pebbles that glistened dimly whenever licked by a tidal wave.

"Triss!" she cried out, and froze, struck by how strange her own voice sounded. It didn't seem to carry out but instead rocked the air around her as if she yelled inside a small confined space.

Sodding magic. Fringilla felt it in the air around, in that fog, and even in the wind. If it were a thunderstorm, there would be bluish flashes and crackling of electrical charges and her hair would be standing up. It wasn't her first visit to this place, but never before she had felt anything like it. As if…

"Something's happening." Her whisper made her jerk – it sounded as though from behind her. Her heart was thrashing wilder, and it took her a few long moments to close her eyes and force herself to calm down. It's all right, she thought to herself, her lips moving to acknowledge the words. It's going to be all right.

While she was busy breathing steadily and slowly, in and out, in and out, she suddenly heard it.

Her eyes snapped open, staring blindly into the milky nothing as she tried to pour all her focus into listening.

A gust of wind…

The subtle sloshing of water…

Some strange bird's cry…

And yes! That's that again! Had to be.

She sighed, wrapping her jacket tighter around herself to brace against the wind, and began to walk.

Triss was sitting on a rock that barely resembled its initial form of a huge brick. Its corners were nearly eradicated by winds and maybe floods, but the semblance of edges still betrayed the shape. Triss was trying to blow her nose into a piece of cloth. One of her nostrils was blocked and refused to cooperate.

She jumped a little in momentary fright when Fringilla's form suddenly came saturated from the foggy veil, but relaxed upon recognizing her. "Thank gods you're all right," she breathed, her voice sounding a tad muffled and nasal. "I thought you might've ended up on Thanedd or somewhere less fortunate. It's… impossible. I heard of this tricky magic, but didn't expect it to be so prominent." She sucked in a quick gulp of air, her eyes closing, then sneezed powerfully into the cloth. "Sod it all to hell," she muttered, and blew her nose again, wiping it viciously.

"I was standing in the lake," Fringilla said, hugging her shoulders. She pulled the collar as high as it would go, but it did little to spare her neck the cold breath of wind. "My feet are numb. This place is unwelcoming at any time, but at night it's outright hostile."

Triss sniffled and destroyed the sullied cloth in a short blast of magical fire. It flashed so brightly and high that it nearly took her eyebrows and hair with it, making her squeak and fall backward off the giant brick.

"This is insane," she groaned as Fringilla hurried to help her up. Grimacing, Triss rubbed the small of her back. "What's happening?"

"It's not normal," Fringilla confirmed. "Can't be. Feels like this whole place is crackling with power, like the tops of our towers in Aretuza during summer thunderstorms."

"You think it's reacting to something?" Triss looked at Fringilla, and Vigo saw her eyes go wider with a terrible idea. "What if the Hunt is coming or is already here?"

"There would be traces of frost?" Fringilla suggested, but sounded uncertain. "Maybe you were right, and Ciri got inside Tor Zireael, and her magic awakened the Tower's. Or collided with it somehow…"

"We have to find Geralt," Triss said, producing another cloth from a small belt pouch on her back. She wiped her nose again, rubbing it where it itched. "Or any of them."

"If they're inside, we probably—"

"Got to try."

Crumpling the cloth in her fist, Triss checked another pouch and came back with a little piece of rag. She tucked her cloth under her belt and held the small tissue between her palms, her eyes closing to concentrate.

"What is it?"

"It has Kain's blood on it," Triss murmured. "From when he was wounded at Kaer Morhen."

She stood in that pose for a while, trying hard and sniffling more and more often as her nose ran more intensely because of the wind. Fringilla was getting annoyed but didn't dare to interfere. Eventually, Merigold moved, slowly walking through the fog. Just a few steps and she stopped, admitting defeat.

"Can't feel him at all," she confessed, tucking the piece of tissue back.

When it came to Yennefer's hair, they decided to combine their efforts. Triss rolled the hair into a small ball, and they held their hands around it, murmuring the spell. It took a few attempts, a lot of time, and frustrated curses before they both sensed the hint of a response. By that time both felt close to exhausted, and Triss was getting sleepier because of her cold. They followed the string of energy through the mist, walking blindly and staggering over the boulders hiding in the sand, struggling as their heels sank and got stuck between pebbles. The spell led them back to where the waves of Tarn Mira licked the shore, then away from it in the opposite direction, eventually bringing them to another collection of big rocks that used to be bricks a very long time ago. Their sides were eaten with the erosion of age, and the wind kept whining and gasping around them, tugging their cloaks and tossing their hair.

"Is this truly hopeless?" Triss asked no one in particular, nearing the end of her calm and closer to crying.

"This is ruins," Fringilla said. "We've looked all around, we called. If she were here, we'd find her. She has to be inside or elsewhere."

"If she were elsewhere, this wouldn't have worked," Triss reasoned. "But I felt it. We both did, it's undeniable."

"If only it's not another trick of this power," Vigo shrugged and rubbed her arms to get warmer. "It was a folly to go out here at night. We can't see further than our noses, and magic does little to nothing to aid us. Geralt — if he's even here — could be anywhere. He's had some light of day at least, so he might be miles away. Witchers are resilient and can strain even in spite of injuries."

"There's nowhere he could reach within one day of walking. He's alone in the dark and cold and maybe injured. Not a living soul for many, many miles."

"And you're busy searching for Yennefer," Fringilla remarked, looking down at her soaked shoes. She wiggled her toes and it hurt to do so, like she was standing in a pile of snow. "You got anything of his?"

Triss blew her nose, then tucked the cloth away and reached into her pouch, rummaging a moment. Fringilla observed with interest, squinting in the poor light of a meager illumination spell they had barely mustered on a fourth attempt. The others died out almost instantly.

"Is that…"

"A headband," Triss confirmed, holding it between them so Fringilla could assist her with the spell like before. "An old one from Kaer Morhen days."

Fringilla hemmed her acknowledgment and concentrated on the spell. They stood together, their heads slightly bent over their joined hands like they were holding something precious.

It took forever as each of them felt. But then, there was something.

There was something…

Still holding hands firmly with the headband squeezed in their cold fingers, they slowly began to walk into the dark.

WRITERS' NOTE:

Greetings, our dear friends! We bring you a new chapter tonight, hope you enjoy it! And remember, every word of feedback or review saves one of the writing fairies from a fit of anxiety of not reaching the needed level the gods of perfectionism demand.

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Have a great week, everyone! Love y'all! ~~~