The first stars were beginning to come through the darkening velvet of the sky over Novigrad when a hooded figure approached a villa across the square from the Var Attre residence. Shadows were darkening around the porch under the trees growing around it, and it seemed that the guard detached from the shades like a wraith. When he stepped closer, his face got illuminated by the lanterns of the porch.
"Can I help you?" he asked, his eyes narrowing to scrutinize the face shielded by the hood's shade.
The visitor silently held out a hand with a card: it held the Empire's Great Sun stamped in gold with a black silhouette of a raven next to it.
The guard nodded and gestured for the stairs, "Please."
He didn't follow, and it was a slight relief. Closing the door behind her and pulling the hood off, Fringilla took a brief look around the hall. There were no servants to approach her for her cloak, nor any more guards. The house was dark and deadly quiet. Not in its entirety, however, and after a moment she knew where to go. She took little time to observe the paintings and tapestries adorning the walls and the luxury of furniture, clearly renewed with Nilfgaardian style.
The only place with some lighting appeared to be the dining room: three candlesticks with three candles each sat on a prolonged dining table with masterfully carved legs, and a fireplace was crackling and glowing like a fiery halo around the man sitting with his back to it. Candlelight sparks danced in his eyes when he set them on her and cracked a brilliant smile.
"Impeccable timing," he praised, getting up to greet her, and pulling a chair for her. "The meal's exquisitely hot and delightful."
Fringilla approached cautiously, her eyes narrowing, darting from the young man to the plates arranged on the table. An alarming thought – that it might be a mistake – kept twirling in her mind, but the smell of a freshly cooked hot meal made her stomach rumble gently. It had been a very long day with a very short breakfast to start it.
"Who cooked this?" she asked, settling in the chair he offered. "The house is empty."
"Delivered from Passiflora," Morvran said, opening a bottle of Fiorano. "Their cuisine reaches a certain level of perfection one can hardly deny."
"And Lady La Valette wouldn't share this with you?"
"She's away, in Vizima." He poured her a glass; the wine gleamed with dark gold like a precious citrine stone. "The first meeting of the new Temerian Council, a thrilling event to last a few days."
Fringilla arched an eyebrow, her smile brief and acidic. "So, it all worked out wonderfully for her after all the services provided."
"Loyalty is a very precious jewel these days. So many fakes that glisten like diamonds but melt like ice in hot water." Surveying her over the rim of his glass, he took a sip of his wine. "Mmm, it's marvelous," he praised, admiring the color. "But what else could be born from a land as beautiful, isn't it right?"
Fringilla took her glass with a small smile, thinking of Toussaint longingly. Now, with what was happening, she was missing her boring hours at the library.
He reached for the first big plate with roasted duck under a sweet sauce of honey and oranges framed by baked potatoes and mushrooms. It was prepared in thin slices, soaked in sauce, and smelled so heavenly that Fringilla's mouth watered immediately when the plate was set before her. She could hardly rule herself down and fake nonchalance when she unwrapped her utensils — silver, so fine and masterfully made.
"Do you always dismiss the servants when she's away?" she asked, cutting her juicy duck slices. It took a lot of effort not to moan at how the meat was nearly melting on her tongue. Zoltan and his cook were certainly good, but this…
"I am more often away myself, so this household is not in my field of management." A ghost of a smile was hiding in the very corners of his mouth, and it was hard to say what it was, amusement or mocking. He always knew more than his demeanor betrayed, and it made him as tricky as any wizard or sorceress Fringilla ever had to deal with during her service in Nilfgaard. "Let us just say, tonight is somewhat special. It's been a while, which makes seeing you even more precious. What brings you here?"
She reached into her pocket and placed the card with the sun and raven on the table between them; the golden sun glared reflecting the fire. "If you think the Empire can summon me like a mutt any time it wants to use and discard me again, it's a very rough miscalculation."
His eyes briefly darted to the card, then back to her face, his expression the same infuriating amused interest. He smacked his lips, savoring his wine, and went back to his duck plate. "It's not a summoning whistle, and you're well aware of it. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here. So what is it you'd like me to help you with?"
"What makes you think I need your help?" she asked, feeling stupid. He was a child compared to her age, and yet he seemed to be rapidly surpassing her in these games. I lost my touch in that damned dungeon, she thought with bitter anger, forking another piece of meat, and that anger shot through a glare she stabbed his way. "I did need it once, indeed, but you were not in any hurry to provide it, despite all the empty promises—"
"I have to beg your pardon, my dear lady," he frowned, "but do you truly see it that way?" His eyes bore into hers with what seemed like genuine disbelief, and yet she could see a hint of mirth. It angered her more.
"What else was I supposed to see in that filthy cell you kept me in?" she inquired, her fingers tightening on her knife and fork. "I've lost all count of time, all dignity and sense of who I am, and for what?! I have never done anything to betray my country. I fought for it, I killed for it, I spied for it, and then you rewarded me with shackles and a dirty cold cell, while Assire—"
"Assire has paid her price," Morvran interjected, and regarded her closely, untouched by her accusations. "Allow me to make certain things clear now. Have you not been given a cot and a warm blanket to sleep on? Have you not been fed too well for a prisoner held for treason? Have you been assaulted or tortured? Have you not been treated with respect? Have you not been released with an official pardon forgoing banishment from either of the lands you cherish? Have you been persecuted for still contacting certain people in our service without any suitable permission to do so?"
She stared at him with her fork frozen over her plate, the slice of meat dripping sauce and juices. She thought if he would smile now, she'd stab that fork in his face. But he didn't. He was looking back at her with calm expectancy. "You must be jesting," she squeezed out through gritted teeth eventually, lowering her fork. "You believe what I've been through down there was a joke?"
"It was not a joke," he said. "However, it had to be done. The law you broke was punishable by death — eventually, but before that happened, you'd be begging for it. What happened to you was not as fun as sipping wine at a fountain at Montecalvo — that much I agree with, but it was not more than a temporal inconvenience. If you think it through with a colder mind — and you are a master of it — you shall see it for what it was." He began to cut another piece.
"If not for Ciri and Yennefer, you'd never let me out," she said, tasting bile of ire on her tongue. "I'd die in my own filth and knowing none of who I am and what day it is."
"I see the cut is deep and bleeding still," he remarked, cutting a piece of potato. "I am truly sorry it made such a lasting impression. However, I am once again forced to remind you about your cell having been cleaned twice per day and the night pot that had been provided for your confinement not to turn into what you with your habitual gentleness have described as living 'in your own filth'."
She was chewing on her meat angrily, mulling over the things he said. Fringilla had been serving Nilfgaard for a long time, and there had been enough occasions of her involvement with those imprisoned and punished by the Empire. It truly was an utterly opposite experience than what she had been treated with, but it did little to squelch her fury and bitterness at Emhyr's betrayal.
"You promised it was for a short while," she threw her last argument on the table like an ultimate Scorch card. "You lied to me. It had been one hundred and thirty days. Not much for a king ordering someone's punishment, but for one receiving it?"
Having spent more time in the field with simple soldier tents, in mud and rain and under constant fire, forgetting about bleeding wounds until battles drew to short breaks, Morvran refrained from arguing. He washed down another bite with Fiorano and refilled their glasses. "This is the space of Emperial rule and plotting the best strategies," he said, tending to her second helping of the duck with an additional few spoons of baked apples. "I could not reveal everything, nor had I known it all at that time. Things often change, nothing is stagnant in politics and wars. It had to be prolonged, but not much longer. If not for Princess Cirilla and Lady Yennefer, you would be set free."
"It's so convenient to state that now."
"I don't believe you have lost all ability to read people for truth or lies. Your powers are beyond doubt, my dear Gilla. You could achieve anything you wish for, with all the things you have learned."
She sipped her wine, observing him, searching for clues whether it was her imagination or there was a hint in his words. The latter certainly felt more like it, and it was both luring and alarming. Both of the biggest endeavors of her life had failed her in the end, and now, like in some bad story about how people never learn from their mistakes, she had both doors teasing her once again. Could she truly walk into the same river twice?
She thought of Sabrina Glevissig and the lesson she had learned too late. She thought of Emhyr and stubborn, arrogant kings of the North, now nearly all gone and fallen. She thought of Philippa and something inside her trembled timidly. She took a hearty swallow of golden Fiorano to wash the feeling away; her emerald eyes coming to rest on Morvran. He was relaxed and lighthearted, but his alert attention to her never faltered. If she didn't know his age, she would have assumed he was an actual wizard, hiding his true experience behind a youthful mask.
"So, you advise to refrain from attempting at riding two mares at once?" she baited, fishing for him to elaborate.
"Have you observed Princess Cirilla's mare in all her glory yet?" he asked with sudden excitement, stunning her.
She gave an uncertain shrug, "It's just a mare. Black. Beautiful, but—"
"All horses are beautiful — that's beside the point," he waved a dismissive hand and reached for his glass, sitting back in his chair. Fireplace glow flickered in his dark hair, candle tongues danced in his merry eyes. "Have you seen her run? That is the true marvel. That race Cirilla won — not a fleck of foam, not a patch of wet coat on that perfection of a beast! That mare is worth more than two, or maybe even four." He grinned, genuinely pleased by the memory, and drank. Then he gave her a keen look. "If what you wish for is like that mare Cirilla owns – you need no other. That mare would carry you through hells and fires and you shall emerge unburnt. I would wish that for you, my Gilla. You deserve it."
She contemplated it for a long moment, finishing her wine in little sips she was savoring. "You wish to make me into a spy?" she uttered in the end. "Hiding the might of the Empire under my skirt while Philippa plots her next coup? Is her murder of Radovid not enough for Emhyr to squash her?" And then she remembered some things she had heard in the streets and shops, and her eyes gained an edge of suspicion. "Are you digging her grave already with the Hierarch's aid? Is that why she's still drunk on the illusion of safety?"
Morvran smiled, pouring the last of the bottle into their glasses. "I have apologized, and yet you still intend to paint me in some insidious colors. It would be true had she been an innocent flower I would strive to frame and execute. But the crimes she had committed — plotted to commit, as well — are numerous, this regicide being simply a cherry on top of a three-level cake." His eyebrows flicked in a fleeting apologetic expression as he brought his glass to his lips.
"So it's arranged," she said, baiting for confirmation.
"Nothing is ever set in stone like Aen Elle portal runes," Morvran said, watching the remaining wine in the glass as it sloshed in his rocking hand. "Any execution order needs to be well-founded and highly approved. King Radovid took a sword and a torch to his homeland, and it had to stop before it reaped too many lives. But it does not excuse the regicide, nor any of the plots Lady Eilhart had pursued before."
"You want to crush the Lodge once and for all from the inside while she thinks she's safe until the very end."
"Absolutely not." Cracking a smile at the questioning gander she gave him, he clicked his tongue and set his empty glass on the table. "The Lodge has always been a great idea. This world needs magic to survive; it needs heroes of magic and sorcery to beat the grave threat of The Wild Hunt now and any other that could emerge after. It would be utterly ignorant of us to believe those rogue elves in skeleton armor are the most dangerous thing we could ever encounter. The Conjunction has happened once, it could happen again. My life — rather short in terms of what most of your ilk can boast — has taught me several things I treasure. And one of them is to never underestimate the possibility of things getting worse. The world is fragile, so are people, so are nonhumans, so is magic. They need to come together to survive. Apart, we shall perish."
"That is a very inspiring speech," she had to smile, having finished her wine. "Nothing less to expect from you. But it would be foolish of me to believe the Empire would allow the Lodge to rise and thrive without their eye and ear in the midst of it."
"It would be very unwise of the Empire. The outcome of such is known. Many innocent and talented mages fell in that senseless war the Lodge's failure had caused. We wish to avoid it. For that, we need a strong and solid alliance."
Fringilla smirked, shaking her head in acerbic amusement. "Submission, you mean. Just like the good old times when magic serviced the crowns."
"No. I meant alliance in the highest meaning of that word. A union that serves the world and its people. That is the crown's responsibility, and it shall be equally such for the Lodge. You don't agree?"
"Oh, I do," she said, a caustic smile still tugging at her lips. "But I am yet to learn of a crown like that."
"It's a long and demanding journey, and we're on our way." He leaned towards her, taking her hands in his, squeezing gently. Her eyes locked on his, and she felt a tad vulnerable under the sincerity of his gaze. "I wish for a united world with no wars to fight with sword and ballista. And I can never do it alone. I ask you to help me, Gilla. If you can still find it in yourself to trust me — I do need your help." He brushed his thumbs over her knuckles gently, sending a thrill through her skin, then released her hands, sitting back. His lips twitched in a tiny sly smile as he added: "I can do without it, too — if you wish to live your life quietly somewhere in Kovir and leave no ripples in your wake for the rest of your days. But I do want it."
She couldn't help a laugh. It was almost cozy, like not too long ago. She looked down at her hands resting on a white napkin embroidered with gold and red silky patterns, and thought about it. The wine was young and boisterous, it shimmered in her head, making the potentials and possibilities seem a bit more glittery around the edges. After all, he had described the alternative pretty accurately.
"No rush with giving your answer," he said, yanking her from her reverie. She looked up and saw him preparing another set of dishes – smaller ones for some dessert. "I believe there is a more pressing matter to resolve. And time's wasting."
"How much do you know?" He had been prepared and waiting for her, after all. It had to be Cynthia…
"Probably enough. So tell me," he passed her a dessert plate with a thick slice of an apple-and-plum pie sprinkled with cinnamon. The aroma was impossibly divine. "How do we rescue our priceless Lion Cub and her pride?"
Kain never managed to catch the exact moment when the thin and vibrant mist around him turned into crispy air, and black columns growing upwards to the ceiling he couldn't see turned to trees towering around him. He found himself walking a dirt road through a thick and dark forest drowning in deeply saturated shadows of twilight, and when he looked up at the patches of the sky peeking through thick canopies, he could see a few of the first shy stars heralding the advance of night. His breath came out in white vapors; the air had an icy bite to it, seeping through his clothes.
He twirled around swiftly to see if there was a door he had missed, and if Ciri recognized the place (for he had not), but… there was no door. There was no Ciri, either. There was nothing to remind him of having been inside the Tower a few instants ago.
There was just the same forest, tall and dark and chilly. All around him as he stood on the dirt road on his lonesome.
From the corner of his eye, he noticed a movement and turned abruptly hoping it was Ciri, but all he glimpsed was some white animal hastily disappearing into the dark of trunks and shrubbery. A deer or a horse…
He dismissed it and focused on his issue. There was absolutely nothing to remind him of any forest at all. He was looking around intently, hoping to spot her behind some copse of trees, annoyed and rubbing her shoulders to warm up, but deep in his heart of hearts he knew she wasn't there.
(Don't lose me)
The urge to call her name was stinging like nettle — despite that knowing and against all odds — but he felt it would be another fatal mistake after the one that made him step away from Ciri an extra yard.
The forest was eerily quiet, no birds or insects made any sounds, no animals lurked after that white one had removed itself from the scene. Maybe it's the cold, he thought, rubbing his arms and thighs to get the blood flowing. A gust of wind fluttered through, biting the exposed skin on his face, neck, and hands with its tiny icy teeth. Kain winced, turning his head from one direction of the road to another, wondering where he was supposed to go.
What if the portal or whatever brought him here would open again? And even so, how would he recognize it when he had missed it back in the Tower's hall? Or was it still the Tower and its power of illusion at play?
A huge silent shadow he hadn't even registered until the last moment was about to swoop over him, and it made him jump. It whooshed through him and onwards up the dirt road as he stared after it, momentarily petrified.
A dark horse, galloping away wildly like demons of hell was nipping at its hinder hooves. He could hear the thudding of those hooves now, shocked that he didn't hear it coming from behind before. And there was no chance to get a better look at the rider, aside from strands of blond hair, before there was nothing but an empty road again. The same dead quiet broken by subtle breaths of wind that was getting colder each time it touched his hands and cheeks. His nose was nearly numb with cold. Kain rubbed it, casting the last glance in both directions, then picked one after the fleeting rider and started to walk, gaining speed as he did to warm up. After a few beats, he jogged.
Surprisingly, it didn't even take him long enough to get fatigued before the trees parted at the end of the road revealing a clearing with short and bushy cherry trees. The gusts of wind were more prominent here, scarcely stalled by cherries, but within its hard cold, some faint aromas were carried. Above the treetops, a black tower loomed like a menacing guardian. Its tip reflected in a lake just ahead; patches of water lilies on its surface made it seem like reflections in shards of a huge looking glass.
Shuddering, and not from the cold alone, Kain strolled toward the lake. When he reached the bank, thick shadows beneath the closest cherry tree with a luscious canopy moved. A tall hooded figure was rising from where it had been sitting on a big boulder.
Suddenly something went wrong in Kain's eyes: while watching the stranger cross the small distance between them as if in slow motion, he saw the same place around him lit by bright sunlight and filled with a powerful mixture of flowers' scents… and music…
He squeezed his eyes shut, then blinked away the haze to see the stranger brush back the hood.
"Took you quite a while," Avallac'h said, the wind tousling his hair around his head. The cold didn't seem to bother him while Kain felt stiff and numb, stuffing his hands under the armpits for warmth.
"Where is your flute?" Kain asked distractedly, dazed and wondering if this was all a lie and he lay fainted somewhere on the Tower's cold floor. His eyes darted towards the tall black tower behind the lake, then back to Avallac'h's face basking in darkening shadows. He noticed a ghost of surprise on the Sage's face.
"I'm an unwanted guest here, and playing a flute would be unwise," the elf replied.
"So damn cold…" Kain murmured as another gust of wind splashed him with a chill as if it were water freshly from a deep well. He was shivering.
"You should get a hold of yourself if it harms you," Avallac'h said with a subtle amused undertone. He folded his arms, his posture expectant.
Kain nearly winced at his own density. Why wouldn't he indeed aid himself? His abilities always came naturally like breathing, but here he somehow didn't think of using them. Not once.
He drew in a shaky but deep breath, focusing within himself and on his palms pressing on his ribs under the armpits. A few heartbeats… two more deeper breaths, each steadier than the last… and then he felt warmth gradually fill his torso and his limbs. He withdrew his hands from under his arms, flexing stiff fingers and shifting from one foot to another until the flow was unobstructed. When he returned his attention to the Sage, the latter was wearing a faint smile of approval.
Kain threw another gander at the tower, piecing things together in his head. "It's that exact place," he said. "Your world where you kept Ciri prisoner. You weaved it all into a smart trap and sat here waiting like a spider on the edge of its web. Like the first time you did with her, playing your flute like a snake charmer. Where are Geralt and Yennefer?"
"Not here." He perked up an eyebrow, "You don't ask about Zireael."
"I know where she is. We both do. Why wouldn't you come to her rescue as you boast you always do?"
"She doesn't need my rescue at this very moment. I always go where I'm needed most. However, your coming here is not a result of my planning. It's rather what came from your own choice of actions. It would be wrong of me to take the credit."
It was most likely the truth of it, Kain had to admit to himself. However conniving this seemed, Avallac'h had no part in their trip to Tor Zireael. Nevertheless, Kain felt he knew what it was all about. He couldn't pick it out from the elf's mind in actual words or thought forms like Yennefer or Philippa would have tried, but he sensed it like a bloodhound discerning scents while tracking a fox.
"All right, I'm listening," he invited, folding his arms in an unconscious gesture of shielding himself.
"I came to offer you a way to spare Zireael another imprisonment," the Sage said, spreading his arms in a brief gesture of displaying how it's the most basic and simple idea in the world. "Your Path brought you here all on your own, presenting you with such a chance."
"Of trading myself for her," Kain nodded, his gaze hardened with bitter knowing. "What a perfect twist for you."
"It's not perfect," Avallac'h countered in his wistful tone. "But your arrival here was inevitable – destiny always connects pieces of what needs to be joined together. It's what I said - a chance for you to solve the conflict of centuries while Zireael remains safe and untouched. And a chance to learn more about your people and your world. This world is yours by blood, Gwyncath. There is no denying it."
"I am of my mother's world," Kain said firmly.
Avallach allowed a fleeting smile of dismissal, one you get when your child is being silly. "Nevertheless, your power – and Zireael's – originated here. You both are seeds of our blood. Denying won't change it. But enough about that for now. I ask you if you wish to spare Zireael and offer your aid in her stead. Would your brother not be happy with her finally being safe? Would she not enjoy being free as she so vehemently desired?"
His jaw clenching tighter, Kain breathed out a vexed exhale through his nose and strolled around the elf towards the round rock the latter had been perched on earlier. Here under the tree, the wind was weaker.
He sat down, placing his palms on either side of his hips to warm the rock with his power. Now it was coming easier to him. His mind was busting with thoughts that swarmed like a wave of fire ants in Zerrikania. Visenna, Geralt, Ciri, Fealinn, Griffin - all blinking in and out and about. Something very delicate inside him was beginning to tremble as though he was a condemned man about to step onto the scaffold and lose his life forever. And after that, there was a deep black abyss of the unknown where the only known fact was that he'd never see a dear face again.
Avallac'h had followed him languidly and stood next to the boulder, waiting in comfortable silence.
"It's not perfect," Kain murmured to himself, deep in thought.
The elf regarded him with a fleeting frown. "What do you mean by that?"
Kain looked up at him. "You said it yourself - it's not perfect. And you never settle. You push for perfection and do your utmost to reach it. You will never leave Ciri be. It will never be over until you believe you got what you wanted and nothing less. Which renders this proposition impotent. A mere distraction for your people and a delay for us all. A chance for you to catch your breath and indulge in a new bout of research." He narrowed his eyes set on the elf with a stinging triumph of sagacity. "You want to take a break from eluding Eredin and make a truce to study me in your actual laboratory in your world where you can get everything you can possibly need."
Avallac'h cracked an unguarded smile, surprising him. And then surprised him more with a question that followed: "Has Zireael told you in detail how we met?"
Kain frowned, taken aback. "Not in detail... Why?"
"You found your way here on your own and asked about my flute. Perhaps you know precisely what I told her then?"
Kain kept eyeing him with annoyed bafflement but pondered the question. "You asked her what took her so long and what kept her," he supplied, feeling a touch of the same strange feeling that had grasped him when he saw Avallac'h under the tree. Like the air was vibrating around him in a way his eyes couldn't catch.
The Sage's smile widened for a moment, making his even teeth glisten in the moonlight, as he nodded. "That is correct. How do you know it?"
Kain considered it, then shrugged. "You know exactly when and where to be, but others do not."
"Patience is the key. If one can wait, sooner or later a good opportunity shall arise."
"You never miss those, do you." It wasn't a question and thus was left unanswered.
"Have you reached your decision?" the Sage inquired instead.
"I can't make any decisions before I make sure Geralt, Yennefer, and Ciri are back home and safe."
"They are not in immediate danger, and I assure you they have enough friends and allies to find a way to get them to safety very soon."
"Why would I believe you? I know how your wisdom works. You might not outright lie, but the things you say more often than not have more than one or two facets. You present the truth in certain ways that benefit your goals before anyone else."
"You would believe me because you acknowledge me as a Knowing One," Avallac'h reminded in his ever-patient manner. "They don't depend on you with their lives. That is true. Nor do you depend on any of them."
"Ciri can't get out of the Tower on her own - you know that, too, don't you?"
"She will be well. Nothing threatens her there. Tor Zireael cannot kill her."
"Unlike thirst and hunger and that lingering chill. And the despair of being trapped there alone."
"When exhausted, she would fall asleep, much like the effect of the spell I had to put her under to hide her safely from Eredin. She can remain there in her peaceful slumber for as long as she needs to. Until she is discovered."
Kain scowled, overwhelmed by indignation and disbelief. "Are you serious? Is that what you wish upon the girl you were protecting - for her to remain in deadly slumber inside a tower no one else can enter to save her? Are you truly so void of compassion?"
"I did not suggest or imply she would stay there for longer than necessary," the Sage responded with unperturbed composure. "Of course I wouldn't leave her there. I merely tried to assure you she would not perish inside as you fear. Her life does not depend on your actions, either, Gwyncath."
Kain slowly shook his head. "Are you turning a blind eye to what is happening to her on purpose, or is it something you actually deem favorable to your plans?"
"Why don't you enlighten me about what it is you think is happening to her? So we avoid dancing around the subject of your worries uselessly."
"Her power is being twisted out of her grasp. She can't remedy it on her own, nor does she think she's unwell. When she gets out of control completely, we all lose her. Including you."
"I had warned Geralt of this once," Avallac'h mused with an expression close to melancholy on his face. "He asked me a question and I foretold him that he would find her only to lose her forever shortly after. It's not my fault or doing, Gwyncath. It's mere knowing. It's in my nature to know."
"I don't believe in prophecies that cannot be averted or changed," Kain stated. "I cannot leave her alone with this malady, nor give up on doing everything in my power to help her overcome it."
"It is not a malady, as you already know. It has to do with a part of her as rightfully her own as her blood and her limbs. That part of herself she cannot overcome, for it is her nature, her Aen Elle legacy, the Hen Ichaer in her. It's stronger than any magic or curses."
"Nevertheless, I can't allow that trait of yours to snuff out all the good in her soul, all the love and compassion she has in her. I won't step back to let her become the worst of your kin's lineage because it's not who she is."
"It is a pointless argument, for now it is you who turns a blind eye on purpose," Avallac'h said, shifting on his feet after a long while of standing motionless. "What is your answer?"
"Geralt, Yennefer, and Ciri need our help now," Kain retorted. "Not next season. Right now."
The Sage's lips twisted ironically; the image of a younger Zireael stating stubbornly how time was important to her flashed in his mind. He fixed Kain with a keen stare. "Nothing shall stop Zireael from following you here if you rescue her now. If you rid her of her jinx before accepting my offer, I will get the perfect outcome with both of you here, and then my offer to spare her becomes invalid. You accused me of greed before, but your plan leads to exactly that outcome."
"I have to help her overcome that Bog curse. If it wins her over – she can destroy half the world along with herself."
"Not if she remains in the tower while you're here. Her power is impotent inside. Perfectly safe for the world and herself."
Kain studied him for a long moment as though waiting for Elder Speech to shine in his eyes betraying his secrets. "I see now why Caranthir chose Eredin's side," he uttered eventually in a quiet voice. Nothing in the elf's demeanor reacted, but Kain sensed a faint energetic response. However guarded, it was there. "Sooner or later, those you let close learn to read you better. Your Golden Boy figured it out first, then Ciri caught up, as well. And they all leave because you're dead inside and they don't want to be."
A curt smirk twitched on the Sage's mouth. "Feels good thinking all the pieces have finally come together, does it not," he mused. "Even when you misread the picture, it can feel too true. Until you learn to discern what is real and what is smoke in the mirror. It takes time. Patience. You assumed I would study you, but I could teach you instead. And you could help us all - me, Zireael, your brother, and his friends. You can help me save your family and their world. To ensure their safety. No one has to die by Dearg Ruadhri's swords - if you agree to give us what we need to survive. In return, I shall lend my aid to rescue Gwynbleidd and Yennefer right away."
"And leave my brother to suffer and grieve for Ciri again? I can't." He sighed. That back and forth was tiresome. And it only got colder the deeper the night became. "Listen, Avallac'h, we had a plan. You pulled Ge'els to our world to set it in motion. We should follow it as we all agreed. Summon the Hunt to Skellige and resolve it."
"If you find the Sunstone."
"If we don't, there will be another plan. But at this very moment, I cannot do what you ask of me."
Avallac'h gave a subtle nod of acknowledgment. "If that is your decision. However, there are other options in your world that could be pursued. If I know about them, others might, as well. It would be unwise to forget about it."
Gnashing his teeth, Kain made an effort to squelch his anger. "Have the Riders found their king yet?"
"They have. So time is very short. Which is why I came here for you."
"Yes, time is short. Yet your kin keeps stating time matters not.
"Help me with Ciri and her family, and I will revisit this debate with you immediately after. I give my word."
The Sage emitted a light sigh. "Let us be on our way, then."
He turned to go, and Kain followed, throwing a parting glance at the lake and the black silhouette of the tower reflecting amidst the water lilies.
The icy wind howled, tugging at the cherry tree's branches.
"Kain?" Ciri's voice had become a tad timider in the last minute. Calling out for him at the top of her lungs had done nothing and the longer she wandered in the disorientating mist, the more certain she became that something else was out there. Some dark and evil force that was watching her from afar, toying with her. Just like when they'd been lost and separated in the fog outside Crookback Bog. When Kain had been taken and wounded to the point of death…
"Kain, where are you?" Ciri called softly, her hand on the pommel of her sword.
A familiar sense of dread had attached itself to her chest and settled heavily there, reminding her of all the times she'd lost people in the past and failed to save them. Maybe she couldn't do this without Geralt. Maybe she truly didn't have what it took to be a Witcher.
Forcing herself to push those doubts aside for now, she exhaled deeply to calm those tense nerves, focusing her senses on her surroundings. There had to be a way through.
In the dense mist, Ciri gleamed a hint of color. Orange flickers that called out to her like a lifeline which she immediately took hold of to pull herself out of the confusion.
Instead of a way out, instead of one of her missing friends, she walked directly into another memory. Once more she was with the Aen Elle, though this time she had yet to reach the city of Tir ná Lia.
The sun had set on the new and strange world where Ciri found herself a captive. And with its disappearance, a chilling cold settled over the plains where Avallac'h and his companions had set up camp for the night.
The group of riders Eredin had left behind had gathered them all in the circle made up of dolmens and cromlechs. For containment and protection. And the riders remained at the border, patrolling between the monoliths like dark specters of the night.
Ciri had settled under one of the dolmens, closest to the campfire that had been erected some time earlier and now burned brightly. Avallac'h had joined her shortly after and wrapped her in blankets and pelts. As though she was a child getting tucked in bed. Thankfully, he'd given up on his flute for the day and exchanged it with sheets of parchment and charcoal for drawing.
Silence ruled for a long time. Until Ciri could hold her tongue no longer.
"Avallac'h?"
"Mh?"
"Who is that elf over there watching me as though he hopes I will burst into flames?"
Avallac'h did not even look up from his sketch. "His name is Caranthir Ar-Feiniel. A powerful mage and navigator for Eredin and his Dearg Ruadhri."
"Red Riders," Ciri mused. "A small army of powerful warriors in heavy armor and a myriad of weapons. All this for the unicorns? Are they truly such a threat?"
"You saw how persistent they are. Several herds pursued us today alone. Pests."
It had not occurred to her when it happened. But now that she had been given time to think and process, Ciri understood that the voices that invaded her head earlier had belonged to the unicorns.
Who are you?
Do not fight.
I must leap, I must transport you to another place.
You are in mortal danger.
Avallac'h would not hurt her. He'd had eight days and plenty of opportunity to wound her should he want to. But he'd yet to lay a hand on her. Same as his companions. They were not the danger.
These new elves, however... They'd already shown hostility. Either that, or they thought Ciri smelled.
The blond one named Caranthir had barely taken his eyes off her since Eredin left him and the other soldiers behind. Even now with such a great distance between them, he continued to stare.
"Are you kin?" Ciri asked, running her hand along the smooth slate of stone she was leaning on. "You and Caranthir Ar-Feiniel. He resembles you." Except for the eyes. Avallac'h's were aquamarine blue. Not cold but kind. And Caranthir's looked more like hers, emerald green. And currently flashing with suppressed anger. Ciri knew that look well. She'd seen it in her own reflection ever since Cintra burned.
"We do not share blood," Avallac'h said, the coal dragging across parchment in languid and precise movements. "But we are both Aen Elle."
Ciri studied him closely. "You consider him family."
"Why would you say such a thing?"
"Your answer could have been a simple no. But you pointed out there is no blood connection. That is not the only definition of kin."
Another thing Ciri knew well.
"You ask a lot of questions. Questions that do not concern your purpose here."
"He is furious. Even someone as ignorant as me - a dh'oine - can see it. What have I done to offend him?"
"Nothing."
"So then why do I get the feeling he would want to harm me if given the chance?"
"You have nothing to fear from him, Zireael."
Ciri raised a questioning eyebrow.
"I raised him from infancy," Avallac'h stated. "I know him well. No harm will come to you here, from Caranthir or anyone else. I give you my word."
Ciri had only known Avallac'h for a week, and the truth was she did not know him at all. He had only given her his name earlier that morning. And yet, this piece of information surprised her. Perhaps it was because he looked deceptively young. Too young to have raised a boy who appeared almost equal to him in age.
Or perhaps it was because it reminded her of Geralt. To raise a child that is not your own - selfless.
"He is your son?" Ciri marveled, suddenly unable to take her eyes off Caranthir patrolling in the distance.
Avallac'h' hesitated. "I raised him," he repeated.
"Why? What happened to his parents?"
"Nothing. He was always supposed to be in my care."
Ciri was confused. It didn't make any sense to her.
Avallac'h studied her expression and eventually took pity on her. "He was created for a purpose. A similar purpose to the child you will give us."
Now she was scowling. "I already told you, I will give you no—"
Avallac'h raised a hand to silence her, to make her focus on the currently important part of his explanation.
Ciri inhaled, trying to calm. "So… you thought he possessed Elder Blood?"
"No. However, his mother and father both carried genes that allowed them to manipulate space and time through arcane magic. They were both quite powerful. Which is why they were chosen to couple and bring forth a child."
"You… bred him? Like a prize stallion?"
"It is how we have ensured the survival and dominance of our species for so long. We procreate with forethought and great care, unlike humans."
Ciri winced and sank deeper beneath her blanket. "How romantic. So what went wrong? Why could he not fulfill this purpose you remain so elusive about?"
"He is not Aen Hen Ichaer. Elder Blood. During all our research and experiments, we discovered we need Elder Blood."
So, Caranthir had once been special. Or rather, been treated as such. Only to have it taken away when it was discovered he was not enough. He was not the much-awaited savior of the Aen Elle. That must have hurt him greatly, Ciri imagined. She'd had a small taste of it as a child, when she went from a princess to someone unfamiliar to all. Almost all.
She followed Caranthir's gaze and noticed for the first time that as much as he was scowling at her, some of his looks were also meant for Avallac'h.
The latter seemed not to notice. Or he simply ignored him. Perhaps that was their dynamic now.
A tragedy.
Ciri could not imagine the agony of losing Geralt because she was no longer of use to him. But she reasoned it was entirely possible the pain would kill her.
But this, of course, did not speak of Caranthir's character as much as it did Avallac'h's.
Were those kind eyes a lie?
That question still clung to Ciri's mind as the memory faded before her, returning her consciousness to the grim and dark reality of the tower.
Hair loosening from her bun, her figure hunched, Ciri looked like another lost ghost from one of the timeless memories coming alive among the columns. For a moment there Kain thought she was a shadow of some premonition, this time, perhaps, about some dark future. Her back to him, her head lowered.
"Ciri?" he tried in a gentle tone, making a few steps toward her.
She straightened and turned toward him, her face a mask of neutral indifference before her mind finally processed Kain's presence.
"Kain!" She was on him instantly, the mist twisting and twirling in the wake of her body as she wrapped her arms around him in an embrace. She breathed a sigh of relief and felt the tightness loosen from her chest. "Where did you go? Are you hurt?"
He pressed his cheek to the side of her head, his arms wrapped around her. It was right, he thought. I chose right. I couldn't have left her here.
"I got lost among the columns," he said into her hair. "And then I couldn't find you. Thank gods you're all right."
"You scared me," she admitted in a whisper. "I thought the tower had swallowed you. Or given you to the Aen Elle."
His mouth twitched ironically. "We'd always find each other. Wasn't it what you kept telling me from the start?"
She nodded. "Yes. I'd always find you. Even if Eredin took you… he wouldn't be able to keep me away. I'd come for you." And there was some comfort in that, at least. Her gift would help her save the people she loved. "We have to find a way out. Get our bearings. Reassess our position. Find out what's going on out there."
He studied her when they broke their embrace. "You sure you feel all right? Were there more visions aside from this?"
"The one with Avallac'h? You saw that?"
Kain nodded and regarded her keenly. "Did anything happen between you and Caranthir while you were there? Did he ever approach you to talk?"
Ciri shook her head, puzzled by the question. "No. To be honest, I'm surprised I was shown that memory. It seems so insignificant."
"Anything we can learn about their reasoning is significant. The dislike Caranthir has for you seems to be personal. That means he's a threat, more so than Eredin himself."
"You mean he might kill me?" Ciri had considered this as well, but she wasn't too worried. "Yes, he might try. In truth, I welcome his attempts more than I do what Eredin has in mind."
Kain pondered and gave a subtle shrug of doubt. "I don't think killing you would satisfy him. He would choose to destroy you in another way. You seem to be what stands between him and what he believes he's supposed to be for his people."
"Which is why killing me would be the logical choice," Ciri argued. "But who knows what twisted urges he has? Hopefully, we won't find out."
"Killing you would disgrace him as a general," Kain reasoned. "Falling out of Eredin's favor is not in his plans." He refrained from debating further — it was not the right time for strategies, and he wanted to think it all over by himself when he got the time. Instead, he asked, "Think we won't find Geralt here?"
"We haven't found anything but past pain and humiliation." Ciri slipped her hand into Kain's, refusing to let him lose his way again. "But I worry the exit will continue to elude us as well. It doesn't seem I can teleport us out, either."
"Have you tried it? While we lost each other?"
"Of course not. I'd never leave you behind." Ciri eyed their surroundings, which were changing once more, the mist retreating as if the sun had risen and chased it away. They were no longer in the hallway but in an empty room.
He studied her for a moment in mild wonder. Something had shifted. It didn't feel the same.
"All right," he said. "Let's try to find a way out. If we fail, you'll try again."
"At least I know where to start." There was only one door leading out of the room and it was already open. That had to be how Ciri had stumbled in there without noticing earlier.
She squeezed Kain's hand gently and peered down both ends of the hallway. Nothing had visibly changed.
Holding hands firmly, they picked a direction and went.
For a very long time, nothing happened and all they saw around were columns and statues hiding in the shadows, some wrapped in faint gauze of mist. They tried their best to focus on finding a portal, hoping the Tower would somehow understand and comply. Neither had any better ideas.
In the back of his mind, Kain was worried that it wouldn't let both of them out. He never noticed the portal to the Aen Elle world, but it was given to him - while he was on his own. What if Ciri was locked here like Avallac'h implied?
Deep in reverie, he almost jumped when another door opened out of nowhere.
They recognized the room - another facet of Aen Elle style. Caranthir was snooping at an artfully carved desk, picking up vials to sniff.
"Anything I can help you with?"
Caranthir jumped, twirling around, almost dropping the vial from his fingers. Avallac'h watched him with his usual inscrutable mien. Only his eyes were a tad narrowed in what felt like amusement.
"I… No, I merely came to tell you we've been encountering more one-horns than usual," Caranthir said, putting the vial back. "They became more aggressive and reckless."
"The more reckless they get, the more of them fall," Avallac'h said, approaching a few more steps.
"The dh'oine creature's stench must be driving them wild," Caranthir muttered, then waved a hand at the vials on the desk. "Think all those essences will help fool our King's senses? No amount of perfumes or paint can distract from what she is."
Avallac'h measured him with an imperceptible narrowing of his eyes. "I have to remind you to control your attitude," he said in his impassive manner. "You are not a child anymore, nor it beseems your status to speak in such a vulgar manner. You disgrace yourself."
Caranthir's face took on a sour look. "Do you feel affection for her?"
"Do not cross that boundary," Avallac'h warned.
"Then why don't you punish me again?" Caranthir snarled, storming out of the chambers, his face twisted in cold fury. The vision fell apart in his wake like it were a fog mirage.
Ciri stared at the now empty spot before them, one eyebrow raised. "Who does this memory belong to? It certainly is not mine."
She had never even seen Caranthir interact with anyone but Eredin during her stay in Tir ná Lia.
Kain was frowning in thought. Could it be that his curiosity about Caranthir provoked this vision? Or the Tower was trying to pass a message?
"You said the things you have seen here during your first visit were not all yours," he said. "But rather things that were important for you."
"Yes. But that was then. Today I have seen no such things." She looked up at him. "What has changed?"
"We cannot begin to understand how this magic works," Kain said with a shrug. "Perhaps, we need to pay attention to how Caranthir feels about you. It might be a warning for the future."
"He is clearly petty and jealous with some very severe abandonment issues," Ciri murmured. She didn't truly care what the elf thought of her but found that she was secretly pleased Avallac'h had defended her honor. As much of it that was left. "Let's move on."
"Maybe if we don't linger to watch, we can see a portal sooner," Kain suggested. "We might be failing to notice it when distracted by those visions."
They went, trying to avoid opening doors. Doors still opened on either side of them, luring with faces and voices they knew. They tried to avert their eyes and hurry past, but a few times their steps faltered.
One door revealed Geralt and Avallac'h in the Red Suite.
"Gwynbleidd? Keep an eye on Zireael. She will probably create more issues for the people around her."
"You know what's wrong with her?"
The Sage smiled condescendingly. "Remember what I told you when we first met? You asked me if you'd find her. And, for now, you have."
Geralt's face darkened; he went out of the room.
The vision faded; another door opened.
Ciri and Avallac'h.
"How have I changed?" she asked.
"You stopped rebelling against me so openly," he smiled. "We have built our trust. Haven't we?"
"Because you stopped blackmailing me into bedding elves," she grumbled. "But yes, things between us did improve."
"All I've ever done was to help you, Zireael," he said, unperturbed by her biting remark. "As well as now. That didn't change."
"Because you need me to stop The White Frost," she said, her voice soft. "I know."
Avallac'h stood up and approached her, gently took her chin in his fingers, a warm smile on his lips. "I need you to live, Zireael. I wish the best for you. Not because of the Frost, but because of you."
Ciri looked up into the elf's eyes, searching. "Do you love me?"
Avallac'h smiled and opened his arms invitingly. "Do you doubt, Zireael?"
She stepped into his embrace willingly, wrapping her arms around the elf's waist, her gaze set on the single window in the room.
"Because I am her daughter?"
"Because you're my Zireael."
They faded into thin coils of smoke. Ciri hastened her step, practically dragging Kain.
Another door opened; Yennefer and Avallac'h were facing each other.
Yennefer scoffed lightly. "You're telling me that Ciri has never done anything that has surprised you?"
"I'm not easily surprised. What about you, Lady Sorceress? Has Zireael surprised you recently?"
Yennefer narrowed her eyes. "More than I would have anticipated."
He hemmed. "She's Elder Blood. She is beyond any of your expectations. The question is how you will cope."
"That's still to be seen," Yennefer said.
He seemed amused. "Some years ago I met Geralt, and he wanted the same thing - to know whether he could find Zireael. And when I told him that his actions would do nothing to aid him in this quest, he preferred to ignore it. He asked if he would find her in the end, and I told him he would, but only to lose her again. He didn't care for it." He considered her. "Would you care if I told you she couldn't be changed? That what you see in her now - what frightens you so much - has been a part of her long before this day?"
"I don't believe that," Yennefer said. "If you can look at Ciri presently, and believe her to be the same person you've come to know after all these years of traveling together – with the same heart – then you don't know her at all."
Ciri looked puzzled. She was trying to piece the images together in a way that it could make sense.
"What were they talking about? What do Geralt and Yennefer think is wrong with me?" She swallowed, trying to keep her growing dismay from fully combusting. "They want me to change? How?"
"They didn't talk to me about it," Kain said, pulling her toward the shimmering veil of mist ahead. "Maybe Avallac'h confused them with something on purpose."
"Maybe," Ciri mused, though her mind was still spinning. Who was she supposed to trust? Was everyone she cared about talking behind her back? Keeping secrets?
"Seems like a portal," Kain said as they approached the dim shining. He glanced at her, squeezing her hand. "You ready? We don't know where we end up."
Ciri shifted her focus to the present moment, looking from Kain to the potential portal before them. She smiled. "I'd go anywhere with you. I'm ready."
They stepped inside.
The corridors were dark and endless; black columns rose up into the dark as though there was an abyss for a ceiling. Statues were hiding in the shadows like ghosts, eternally frozen like the tokens of memory and lost lives in Tir ná Béa Arainne. The echo of his footfalls sounded subdued somehow, as though the very air here didn't allow such transmission where it was supposed to be deadly quiet. A gate between the worlds… an in-between… like The Spiral… a limbo.
Avallac'h wasn't looking around as he strolled on quiet feet, his eyes locked mostly on the black glassy floor in front of him. When he didn't look at things directly, it was easier to spot the important places with peripheral vision. It was a peculiar fact: as though the Tower couldn't trick one's eyes around the corners. Only the arrogance of direct gaze could fall for illusions.
He had been walking for a while, but time was of no essence inside this place. Visions came and went around him, but he never stopped his stroll. He didn't have to stop to absorb the premonitions and divinations offered to him.
Eventually, his step slowed as he spotted something ahead. He looked at it directly, and saw a cloud of mist, ever shifting, ever flowing. He turned his head slightly, and from the corner of his eye, he saw what satisfied him. With a subtle twitch of his mouth, he approached a body sprawled on the floor.
Her face amidst a disarray of black curls was very pale, like it was cut from marble. Only a blueish spot of a bruise on her cheekbone betrayed it to be human flesh. Her parted lips were so white and parched, with a bit of red between them and on the front teeth he could glimpse.
He crouched next to her, put a hand to her neck. As cold as the dead, and yet there was a thin thread of life still vibrating inside of her, however timid and fading. Every now and then shivers ran through her, her brow contorted weakly, then released to turn back into an impassively sleeping face of a statue to top a marble tomb lid. He swept a palm over her, checking her life force and damage, and frowned when he felt something… like a bunch of tiny needles prickling his hand. Curious, he slipped his fingers into the bodice of her black dress and pulled at a string. Out came a medallion. A cameo with a profile that sent trepidation through his heart. Her perfect image was smeared with red – blood, he recognized as he brushed a thumb over it. Couldn't be fresh, and yet it looked as though it was done moments ago, the blood scarlet and bright.
Avallac'h pondered, stroking the cameo's surface with his thumb; the stone sparkled in the dim light of Sage's illumination spell. He rummaged in his pocket, took out a small handkerchief, and swept it over the cameo. The stone became as white as before. He put the handkerchief away and replaced the cameo in Yennefer's bodice. Then he picked her up gently and walked on, little lights flying around him like fireflies.
A soft shining ahead indicated an open portal. Holding the sorceress to his chest, he stepped through…
… and then the soles of his boots made a crunching sound against a vast marble floor with patterns barely visible under a thin layer of snow. It must have been a snowstorm, but now the sky was clear with the sun gaining the orange glow of approaching sunset. Avallac'h lowered Yennefer gently onto the floor next to the marble arch of the portal. Tiny specks of glitter in the stone reflected sunlight. He brushed the curly strands of her hair off her deadly pallid face and straightened up. With a parting glance at her, he turned and walked away.