Ciri fled Yennefer's bed chambers and nearly ran directly into Morvran Voorhis in the hallway outside.
She quickly reached for Kain, who was at his side, to steady herself lest she unintentionally assault the man who was currently playing their host.
"I… would like a bath," she uttered awkwardly. She greatly desired some alone time in the hot water to wash away the tower's foul memories. But more than that, she wanted to avoid Kain and Morvran's questions of Yennefer that were sure to come.
"Absolutely," Morvran responded with his usual charming smile. "I assumed you would be staying here for the night at the very least, and both your chambers have been prepared. Your bath must be hot and ready by now. I shall show you to your quarters immediately, if you please."
Kain had his arm around Ciri's waist in support, and the disarray of her emotions dismayed him. He was dying to find out what happened to upset her so much, but she felt shut tight like a spooked oyster.
"Thank you," Ciri said and followed Morvran with Kain close beside her.
The silence between them all felt stifling, and Ciri worried the questions would come any second now. So she decided to fill their walk with a distraction.
"Forgive me, Morvran, I forget your official title." This was true. Ciri struggled to keep up with politics and who had earned which position at court. "How am I to address you?"
"Currently I'm addressed as General at court," he said. "However, you can forgo all titles – at least at times when His Imperial Majesty is not around."
"So, Morvran it is, then?" Ciri pressed. "I think you'll come to find I won't change myself or the way I speak even when Emhyr is present." She couldn't help a small smirk. "It is apparently one of my character flaws."
"I've been informed concerning that aspect quite a few times, some of them from His Imperial Majesty himself," Morvran returned her smirk, unperturbed. "It is in no way and under no circumstances a part of my competence to impose any rules of conduct on Your Highness."
"Can I impose one on you, General?"
"You may certainly try, Princess." His smile had a wily tint to it that implied he might not be inclined to follow it.
"Call me Ciri," she said, turning her head to briefly meet his gaze. "This princess you all speak of… That's someone else. Not me anymore."
"With all due respect to your personal desires, Cirilla, the princess part of you is in your blood and shall never wash off," Morvran played back with all the polite courtesy that came to him as naturally as breathing. "But for as long as your title remains unofficial as of yet due to certain family circumstances, I have nothing against fulfilling your request."
"Good. The Empire thanks you," Ciri retorted playfully.
If she had anything to say about the matter, the title would never become official again. Though in the very back of her mind, there was a twinge of guilt. So many people hoped she was their savior, in one way or another.
She was going to let them all down.
"No need to thank for what is to be rightfully extended." Morvran gestured towards the door they were approaching, "Your quarters. My room is down this hallway, should you have any urgent requests at any time." He opened the door, and behind it stood a maid.
She curtseyed in greeting, "Your Highness. Your bath is ready."
"Thank you." Ciri gave the young woman a polite smile before turning back to the men. "And Kain's rooms? Will he be close by?"
"Not far," Morvran confirmed, and indicated with his hand, "in this direction."
"I'd rather depart for the night," Kain said, directing an apologetic glance Ciri's way, "and come back in the morn. Have to make sure our friends are all right, maybe spend some time with Zoltan, fill him in."
"I understand," Morvran said. "Your room is prepared regardless and shall remain that way for when you need it. Now, if you excuse me, I shall run some errands." He bowed for Ciri and gave Kain a polite nod before strolling away.
Kain turned to Ciri and the maid, and addressed the latter, "Would you give us a moment, please?"
The maid curtseyed again and went deeper into the room to give them privacy.
"Will you be all right to spend the night here? If you need me, I shall stay, but… I have to see Griffin. I have to show him I'm well."
"Of course," Ciri said, though secretly dismayed he was leaving. "I'm probably safer here than anywhere else at the moment. Though I loathe the idea of bathing and sleeping while Geralt is still out there alone."
He took her by the shoulders, meeting her eyes, "We will find him. I promise you, we'll turn this world and others upside down, but we'll find him because I don't feel him dead. He's out there, and we'll get him back. Together."
She nodded, glad of his reassurance. It was much needed at the moment. "Yes. Soon." Because any other outcome was unacceptable. "Promise you will be back in the morning? I can't bear the thought of you losing your way as well."
"Why would I?" he asked with genuine wonder, and then his brow furrowed subtly in suspicion. "Something ill happened between you and Yennefer?"
Ciri shrugged reluctantly. "I think she is angry with me. Though why I do not know. She would not meet my gaze, nor tolerate my touch."
That was utterly baffling and took Kain aback. "She cannot possibly be angry with you," he objected. "It must be her tower experience still weighing on her soul. It will pass, you shall see. Your safe return must have overwhelmed her with relief as well as grief concerning Geralt still missing. Yennefer is not fond of processing feelings in front of any prying eyes, even her family's."
"Perhaps," Ciri agreed though she did not think it likely. "We shall see once things settle."
"You both need time to rest and find a bit of peace. She will feel better tomorrow, knowing now that you're back and well." He smiled, squeezing her shoulders gently. "Do not be sad now. Use this night and the comfort of an actual bed to rest fully. You need to be at full strength for what's to come."
"I will," she promised. "You get some rest as well. Don't spend the entire night drinking with Zoltan or dancing among the trees with your griffin."
He had to laugh. "And here I thought you knew me well enough already, Princess."
"I thought I knew Geralt," she retorted. "And yet, he jumped through a portal. He hates portals." Ciri leaned in to embrace him, hugging his shoulders. "Don't lose your way. Don't let yourself be taken. Come back to me."
"I'll always come back to you," he said. "For I know for certain you will find me under any rock out there." He smiled. "Don't worry about me, I know how to remain out of sight. I'll be safe."
Ciri smiled as well; glad he knew her well enough now. She would always find him. It was true. "Have a good night, Kain."
"I ask the same of you. Let yourself forget the trouble for just one night at least." He kissed her forehead, embracing her for a moment, then stepped away to leave.
Ciri watched him go and once he was out of sight, stepped into her room, closing the door behind her. Her maid was pouring some oils into her bath; steam rose above the water's surface. The fireplace was crackling with vigorous flames. Upon her wide bed made with fresh linen sheets lay a hip-long tunic and a pair of short underpants, both made of white silk with lace.
"Please, Your Highness," the maid said, bowing, "allow me to help you undress."
"Thank you."
It was not in Ciri's nature to allow such, but she was tired and worried it would offend the maid who offered her services. It did not take long until her clothes were off and Ciri found herself seated in the steaming bath.
Once the maid took her leave with Ciri's discarded attire, Ciri leaned back against the tub and allowed her eyes to close. In that darkness, all she saw was Yennefer and the lack of warmth and affection on her face.
It may have been as Kain said: merely caused by exhaustion and the effects of the Tower. But in her soul, Ciri did not believe it true. Yennefer had been wounded and tired before, but had never made Ciri feel unwanted. This was new.
In the back of her mind, a horrible suspicion had taken root and begun to grow.
What if Yennefer had lied? What if she had seen something in the Tower, after all?
Maybe she saw my past, Ciri thought. The things I've had to do to survive. All the depravity and cruelty. And she now recognizes that the girl she once treasured is rotten. I am not the Chosen Child they all wished for.
I am their greatest shame.
"Angry? She said angry? That Yennefer is angry with her?!" Dandelion was staring wide-eyed at Kain, his mug halfway to his mouth and forgotten in his shock. "Angry?"
"Ow, would ye stop this already!" Zoltan barked. "Repeatin the same crap like the sodding mockin bird."
"But it's impossible!" Dandelion cried. "Simply impossible!" He remembered his mug and took a sloppy gulp, then set it down, unable to shake his astonishment. "Ciri didn't even look at us after — ran out like we weren't there, and Fringilla said to leave her be, so we did… Had I known…"
"It would have made no difference if you chased her with questions," Kain reasoned. "She was not inclined to talk about it."
"Upset, was she?" The dwarf heaved a sigh. "Poor lassie. Tis ain't right. Somethin the matter."
"Oh! Wait! Maybe it's Ciri?" Dandelion looked between them with eyes bulging with some sudden insight. "Maybe it's in her head? She was not herself before that tower business. She still is. Isn't she? She must have lied to you or… or… maybe Yennefer was the one upset to see her angry, and then Ciri just… well, pretended it was the other way around? Am I overthinking now?"
"She was pretty darn normal when we met today," Zoltan objected. "Worried plenty, but nothin like when she was near spittin foam with that soddin elf in her room. Maybe she's fine without him around." He shrugged.
"You said she was annoyed in the tower, though," Dandelion reminded, looking at Kain pensively. "At least she didn't fight you there or anything, did she?"
"No, just vexed," Kain mused, deep in thought. "But in the end, she wasn't. And when we were out… she actually felt like her old self. No bursts of that odd anger like before. And that is odd."
"What if she's cured?" Zoltan shrugged and sipped his mead. "Maybe that long-eared whoreson is the only one drivin her mad."
"And the guards in the bank," Kain added, eyeing Zoltan sardonically. "And Geralt when he takes things she deems hers."
Zoltan grimaced and swatted a hand at him, and took a hearty swallow before reaching to refill his mug.
"Maybe it's not always showing, is all," Dandelion suggested, nodding in thanks for his refill. "Maybe her worry for Yennefer pushed it away somehow. Unless she faked it all, of course. Gods, I don't even know anymore, and that's the scariest part. We don't know! We need Geralt."
"We'll find him," Kain said.
Dandelion directed a forlorn gaze his way. "What if we won't?"
"He's not dead," Kain responded firmly. "He's somewhere in this world. I don't think he could be gone anywhere else — not like that by himself."
"And if the elves took him?" Zoltan asked. "Ye sure they had no chance? What if we're sittin here on our arses debatin that tower and stupid portals while those rascals got him all this time? Like that last time?"
"Last time he traded himself for Yennefer," Dandelion reminded. "It doesn't count as their win – he let them take him. They failed to capture him otherwise, did they not?"
"The way he told us, they did fail," Zoltan said, pensive. "They stole Yennefer, and he pursued them. And when other witchers joined him, neither side could win. Thus he made a deal to free Yennefer."
"There is no deal to make this time," the poet stated. "Ciri and Kain were gone, Yennefer was gone — and not captured, as we know now."
"They'd want him to be bait again," Zoltan said. "To lure out lassie. But it wasn't enough time after the Oxenfurt battle. There couldn't be enough elves to capture him. Nor do I see how and where they would. Ye said it was an old portal under the city?" he asked Kain.
"Yes, under the Academy, in the old ruins. It could lead to any of the three towers of our world, but we never found any trail of him."
"Why wouldn't it perchance lead to their world?" Zoltan asked. Dandelion choked on his mead and coughed, beating himself in the chest with his fist.
"Even with two anchors on him, he cannot travel between the worlds on a mere whim of a portal," Kain explained. "His blood does not contain that sort of magic, and even an elven portal would not send him beyond this world. That's why they hunt Ciri for her trait that is factually and uniquely capable of transcending multiple worlds. Geralt is no elf in any part. We could fear the same for Yennefer who has elven blood in her, but not Geralt."
"Them witchers are a strange ilk, though," Zoltan mused. "Who knows what's in his blood when it's mutated."
Kain thought of Avallac'h, sipping water from his mug. Wouldn't Sage use that argument to make Kain agree to stay if they had captured Geralt? Or, would he?
"Hardly they turned him anywhere near elven," discoursed Dandelion, pulling Kain from his reverie. "Witchers don't become any less human or mortal after their mutation. I read a lot about it upon meeting Geralt, but truth be told, there's little to no information in the open access. Those witcher schools liked to keep their secrets and make it seem a mystery to common folk — so those didn't question the miracle and paid up more, trusting no ordinary man could do what witcher could. But what I gathered from what I was able to find and from Geralt and his witcher mates presents not much of a mystery. They merely become more agile and resilient. They lose fertility, but they see better, hear better, and are able to digest their elixirs to enhance it all. If a man is stronger and faster than average or can digest something another cannot, it doesn't make him any less human, does it."
"It doesn't," agreed both Zoltan and Kain.
They drank in silence, mulling over their predicament.
"Do you find it odd," Dandelion mused, refilling his mug once more, "that Fringilla is willingly staying in Vizima after her hardships in the Emperor's dungeon?"
"She was pardoned," Zoltan said. "And the reason she and Triss went there was Yennefer. Even though I don't get how what our friends could do for her would turn out any less or worse." He scoffed. "Mousesack shoulda never let them take her. She might be back here all well and healthy again after his brews. And tell me, how is that Vizima better than Kaer Trolde? At least we know how Crach feels about her. Heck knows what's on that Emperor's mind." He drank, then caught Kain's eyes and smirked, "They used to be close, ye see, he a Skelligan prince then, and our Ice Queen witch. But later their winds became a bother for her skin, and his girth grew out of her tastes. So she moved on to warmer shores and younger fish."
"She'd turn you into a cricket if she knew how freely you toss her bedroom secrets around," hissed Dandelion. "Besides, it's not about girth." He winced and looked at his mead with sudden doubt. "He got crowned and married."
Zoltan merely laughed and drank. "I only tried yer bloody poetic approach. Ye were the one who sold it to me first some years ago."
"If I wrote such poetry, I'd be long dead in a gutter, stomped into it by enraged crowds," Dandelion retorted, and turned to Kain, assuming a matter-of-fact expression. "As far as I recall, she didn't mind her stay in Vizima before. Apparently, she finds their library quite enticing."
"What does she have to do in that library now?" Zoltan inquired. "Nah, maybe them royals don't want her out because then lassie gets out, too, if ye catch my drift." He peered from Kain to Dandelion keenly to see if they did.
Dandelion was mildly astonished at the offered suspicions, but then he also had to ponder it another moment. "You think they're doing something to Yennefer to keep her there longer than necessary so Ciri stays as well? For the Emperor?" His eyes narrowed; he hated how plausible it was beginning to feel. He looked to Kain, searching his face.
"She struck a deal with him to free Fringilla," Kain reminded. "Emhyr asked for time with her, and Ciri agreed to come visit after the war with the Hunt is over. Not before."
"When could kings ever be patient about anythin they wanted, huh?" Zoltan snorted. "Not in my lifetime I heard about such."
"Stalling her there now is utterly useless," Kain said. "Emhyr could be impatient, but he's no fool. His general assured me they understood the gravity and urgency of our situation with the Hunt. He wasn't lying, either."
"Voorhis, eh?" Dandelion smirked. "That one's a real fox, they say. He certainly knows how to say all the right things. Like a bloody siren."
"Aye," Zoltan chortled, smacking a hand against his friend's back. "Made our poet lose his sleep over the pile o' wonders falling outta that lad's mouth."
"What wonders?" Kain asked.
"It wasn't like that at all!" Dandelion objected. "He merely extended me some courtesies to be rightfully offered to someone of my lin— well, someone like me. I am famous, after all! Let us stop forgetting about that imposing fact."
"He dangled Toussaint and his Guild of Merchants in front of ye, and ye all but choked salivatin," Zoltan said, slipping off his chair and grabbing the pitcher to refill it.
Dandelion made an offended face and looked to Kain, "It was nothing like that wretched gambler tells you."
"Like hells and lil demons it's not," the wretched gambler laughed, disappearing behind the kitchen curtain.
"Not even close!" Dandelion called after him and leaned to Kain. "He was polite enough to send after me to see Yennefer upon her waking, and when I arrived, he shared a dinner with me. We talked about the Emperor's taste in entertainment, how he had favored some of my ballads and opuses, and that General Voorhis himself wasn't a stranger to my creative escapades.
"A couple of days past, he arrived here — incognito, by the looks of it — to see me perform. Whether a coincidence or not, we had to bring more chairs from the cellar that night to fit all the eager audience that turned out to be quite wealthy."
"All them thicker purses dared to crawl out of their hidin holes thinkin the elves forgot about us," Zoltan approached with refilled pitcher and refreshed their drinks. "People tend to get tired of waitin around to die." He settled back at the table with a grunt.
"We talked a bit that night," Dandelion continued, sipping his mead. "He complimented my impeccable choice of ballads and poetry, and I, in my turn and for Ciri's sake, thanked him for aiding Yennefer. To which he said it was no need to thank for what was rightfully offered. And when I expressed my wonder, he explained that Emhyr and all those in his service would always aid people his daughter loves."
"Like drawin them a bath where they can slit their wrists to sod off his way," Zoltan added.
Dandelion made another effort to ignore the input, his eyes still on Kain as he continued: "Our topic shifted naturally to family and then he mentioned Ana..." His gaze turned melancholic, he looked down at his mug and sighed. "She's Emhyr's cousin, you know. The Duchess of Toussaint. Ah, my Little Weasel, it's been forever and a year since I last tasted her skin beneath my lips..."
"That rascal of a general teased to put a word for our fopdoodle here so the Duchess forgives him for whoring around while pissin in her ears about how she was the only sun in his sky," Zoltan supplied, eyeballing Dandelion with sardonic pity. "And when our minstrel melted all over the bar counter like butter under the summer sun, that rascal said he could recommend the inn to the Guild of Merchants. Said that if rebuilt to make more space for them fat-pouches, we can hope to mean somethin around here. How d'ye like that? Like now we're some flea-ridden shed." He spat to the side and drank.
"Now, he never said it all like that!" Dandelion flared up, and looked to Kain for support, "You think it's so bad that I can be offered some good things for my art and talent? Is that really so bad," he inquired, directing his gaze as indignant as it was groggy from mead Zoltan's way, "if I finally can return to Toussaint and heal my broken heart in my Little Weasel's arms, lay my weary head on her soft and luscious bosom—"
"Aye! To forget all about it the next day on someone else's bosom even softer," Zoltan chuckled.
"She was my love, so radiant!" Dandelion turned on him. "My heart never betrayed her precious feelings!"
"Only yer prick did, repeatedly," Zoltan remarked, wiping his beard with a sleeve.
"What about Priscilla?" Kain interrupted before Dandelion began to retort.
The poet's indignation deflated, his brow furrowed. He took a swallow of his mead, looking pooped. "Ah, if only it was possible to discern the movements of one's heart," he sighed. "Priscilla is a wonderful woman, a sheer talent for her age and gender, but… The nature of our profession drives us to move from place to place like winds and seasons. We cannot settle and grow fat and content, we need to flutter from flower to flower like butterflies, taste passion and suffering, successes and failures, ups and downs of the soul and sweeten the ears of people so they take it with them to their dull, grey lives."
"Ye gods and little fishes," Zoltan rolled his eyes and drank.
"My Little Weasel knows I wouldn't settle, nor could she offer me her hand in marriage," Dandelion reasoned. "Our love was so remarkable because of how fleeting those days were."
"Be it as it may," the dwarf said. "Do ye need it back?"
"Of course I need to be allowed back there!" the poet cried out. "The best wines, the best women, and the gardens… rivers… I need her to pardon me. I cannot live the rest of my life banished from a paradise that should nurture my creative soul when it exhausts itself serving people all over the continent."
"And what of the price?" Kain asked.
Dandelion thought about it, drinking. Then he had to shrug, "He never named it. Just made it seem like a courtesy, a friendly favor to mend a broken connection."
"There's no free favors at courts, Dandelion," Zoltan said, and in his quiet tone, Kain heard sympathy.
There was a soft knock on the door, and then Fringilla Vigo stepped in and gave Ciri a friendly smile.
"Beg your pardon for my intrusion, Ciri," she said, walking into the room. A young woman Ciri recognized as her maid followed the sorceress inside with a tray. "I wanted to make sure you are comfortable, and perhaps would like to see a familiar face. This is Jagna," she gestured to the maid; the girl set the tray on the table at the window and curtseyed. "She is available whenever you need something. This here," Fringilla approached the tapestry on the wall next to the fireplace and pulled its end away to reveal a string with a tassel on its end beneath it, "is for calling her. A bell goes off in her room. Please, do not hesitate to use it whenever the need arises."
"I brought you something to eat, Your Highness," Jagna said, indicating the tray. "Hot milk, fresh bread, nuts candied in honey, sweet oatmeal shortbread, and a meat pie, still hot from the oven. His Imperial Majesty and Lord General wished you wouldn't go to bed hungry. Please, call me if you need anything else."
"You're too kind, Jagna," Ciri said. "Thank you." It was almost on the tip of her tongue to tell the girl to seek Ciri out if she needed something, too, but that would have drawn awkward laughter and strange glances. So Ciri simply smiled and reached for the towel to dry off. She'd soaked so long her fingers had gone wrinkly. "And you too, Fringilla. I appreciate this."
When Jagna stepped out, dismissed, Fringilla approached Ciri in a languid stroll. "It's the least I can do for my friend's beloved ward and the true princess of my country." She smiled and revealed a small vial in her hand. "Yennefer and Ermion both mentioned your trouble with sleep. I took the liberty of preparing this oil. A drop or two to rub in your temples is all it takes. It shall cool your skin and provide a good night's rest."
Ciri frowned subtly, wrapping the towel around her body as she stepped out of the tub. "That's lovely. You can leave it on the nightstand. Thank you."
She didn't mind Fringilla – it was nothing personal – but her trust in the sorceresses, Yennefer and Triss excluded, was close to non-existing. Ciri did not want to give any of them more access to her than necessary.
Fringilla did as asked, and regarded Ciri with a smile. "Triss was eager to come see you, but then it was getting late, and she needed to go back to Gors Velen — she helps Margarita sort through the books that survived Radovid's assault on Aretuza." She paused for a beat as if pondering, then added, "I truly hope seeing Yennefer has not discouraged you in any way. She hasn't been herself while you were gone. Missing both you and Geralt made her very depressed. Now that you're back, she shall become more of her old self we all know."
"I don't think she will be alright until we find Geralt safe and sound," Ciri replied, moving to the bed where her nightwear had been laid out. "None of us will. Price of love and all that." She paused a moment before turning to regard Fringilla curiously. "Have you heard from Avallac'h while Kain and I were away?"
"Not a sight of him anywhere, even though we have been looking to seek his aid in finding you. Could it be he's returned to his world or, perhaps, another one? Given how little we know of your connection, it's quite hard to judge whether he would do such a thing."
Ciri shook her head, considering. "I don't believe so. He is seen as a traitor in Tir ná Lia. He would not be able to linger long. And I see no benefits for him to be anywhere but this world." She combed through her wet hair with her fingers. "I will try to contact him. Somehow."
Fringilla acknowledged her intention with a nod. "He might be able to aid with finding Geralt. Even though we have asked our former elven allies for assistance on that matter. You were young back then, but you might remember them from the Lodge. Ida is Aen Saevherne as well, but both she and Francesca are reluctant to associate with us, for understandable reasons. The old rivalry between their kin and ours needs to be resolved, especially if the Hunt is preparing to attack us."
"Do they think the Aen Elle will treat them fairly?" Ciri dressed quickly with her back turned to the sorceress. "I doubt it is the truth, but I cannot blame them for hoping. Our kind certainly hasn't shown kindness to the elves."
"Seems like the Aen Elle have shown some to them, in their turn. Many rebel elves tell the tales of noble Alden brethren who save Scoia'tael from human oppressors and carry them back to their promised lands. That doesn't play in our favor. Tell me, Ciri, if you've been to that promised land of theirs — is that true that they save the elves of our world and bring them with as equals?"
"Not to my knowledge," Ciri admitted. "I saw none while I was there. That does not mean they do not exist there, however. Most of the elves would avoid me as though frightened I could contaminate them with my humanity."
Fringilla looked slightly disappointed. "It's unfortunate there is nothing more solid than assumptions on your part. However, if you would be willing to lend your aid in convincing Ida and Francesca of how little Aen Elle care about any race inhabiting our world, we could pull them to our side. Given our current trouble and the upcoming war with the Hunt, we do need Aen Seidhe and their resources, wouldn't you agree?"
"I'm not sure how much my word is worth." Ciri took a seat on the edge of the bed, folding the damp towel. "But yes, I will try my best to sway them to our side. I will reach out to Avallac'h first, however. He knows more about Tor Zireael than anyone I can think of."
"By all means," Fringilla agreed. "I didn't mean to be rushing you into any negotiations. I merely asked you to consider. I'm aware of your complicated relationship with our current Emperor - and as one who's experienced the grief of finding myself on his bad side, I can fully relate. But it begins to seem our current predicament and the counsel of his ward are inspiring his better judgement. If you would consider lending your aid in this process, it could save us all. It could help us forge alliances we need to not lose our whole world to the invaders. I am only telling you this because I believe you would understand me: after my imprisonment, I would never have dared come anywhere near Nilfgaard again if I didn't believe that only together we stand a chance to make a difference. I thought if I turned my back and ran now... well," she spread her arms with a bitter smile, "there's nowhere to run unless one possesses a gift like yours. This world falls - we all fall with it."
"You think Emhyr will not provide aid if needed? He'd be a fool not to. As you said – there is nowhere to run," Ciri mused. "I do believe Morvran will prove a better option to deal with the Emperor. He's much more tolerable than I."
"It's not about Emhyr's aid - it's about all the aid we have lost due to wars between Nilfgaard and the North. One such butchered alliance is Dol Blathanna and Francesca Findabair. We need her and Ida and their kin. Emhyr wouldn't win this - they don't trust him anymore. Morvran is talented and everything Emhyr is not, but he's not enough on his own.
"You see, Emhyr var Emreis is a formidable figure most of the world fears. But his greatest weakness is his daughter. You might not see it that way in your grudge, but he would do anything for you, and it makes you a living guarantee of his word. However meagre, but I'm proof of that - I'd be executed if not for your advocating for my life. I don't forget such favors, Ciri. You can count on me. Truly. Not the wretched promises the old Lodge placated you with, but truly. Philippa's Lodge is dead."
"He'll do anything – for a price," Ciri corrected but she did not argue the case further. There wasn't much point in doing so at the moment. "I will try my best. I understand this is favorable for us all." But there was a limit to the price she was willing to pay. Even now, as her guilt prickled at her heart, she was certain of it.
"Everything has a price," Fringilla mused. "But sometimes all it comes down to is a haggle. If you look closer, you'll see you're no longer one on one with Emhyr. Geralt or Yennefer would never help you there. But there's a man who can talk a demon into eating its own tail. And he's got the Emperor's ear. It's something you might want to ponder.
"And with that, I shall leave you. I have kept you from your bed long enough, forgive me. Have a good rest, Ciri."
She offered a charming smile and went for the door.
Ciri stared suspiciously in the wake of the disappearing sorceress, but she did not voice her questions aloud.
Her mind, however, was suddenly rampant. Did Fringilla imply Ciri should charm Morvran Voorhis into doing her bidding? Because there were two immediate flaws with that plan.
One, Ciri had been told she was about as charming as a prickly cactus. And two, having any sort of positive impact on Morvran meant she would actually have to spend a decent amount of time with him. At court. Here. With all the stiff aristocrats. And Emhyr.
Ciri grumbled audibly as the door closed and she slithered under the blankets of her bed, sinking down with the covers drawn to her chin, brow furrowed in deep contemplation.
Why couldn't anything ever be simple?
"… And as I have reported earlier, our unit of fifteen, including a mage, has departed today for Novigrad as it has been settled with Hierarch Hemmelfart through our correspondence. He's to sign the treaty when our troop arrives."
Emhyr var Emreis skimmed through the provided letters, his brow furrowed in concertation. "What of the others he's in cahoots with? A Syndicate, I believe they called themselves?" He looked up at his general inquiringly.
"Their system of self-management is rather volatile, I find, due to the type of people involved," Morvran said. "Besides the Syndicate, they have a so-called Big Four, and our old friend Sigismund Dijkstra is a part of both. However, they seemed to keep the Hierarch in just one group. And Lord Dijkstra has since found a new occupation for his talents."
"That Dijkstra problem needs to be resolved as soon as possible," Emhyr said, casting another passing look across the correspondence with the Hierarch before passing it to Voorhis who put them back in his leather folder. "Before he decides to extend his ambition to Kaedwen."
"We are working our way to that," General said. "It is my impression that he is well aware of how urgent this matter is and all that's left to do is arrange a meeting in an environment Lord Dijkstra shall deem safe."
"Is that rebel sorceress Eilhart still associated with him?" Emhyr got up from behind his desk and strolled across the room to a wide window overlooking the inner yard. It was ajar, and the curtains framing it worried in the wind.
"It doesn't seem like he would make any extra efforts to protect her or prolong their former alliance, which seems to be dead for some time now."
"I see." The Emperor closed his eyes briefly, taking in the refreshing night breeze. "What is the progress on that matter?"
"It is in progress," Morvran cracked a simper, restoring the order on the Emperor's desk and sorting the reports between folders. "It's been set in motion after my visit, but the final act of that play shall be performed when all parties are ready, and as you well know, the most important of them is still undecided. We are working on it. If we execute the right amount of patience required, we shall get this resolved in our favor."
"Patience…" Emhyr mused, peering at the inner walls of the castle adorned with the Great Sun stags, overlooking the garden with marble benches and a fountain. "Has she enquired after me?"
Morvran adjusted the stack of folders in the cabinet and closed it, turning the key. "I am afraid I have no inquiry to quote for your pleasure. All her thoughts were occupied by Lady Yennefer's state of health, which is understandable under the circumstances."
"Under the circumstances I trust I deserve at least a thank you for taking care of her beloved witch," Emhyr reasoned, his fingers interlaced behind his back tightening their grip. Even as he stood with his back to Morvran, it was as if the latter could read the Emperor's posture like an open book.
Morvran smiled a little, folding his arms as he watched his mentor. "You're not wrong. However, she looked quite run down and weary, so her foremost worry at that time took precedence over everything else. She visited with Lady Yennefer and went directly to bed afterwards. We should hope she rises in better spirits on the morrow."
"She is never in better spirits where I am concerned," Emhyr said, and Morvran imagined his nose wrinkling in both distaste and well-hidden sorrow. "And before you repeat that outrageous line about this delicate matter requiring the right amount of patience, I have you reminded how thin one's patience can run in twenty years of waiting."
"Well, in my turn I will absolutely have to remind Your Majesty how that congenitally thin patience you keep bringing up is the exact same condition Princess Cirilla is suffering in the same manner as you."
Emhyr turned around slowly to regard his young protégé with what started as a glower but mellowed out a bit with how his mouth twitched, betraying bittersweet amusement. "She does get it from me, does she not."
"Even though her royal grandmother had had her own incidents of patience running short, I do believe the lion share of it Princess Cirilla gets from you."
"If only Cirilla made an effort to reach an understanding with me through traits we have in common."
"Ah, but we have talked about it before," Morvran reasoned. "Given how little, if anything, she has been taught about the workings of human character, we cannot expect her to understand the things you and I perceive habitually. You very well know that what annoys us the most in other people is most likely a trait we have ourselves. Princess Cirilla needs time — and patience — to realize the similarities."
"Patience and time – what we never seem to have," Emhyr said, frowning. "Time has been taken away from us. Not a day is going by without my cursing that night I uttered my promise and that damned Witcher demanded his price. I will never know what came over me to word it as I did. Had I merely named the reward—"
"Done is done," Morvran said in a quiet voice. "The best we can do is build it from here. And that demands not just the patience you abhor hearing about, but also a great deal of cunning."
"Cunning," Emhyr repeated, raising an eyebrow.
"When your horse refuses to cross the river where you choose — lead it a yard or two away and cross it where it deems satisfactory. So you both win."
Emhyr smirked. "Compromising with Cirilla is a tricky endeavor, indeed. She's ruthless and drives the hardest bargains."
"Like someone else we both know."
The Emperor chuckled softly and strolled towards the window, contemplating. "Perhaps I should have come to greet her personally."
"We had discussed our arrangements several times since Lady Yennefer's arrival. We had decided against that for reasons you are aware of."
"But she might have decided I have no care that she is under the same roof."
"I doubt she has decided that."
"Or she might have wished to see me but was uncertain how to enquire for it."
"I doubt she would be uncertain had she wanted to do so."
"Or she expected you to bring it up and set up a meeting."
"She did not," Morvran recited in the same even, pleasant tone. "The only things she asked for were seeing Lady Yennefer and taking a bath. I saw her to her quarters and then we parted. She needed rest without disturbance. She barely ate."
Emhyr frowned, processing as he paced around the room. He rarely preferred to remain still; Morvran believed strolling around helped the Emperor think and ease his troubled mind a bit.
"What of that Cat Witcher?" Emhyr inquired after a prolonged moment of silence. "Or is he still in association with nonhumans of Brokilon and perhaps even Scoia'tael?"
"We have no evidence of his alliance with Scoia'tael," Morvran stated. "His participation in Brokilon affairs seems to have stopped after the battle on Ribbon thirteen years ago. Even so, we hold no factual proof of such allegiance, and our awareness of that is purely nominal."
"It's quite a solid fact that he's spent years living in Brokilon," Emhyr retorted. "It's also a fact that he's a half-breed and thus falls under the category they favor for recruiting."
"Geralt of Rivia is a mutated specimen discarded by human society as nonhuman, and he has also spent some time under the care of the Brokilon tribe. But we cannot deem the state of his relationship with them as an alliance or hired aid."
"Ah, this man can talk for hours about his neutrality as a witcher, but he and I both remember every time he's swayed off that Path of duty to do some questionable things suiting either his selfish goals or some other schemes he deemed worthy to take part in. Including and not limited to his knighthood under that rebel Meve."
"Everyone's done questionable things at least once in their lifetime," Morvran reasoned, watching the Emperor with an amused glint in his eye. "We shan't hold the past against them if those past deeds do not threaten our present. Besides, both witchers are valuable assets to keep Princess Cirilla safe, since she keeps refusing your aid."
"Yes, that is the most outrageous fact of them all," Emhyr said, turning to cast an indignant gander Morvran's way. "My daughter chooses two vagrants over her father by blood and right. My daughter to inherit the Empire and her mother's kingdom chooses to call a wretched mutant who is deemed incapable of human feelings her father."
"There is no solid proof to consider his emotional impotence a fact," Morvran stated. "The Cat School used different mutagens and their witchers fell under that category. Other schools, however, do not share such a reputation."
"Being a witcher means having a certain reputation by default," the Emperor said. "And my daughter prefers to be associated with it. I have lost her forever before she was born."
"While you two still live, it's too early to tell," Morvran said. "We shall see about that."
"She adores the Wolf Witcher as her father," Emhyr said, wincing with bitter disdain. "And now she found that Cat Witcher to seal that ill fate."
"You believe so? We shall see about that."
"What is between them?" Emhyr asked, seizing Morvran with a keen look.
"Feelings," Morvran said simply, with a small shrewd smile. "Mutual feelings."
"Who would have doubted," Emhyr nodded, a vexed gesture of his hand indicating there-you-go.
"The Cat is keeping his distance, however," Morvran added in afterthought. "And minding his place."
Emhyr looked at him with a mute interest and a dim hope in his unspoken question.
"He inquired of your plans for Cirilla," Morvran elaborated. "It means he's been pondering it for some time and looking at a picture quite wider than the one Cirilla lives by. That tendency of his we can work with."
"You mean now I have to negotiate my daughter's future with two witchers instead of one."
"We shall see about that."
"Geralt will never speak sense to her, nor remind her of her birthright and responsibilities. He's a stubborn blockhead who has long but set himself apart from the rest of the world. Expecting a wiser approach from his younger brother would be wishful thinking on my part."
"We shall see about that." Morvran leaned a hip against the table and examined his nails.
"Both of them will fuel her childish desire to dismiss her heritage for a pair of dusty travel boots and ever-empty stomach," Emhyr continued, putting a bit of pep in his pacing steps, unaware of it. "And if there was a time I could hold some hope for more common sense in Yennefer, now I no longer expect such from her or any of the people my daughter has surrounded herself with."
"We shall see about that."
The Emperor stopped abruptly, setting his dagger-sharp glare on Morvran. "What are you doing, repeating the same bloody thing over and over?" he inquired, exasperated. "Do you not have anything better to say? For I do believe that mind of yours is capable of more useful suggestions."
Morvran peered back at him with an ironic smile, unperturbed by royal ire. "Oh, but the thing is I do believe wholeheartedly that the solution I offered is the wisest on the current list. And if Your Majesty stops raging and gives it a bit of rational thought, you shall see the dawning light at the end of that tunnel."
"How does it help if what I see is that my standing with Cirilla is crumbling beneath my feet?"
"You believe so? We shall see about that." Morvran smiled.
For a long moment, Emhyr seemed to be considering the worst and bloodiest punishments along with the meanest profanities to never be voiced at court aloud that he was eager to rain upon his general, but he suddenly cracked a smile instead, and a quiet laugh followed.
"Sometimes I think I should have made you my jester."
"In that case, we certainly need to prepare a suitable replacement for all the burdens of throne games."
Emhyr emitted an amused hem, but then amusement dimmed, his face turned more serious as he regarded Voorhis. "You think we still have a chance?"
"My father once told me something that stayed with me ever since," Morvran responded after a second of contemplation. "He said, Only dimwits never revise their decisions."
A corner of Emhyr's mouth jerked in a half-smirk. "Your father is a wise man."
"Both of them are," Morvran said, and earned a genuinely warm smile from the White Flame of the Empire. "And as a man with the benefit of having been raised by two fathers, I can promise you that she will eventually realize that having both of you in her life is better than cutting half of her heart away to trade for a grudge in its stead."
"Mm." Emhyr lowered his eyes to the floor, reflecting. When his eyes met Morvran's again, the Emperor grinned. "We shall see about that."
They both laughed.
It was far past midnight when Kain was finally outside Novigrad's walls, walking deeper into the forest. The night was cloudy and provided nearly no light, but his senses guided his quiet step more accurately than the human naked eye would. Within his mind, he reached out and searched, and then felt the connection strengthening.
He stalled his progress, hearing thudding sounds approaching rapidly, and after mere moments a huge mass of an overly excited griffin knocked him off his feet. Griffin jumped and dashed around croaking happily, nipping Kain, and flopping his wings. He rubbed his head against Kain's shoulders and chest and back, preventing him from getting off the ground.
Eventually, he plopped down next to Kain, scooping the Cat to him with his paws. The beast stilled with Kain leaning into him, his face buried in the beast's feathery neck. Griffin lowered his head over Kain's shoulder, and Kain pressed closer to where he felt Griffin's powerful heart beat wildly inside his mighty chest.
It had been so long, so impossibly long for both of them… and more time apart was yet to come.
All the things that had happened piled up heavily upon his heart, and Kain felt tears prickle his closed eyes and spill out. The yearning for what their life was like before Skellige enveloped him in its painful embrace; he knew he might never get it back.
"Your bond with me is scarcely the best choice you've made for yourself," Kain said, withdrawing to look the animal in the eye. Griffin's ears were pricked up; he stared at Kain with a stare that even in the dark of night was unmistakably gauging. He didn't understand the words but perceived the emotional subtext. And that subtext made the beast wary.
Kain shook his head and made to get up. They rose to their feet, and Griffin shook himself off like a dog. With his hand on Griffin's shoulder, Kain followed him into the woods to his lair, picking up twigs and sticks as they went. In the cave, Kain made a bonfire for warmth, and they settled down next to it for the night, huddled together. With the fire crackling cozily and Griffin's beak chattering as he cleaned his paws and feathers, Kain closed his eyes and let himself be lulled to sleep by the illusion of it being just one of the good old peaceful nights.
Naturally, they both ended up sleeping in.
Dandelion arrived at the Royal Castle in Vizima yawning and complaining under his breath. His morning started rather abruptly when Zoltan came to raise him when he had nearly reached the apex of the sweetest dream. He was about to merge with the lovely Lady Orthevia Rallend in a sensual ecstasy and his lips were a mere inch from the pink pearl of her nipple. That was the very moment when his eyes snapped open in response to a sudden yank at his shoulder, and instead of the perfection of a breast, he saw the disheveled bearded face of Zoltan.
"Ye gotta get yer arse up, mate," the dwarf announced. "The Vigo witch is here to take ye to Yennefer. Apparently, she desires to listen to yer lute."
Even under a thick layer of annoyance, Dandelion couldn't help a stir of worry and suspicion. It had never happened before that she would send for him so urgently and so early in the morning. Something was truly wrong there, he reflected, following Fringilla to Yennefer's quarters.
"I had no time for breakfast," he reminded in a sulky tone, adjusting his lute belt across his chest.
"I shall arrange for it to be served for both of you," Vigo responded.
"I will need some mead," the poet said, rubbing his temples. His excessive consumption last night was thudding through his brain. "And cold venison with fresh bread would be nice. And baked apples topped with honey. And a pie."
Fringilla's mouth twitched in amusement. "I shall list it for the servants."
"And don't forget the fruit plate."
"Never in my life."
She left him at the door, heading to wherever this castle housed the kitchen, Dandelion thought as he entered and strolled across the parlor for Yennefer's bedroom. With a subtle trepidation of suspense, he knocked.
"Yennefer? It's me, ehm… Dandelion. I came as soon as I cou—"
The door opened; Istredd was towering behind it, his eyes narrowed at the poet, making the latter feel smaller and much, much younger.
Those wizards, and their imposing… everything.
Dandelion swallowed and cleared his throat, attempting to look past the wizard's shoulder. Istredd shifted sideways, freeing the way. Yennefer was at the vanity table, brushing her hair.
"I shall leave you to your musical leisure," Istredd announced, stepping out.
Dandelion remained at the door for another moment, listening to the wizard's footfalls thudding away. His eyes were boring into the back of Yennefer's head, admiring the black curls cascading over her shoulders. She was wearing a black dressing gown with a deep V cut trimmed with white feathers revealing the hemispheres of her divinely beautiful breasts that Dandelion had burnt into his memory during their dragon hunt adventure all those years back. He had felt no shame staring then while expecting to die any second, but this time he had more reservations, feeling a bit misplaced. The sight of her freshly out of bed wearing nothing but this thin robe felt too intimate. She was also taking her sweet time keeping silent, as though inwardly enjoying the situation she had put him in. Just as her wicked old self would. So that next moment she would go angry and turn him into a blind slug for staring too long.
He cleared his throat delicately, shifting from one foot to another. "Yennefer?"
A small smile twitched onto the corner of her mouth. In the past, if she'd caught him staring at her chest, she'd have enjoyed making him suffer. She'd never shied away from teasing Dandelion. She found herself doing it now, too, purposely pivoting around on her stool to face him, and displaying a little leg through the slit in her robe in order to make him uncomfortable. "Are you feeling poorly? You look as though you haven't slept very well."
Dandelion's face slacked as he couldn't take his eyes away from her slender leg, that smooth curve of her calf, and her voice reached him as though from across the sea. "I… Right… It was… too early… Um…" He made an impossible effort to drag his eyes up to meet hers and keep it so, cold sweat coming out on his temples. "I mean, ehm… I would really wish to know what could possibly have made you so eager for my ballads so early not even birds are fully awake yet."
Yennefer rose to her feet, walking over to him, her smile changing to that of gratitude. He was one of the few people at the moment that she felt she could trust. And trust him she could, right? She probed his mind, trying to get a feel for what was going on, what he might be considering apart from her legs. "I thought playing your lute first thing in the morning for a willing audience would be a highlight. As a friend, I thought I would indulge your need for prosperity."
He watched her approach nervously, feeling a stir of the urge to step back as though she was dangerous. But she wasn't, was she? After the incident with Ciri, he wasn't sure of anything anymore. "I would much prefer to start my morning with a nice breakfast instead. That's the true prosperity."
"There's plenty of time for breakfast," Yennefer replied, her gaze locked on his tired face, reading his weariness. If he was as cautious as she was, then perhaps, her first thoughts about him were correct. She could trust him. She did trust him. "I'll make sure you're served the best. If only you'll do me this one favor…"
He frowned, wavering between confusion and alarm. "It does depend on the favor, as you well know, but I'm willing to aid you in any way I can, as always."
"Have you seen Kain this morning?"
Dandelion raised his eyebrows, taken by surprise. "Kain? No, not since late last night when we dined back at the inn. Why? You wanted him to come with Ciri?"
"No, I wanted to talk to him alone." This Yennefer said with confidence. Like she said most things, like it was a natural or usual request. "Without Ciri knowing."
Now Dandelion was even more surprised. "Is it about what happened between you? She ran out upset. What is going on, Yennefer? Have you quarreled?"
"No, we have not quarreled," Yennefer said as a means to alleviate his concerns. What she'd say next would contradict that. "But she is not in control of her… self." She'd been digging for a better description of what she was feeling. She reached for his hand for the first time with nothing more than tenderness and as close to beseeching as she could. "I say this, Dandelion, because I don't have many I can trust. I trust you. I also trust that you have her well-being at heart as much as I do and that you'll hear me and understand that I have every right to worry about the state of her mind and mood at this time, given what both witchers told us. You certainly remember, you were there."
"Of course I do," Dandelion confirmed. "But, Yennefer… I… We… Are you sure there is anything to worry about? I mean, she looks fine to all of us. She was so worried about you, and it looked very genuine. Zoltan says so, too…"
"I'm sure she looks fine. It's my deepest desire for her to be fine. I just need a certain thing from you because I trust you won't fail me. Back to the favor. I'd like to talk to Kain. Alone. Could you get a message to him? She can't find out. I don't want her to think we're conspiring against her."
"And… we're not?"
"No, we're not." A frown marred her brow. "I only want what's best for her, for Ciri to be herself again."
"We all want that," Dandelion was eager to confirm. "I'll try to tell him you wish to see him alone, when I catch him without Ciri, but can't promise when it happens. He's not yet here, it seems. Probably with his griffin." Dandelion shrugged and fixed her with a worried look. "But you know, Ciri will suspect we're conspiring against her if we keep being… well, strange. If you keep upsetting her. She told Kain you were angry with her. Were you angry?"
Yennefer didn't know how to answer. She forced a look of contrition. A frisson of ice crawled up her spine and her face whitened slightly as fear begun to creep in again. What if Ciri decided to confront her again? Yennefer's fingertips began to tingle, seeking out points she could use in the air, craving to draw it into herself for protection. "No, I wasn't angry at her. I was exhausted, the tower took it out of me and I'm struggling to regain my senses. I didn't realize I'd upset her."
"Oh," Dandelion cracked a sneer, feeling slightly relieved. "Yes, I suppose it makes sense. Of course. Ciri had to be exhausted herself, surely. She merely misunderstood you."
"Surely," Yennefer agreed, still flashing her signature smile. A pleasant smile. She didn't mind lying. "About that breakfast? In return for your message - what would you like that I request from the servants? Anything special to help mellow and pamper those demanding vocal cords?"
"Ah, well," he grinned, adjusting his lute belt. "You know me, I'm quite modest in my needs. All the best they have would suffice."
The sun was reaching for zenith when Kain approached the familiar village house, inhaling the aromas of the surrounding orchard, and knocked on the door.
Her fleeting surprise passed quickly, moving to exhilaration as Fealinn threw herself into his arms, grinning and thanking the gods. "It's been so long I was beginning to seriously worry whether you were all right," she said, welcoming him into her house. "I was afraid something happened between you two and Cirilla. She was not herself and changing to worse…"
"We couldn't know it would take us that long to come back," he replied, settling at her table upon her invitation. She was arranging for a light breakfast, setting fresh milk, a loaf of bread, an apple pie, and a jar of raspberry jam on the table. "Except for… Geralt went missing."
She stopped in her tracks, staring at him with wide eyes. "Oh dear gods, how?"
As she poured milk for him and cut the bread, he told her what happened to them in Oxenfurt and what followed when they began searching for Geralt. He didn't keep the part about his visit to Tir ná Lia to himself this time. Her opinion as not just his friend but also an Aen Seidhe could make a difference.
She listened very attentively, sipping her milk. When he finished and began to eat, she lowered her gaze to the floor, thinking it all over carefully. "Those two anchors he had with him truly alarm me," she uttered eventually, raising her pensive gaze to him. "You are right to worry. But even though they are meant to amplify the magic used to trigger and direct teleportation, I do not believe it was enough to send him to their world without his intention or special power to support such a result."
"Where do we search for him, then?"
She clucked her tongue, reflecting. "I would expect him to show up at any of the towers here on the Continent. But if you haven't—"
"Tor Zireael showed us no signs of his presence, whatsoever," Kain stated. "But it did show a flashback with him and Sage. It also showed one with Yennefer, and they said she had indeed been inside."
Fealinn shook her head slowly with a doleful expression. "The unique nature of its magic would have been too much for his body, I'm afraid. You see, due to its mysterious nature, it only shows itself to those able to enter. It supports people like Ciri and you who have elven blood in them, as close to that of Alden Folk as possible. If Geralt entered it, his body would be overwhelmed with its power, much like a body feels when it begins to drown. It would have killed him, and the anchors could merely make it faster rather than sustain his life."
"He hasn't been around Tor Lara, either. I haven't been to Tor Gwalch'ca, though."
"Perhaps you'll find some answers. But Ciri won't allow you to go alone. Does she truly seem like her old self?"
"It's odd, but yes, she did seem fine after we reunited. You think she could be all right?"
"Oh, it's impossible to judge without seeing her." Fealinn refilled his mug with milk and took a knife to cut two slices off the pie. "But remember, what she was experiencing had to do with her Hen Ichaer as much as whatever she could have picked up in Velen. It's impossible to tell how it will turn out the next hour or the next day. If there is a spare hour, you can suggest she visits me if she feels so inclined." He nodded and she added: "For now I advise you against keeping her from your search for Geralt, if possible. She needs it as much as you do, and shielding her from it might make her feel wronged by you once again. It could bring the consequences you wish to avoid."
He nodded slowly. "I understand. Even though her ability to leap through space has been making her wary. I can feel she's worried it would carry her someplace she doesn't intend."
"Her taking you to Bald Mountain instead of Novigrad could have been caused by that worry of hers," Fealinn reasoned. "Her thoughts and beliefs easily manifest and shape her reality. When she fears her power, it gives her more reason to fear it. The power of Hen Ichaer is tricky, and she is yet to learn to wield it. So are you."
"Think Avallac'h could teach me?" he asked sardonically.
"If we can judge by how little he has taught Ciri, I would say he never does more than he deems suitable for his own plans."
"Think I made the right decision refusing to stay there in Ciri's stead?"
She considered him for a long moment, looking gravely serious. "The more I think about it, the less I believe there was a right or wrong choice in it. It's more like choosing between two evils without knowing which is the lesser one. Sage probably knew, and perhaps his offer was genuinely the lesser evil one. But you would have accepted it if you could live with it." She sighed. "I do trust it was a pivotal point, though. It worries you because you know it, too. It set the course of your Path and Ciri's because you chose for both of you. Whether for better or worse, we will have to wait and see."
Silence stretched between them while Kain ate his pie, brooding over her words, and Fealinn prepared a kettle for tea.
"I need to send Griffin to a safer place," he spoke, brushing the crumbs off his lap.
"And you're thinking our place?"
"Do you know any better one? He felt his best in Brokilon, even had a dedicated cave where they brought treats he favored."
She smiled at the memory and said: "I trust you're right. I shall send a message if you wish me to."
"I do." He chuckled, "He did like to be revered."
She laughed, lighting the stove. "They were spoiling him rotten. Their first royal griffin in ages. Nevertheless, none of them got close enough to touch. Children were collecting the feathers he shed — for luck. Their mothers put them in their arrows and those were the most precise. Most valuable."
They exchanged looks of melancholic longing, even though their smiles were bittersweet.
"The trick is to make him stay there," Kain said, making the remaining milk twirl inside his mug before he finished it in one swallow. "We both get glimpses through each other's eyes, and he keeps finding me when I'd rather he stayed hidden. I cannot always control how much he sees."
"Your bond becomes stronger," she commented, smiling faintly. "It's natural and scarcely you can limit it without him rushing to find you if he stops feeling you're alive."
"You have a point," he sighed. "But I do fear for him when I'm in trouble. I couldn't live with having gotten him killed."
"Shhh, no, don't say that," she said, wrapping her arms around his shoulders from behind and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "Do not speak such words aloud, for wind carries it where gods can hear."
He smiled, leaning into her embrace. "Our elders used to chide us with it as children."
"So did ours."
The smile on his face faded gradually; he swallowed and discovered a lump in his throat. He closed his eyes, allowing himself a tiny bit of weakness as he whispered: "I don't know what to do if I don't find him. Ciri and the Hunt… Avallac'h… the Bog… I don't know if I can do this without him."
She planted another kiss on the top of his head, then stepped around his chair, lowering to sit on his lap, hugging him to her. His arms wrapped around her waist, and his face hid in the crook of her shoulder. She held him, her fingers stroking tenderly through his hair. "You don't have to know," she murmured. "Life always shows the way."
~~~ WRITERS' NOTE:
We are absolutely horrified and saddened at what is happening in Turkey and Syria. Our hearts and prayers are with everyone involved and touched by those terrible tragedies. We grieve for the people who lost their loved ones and homes. We pray for those who can be saved to be rescued. We pray that you're all right and safe! Be strong, be safe, be brave. Our love and best hopes and wishes are with you. ~~~